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cenorii · 8 months

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In 2021, dirty secrets about the use of bioweapons are revealed inside BSAA + there are direct hints in Umbrella Corps that Wesker is alive. I just combine the two puzzle pieces together in my head. So let's look at another interesting post-2009 scenario.

AU - ELEGY OF FREE RADICALS

Chris was once careless about eliminating Wesker. Knowing his nature, he still didn't check Wesker's presumed place of death properly. Relying on his own luck, Chris left the place of battle and never returned there. But he had to go back. It has become his mistake.

Chris reported the scene of the victory to the BSAA. Rotten BSAA could have used that data in any way they wanted. Like going back there and checking out the volcano. They could have indicated on the documents that they were headed to clear the area of the remnants of Uroboros, but in fact to search for Wesker's remains to get rich off the sale and study of his unique biomaterial. But what they didn't expect was to find him alive. Badly injured, helpless, but somehow alive.

Taking advantage of the weakness of the still living organism, he was taken to the secret laboratory of the headquarters. Now Wesker could be under the supervision of BSAA scientists for a very long time. He's much more useful alive than dead. His knowledge, skills, all of it could be utilized. And it was also possible to conduct endless experiments on his unusual body... Testing the limits of his abilities, testing various poisons, looking at the lethality of their new weapons, and etc. He was once again a puppet, as he had once been in Spencer's hands, from which he had miraculously escaped.

The BSAA kept Wesker's abilities under strict control, he was trivially stripped of any PG67A/W injections, replaced with an alternative that was only necessary for his body to regenerate damage after the battle in the volcano, but didn't provide any additional benefits. So he would remain weak but healthy.

Another remedy was also applied to him, eliminating the consequences of merging with the Uroboros, which modified his body in a volcano. It was discovered in 2011, after the events of Revelations 2. It was rude to call it just a serum, it was something more, because it did not remove the virus itself from the body, but brought it into a more stable form, allowing Wesker to take his ordinary appearance. With him, in this form, it became easier for employees to work.

The BSAA restored Wesker, stripped of his strength, any dignity, as well as his freedom. He was bedridden for several years and various weapons were tested on him, then recorded how his body reacted and at what rate it recovered. An immobilized lab rat, a deserved punishment for someone like him? Perhaps. It was thanks to his "sacrifice" that the anti-regeneration weapon was invented, which had once come in handy for Chris in the battle against Mold.

Just think… how many things could the BSAA have invented using the infinite resources of Wesker's body? He was terrified of these thoughts. Terror at the realization that he had no chance of escape, that he was trapped here forever, that he would continue to have his organs taken out of him and be forced into endless pain. He reflected that he hadn't actually managed to do so many contradictory things to deserve eternal torment. And it's better to let him die than to endure this hell. But his own body played a cruel joke without dying. It was an expert on regeneration. His pride was trampled when he begged for death.

BSAA absolutely did not spend any painkillers and sleeping pills on Wesker, absolutely all experiments were carried out when he was conscious. They had already spent a lot of money on him during his recovery, it was a waste to spend even more on someone who could repair any of his damage.

Pain and terror haunted him for six years. He cursed what he used to idolize in himself.

And then he was forced to work for them. In 6 years he had grown accustomed to the constant pain and had already learned to see himself as nothing, sending his consciousness into free floating. Deep in his thoughts, he created a place where he learned to ignore the endless physical torment. But when he was put on his feet and pulled out of this place… Wesker was even more devastated.

It was unusual for him to suddenly return to normal work, all this created a mess in his head, reality seemed to be nonsense. The usual paperwork after hell? Are you kidding me?!

Morally, he was destroyed. His psyche was severely damaged. Wesker from the "torture room" was locked in a cell that looked like a combination of a room and a laboratory. For fear of being put back on the operating table again, he dutifully began to work and develop various things that BSAA would use in the future. But it wasn't life either. Weakened body, lack of abilities... he wanted to die, but he couldn't afford it, because he was practically immortal. Although, even if he used a weapon that stops regeneration on himself... he still wouldn't kill himself.

«Not here»

«Not like this»

At times he thought he was balancing on the fine line between normalcy and insanity. He saw people at best once every two weeks who came to check on his work and were not at all talkative. Wesker had always been convinced he didn't need company, but 12 years without socializing had made him question his beliefs.

Once a month he was provided with food, and then carelessly, because he didn't need food. His body, experiencing hunger, could devour itself and regenerate immediately.

The only reason he was given a room and released from the operating table was because the organization wanted to see what he could offer them. Of course, they didn't stop studying his unusual body and conducting experiments, but Wesker was already in charge of the process himself. Independently amputated his limbs and so on. Only closer to 2019 were these experiments stopped, because they had extracted all possible benefits from his body.

Wesker remotely, horrified, realized that thanks to his body he would live much longer than the average person, if not forever. Which led him to believe that he would be kept in this cage for centuries. BSAA would close, others would take their place, find him, torture him again. And so on in a circle, for all eternity, as long as human society and greed existed. This had to end... but how? A plan was needed, a complex one that could not be unraveled.

His life and existence was a BSAA mystery from 2009-2021. For 12 long years he was not allowed out of the walls of this cell.

Of course he wanted to escape, he had many unrealistic thoughts in his head about it. He was also interested in meeting Chris, aged, changed. To see his reaction, genuine shock rather than the anger he'd reacted to Wesker's earlier 'resurrections'. Is Chris even still alive today? What year is it now?

But this life couldn't go on forever, the BSAA was cracking at the seams. In 2021 it was revealed that they were using B.O.W. soldiers, something Chris couldn't ignore. So he headed over to European headquarters to deal with it - right where his nemesis was located, a complete headache. Chris couldn't accept that his organization, which was fighting biological weapons, would use them. It didn't fit in his head. He had long ago stopped trusting the BSAA, but this was the last straw.

Arriving there, Chris did not expect to meet someone in the basement laboratories whom he had buried a long time ago.

What was he going to do with him? Shoot him in the head without any thought? That would have been logical and in Redfield's character, but over the years he'd stopped being a complete hothead, learned to think first and then act. Gained a little equanimity.

It will turn out that it was Wesker who was involved in the creation of the B.O.W. in BSAA. Especially since these soldiers are improved clones of Chris himself. Who else could have come up with such an idea? Only to a man who thought Chris was "one of his best men".

For the past 6 years, Wesker has been forced to be an advisor to BSAA, sharing all the knowledge and ideas. He might have been able to pull it all off, if only to get back at that organization, turning Chris' anger on it, and turning his attention to himself at the same time. After all, only this "one of his best men" was the only one who could save him. Yes, Wesker was pathetic. He felt he wasn't even worthy of his former name, being so pathetic as to enlist the help of his enemy. But it was the only option. There was no more talk of pride.

However, it didn't matter now, Chris had come here to punish the founders, so their prisoner, their chief counselor, might prove to be the best informant. And an ally.

Natural intuition made Chris believe his former enemy, the biggest manipulator of them all. As if he was definitely not lying now, because he was in such a big asshole that he couldn't let his words sound unconvincing. Earlier, Chris would have easily recognized his lies, but not now. Right now, completely honest and dull eyes were looking at him from beneath translucent glasses. So damn pitiful that Chris automatically assumed the role of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.

Chris was quickly combine the information together in his head: the situation, the physique, the setting... His opponent had been held hostage by his own ambition, it couldn't help but bring a smile to Redfield's face. But he hid it in his thoughts, because he deemed it inappropriate once he read Wesker's imprisonment papers. Chris had some free time to devote to the situation.

He read about what had been done to Wesker. About all the torture. And Redfield clutched his head, when he got to the description of his ammunition that he'd used against Mold a couple years ago. He was terrified that this weapon had been created in such a gruesome way... through the suffering of his enemy, who, even considering all his guilt, didn't deserve all this. Chris felt that Wesker should have died and rid the world of himself rather than suffer endlessly. Even for him, he thought it was inhumane.

The first thing Wesker said to Chris was: - Now you've taken on the role of captain of the «alpha» too. This jabbed Chris slightly, but he noticed how the hostage said it without malice. Redfield involuntarily remembered 1998, the mansion, the betrayal, the deaths of the Alpha and Bravo group...

The compartment Wesker was in was to him both an office and a laboratory, and a room. A kind of prison, which he could not leave on his own because of his weak physical condition. He was weakened by the daily injections putting his viruses inside his body to sleep.

Releasing him and examining him at arm's length, Chris made sure that in the state Wesker was in now, he posed no danger, just an ordinary disgust. He resembled only a pale copy of his former self.

The BSAA operative dragged him carelessly behind him like some sack of garbage, concerned only with keeping the information in his head intact. But in his mind Chris still held images of what the BSAA bastards were doing here to Wesker. He didn't want to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't control it, Redfield had never been heartless. Initially he had only cared about information, but it wasn't long before he didn't even notice how protective he had become of him. As if a friend, which in truth, he never was. His captive's behavior was different from what Chris remembered. It was different, like a throwback to the past. Perhaps 12 years of imprisonment had had that effect on him.

He was docile, which wasn't surprising, since Wesker had been treated like an object by the organization, and the operating table had been a good teaching moment. Chris couldn't believe that after so many years of hell his former enemy's mind was still intact, that he hadn't lost his mind and was capable of dialog.

Time passed unnoticed during the proceedings with the BSAA about B.O.W., eventually the organization was destroyed and all its equipment, along with Chris's squad, transferred to TerraSave.

Chris during all of this had to sign Wesker into the Hound Wolf Squad as either a prisoner or an advisor. To keep him from getting shut down again, that was the deal. He helps them, they help him. Over time, he was getting back to normal. The food and good company had done their job.

However, Chris didn't know that his new ally hadn't lost all of his strength, and the ones he had were sleeping under the influence of the medicament. But time passed, the medicament slowly stopped working without new doses, and Wesker understood it perfectly well. And felt it. It didn't affect his appearance, so he could play his role for as long as he wanted. But was it a role? Sure he was portraying a courtesy that annoyed Chris to the point of nausea, but it was partially sincere. Having broken with his past at the fault of the BSAA, Wesker could only hope to find a new purpose. After all, as Spencer had raised him, there is no life without purpose.

Therefore, was it so necessary for him to betray Hound Wolf Squad? Would it be beneficial to him? Chris is a strong point. He has no doubt that if he kills Redfield - another will take his place, and will definitely get him into the basement wheel of samsara. So Wesker had no grand plans yet. After all, any of them would be doomed to failure as long as there was anyone in the world capable of resisting.

But Chris risked to give him a goal, which, however, called impossible - to become the best version of himself. To help the Hound Wolf Squad, to work with TerraSave, to use his knowledge for something other than endless failed experiments. Stop being Spencer's failed experiment. The only option Chris would give him a chance at.

Those words stuck in Wesker's head for a long time. Mentioning the old man was like a low blow. Chris knew where it hurt the most.

It had been several years since Wesker had joined Redfield's team. All that time he'd been hiding his abilities so as not to lose the fragile trust in his person. But the truth couldn't help but surface one day....

On one of the missions connected with B.O.W., the blade of an exploding helicopter blew off Wesker's head, and then another piece of debris cut his body in half.

But he didn't die.

Chris was enraged. With resentment, he felt cheated. What else could he have expected?

First, the black mass connected the body, restoring functionality to it, and then this silent carcass picked up the head. It was slow. It looked helpless and creepy. Chris's squad was on edge, but he ordered to wait. The black substance emerged from the base of the neck and attached the head to itself, then the calm expression on the reanimated head changed to horror. Was he in unbearable pain from the newly received oxygen? Or from the fusion of tendons?

When Wesker recovered, he couldn't at first think of a response to Chris' "explain yourself!"

Everyone's fragile trust collapsed, but not Redfield's, for he knew that if his former adversary had wanted to betray him, he would have betrayed him long ago, he wouldn't have let himself be so ridiculously exposed. Especially after all the torture he'd endured. Chris could understand why Wesker was hiding his powers. Redfield had stepped on the same rake of trust again, convincing himself that he had everything under control.

Wesker, ever since the prototype had merged with Uroboros in his body, had acquired a number of flaws, chief among them an unbearable sensitivity to pain. The only time he could not feel pain was when he was BSAA injected with force restraining drugs. But without them, all the disadvantages came out.

Whereas before he could recover from any wound without feeling anything but minor damage, now the pain was so obvious that every regeneration was accompanied by agony. Especially if it was a burn, for heat is a major weakness for Uroboros. The healing places on his body, after that helicopter situation, hurt like hell.

He was closer to human now than he had been before, and Chris seemed to realize that. That was why he hadn't killed him a second time, but had accepted him back into his squad. It was not only a gesture of goodwill, but also a precaution, a way to keep a dangerous object as close to him as possible so he wouldn't do anything.

How long will they have to cut off the heads of hydra in the face of the creators of bioweapons?

- Why do you trust me, Chris?

- I still believe that anyone can become the best version of themselves. We should prioritize fighting for the future to give someone a quiet life that you and I have been robbed of. I know about Project W. Together we can stop new organizations and prevent many tragedies like this from happening again. And you can help us, Wesker. BSAA took away your choice, but I'm giving it to you now.

Wesker at first couldn't find the words to respond, but after a moment he barely audibly whispered: "Thank you."

From a man who never thanked anyone, Chris was shocked to hear that. And he was proud of him. Had he forgiven him? No, his deeds were unforgivable. But Chris wasn't the kind of man who would turn his back on his one chance to make things right, to make things right on Earth, to save someone's life. In this truce, he sees a future that's bright for everyone.

#resident evil #chrisker #Chris Redfield #Albert Wesker #AU #resident evil 5 #resident evil 8 #rebhfun

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moinstar · 6 months

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DiaMoin in Resident Evil AU

Diavolo is a superhuman experimented by the new strain of virus and was made to infiltrate. But then he met Moin MC that made him change his way of thinking and he developed his own will and mind.

Plot so far:

Diavolo was a part of Umbrella corporation's research group. He tested a new strain of T-virus which they used to inject on Nemesis. His goal was to learn the weakness and how to control viruses and prevent an all-out massacre. But because he was guarded and misunderstood just because he works under the same corporation who makes the deadly virus, everyone frames him as the villain.

During on one of his expeditions/journey in finding more new strains of virus, he met Moin MC. A soldier on one of the country he visited. They teamed up coincidentally because they were caught up in a raid. She didn't know that Diavolo was a researcher of Umbrella corp. so she blurts out that because of the virus, she lost her comrades and her family.

Because Diavolo got exposed to the T-virus, he became a superhuman and sometimes he loses his mind. When he does, he runs away in the middle of the night and ravages people or zombies without letting Moin MC know.

Along the way, they formed a bond that made them protect each other, trying to discover more viruses and how they work. Until Moin MC found out that who he was and felt betrayed and heartbroken.

#obey me diavolo #obey me mc #moin mc #obey me crossover #resident evil au #self indulgent shit

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the-traveling-poet · 4 months

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hullo!!! i just wanted to say i really enjoy your writing and i was wondering if you'd be so gracious as to write a levi x nonbinary reader, in which the reader is asexual and gets overwhelmed by physical touch so levi tries to comfort them. you can make it as angsty as you like

thank you so much in advance ε>

Ace

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You’d always stood out.

Never taking a partner, never seeking one. Out of spite to those who jeered your way, you refused to acknowledge them when they attempted to address you as ‘Ma’am” or “Sir”.

It didn’t matter that they didn’t, or rather wouldn’t, understand. Because at the end of the day, he understood. And he loved you all the same.

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Pairing: Levi x Asexual!NB!Reader

Warnings: language, bullying

taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

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A/N: Oh my god anon this is a blessing of an ask like-

Being ace myself, i really appreciate this ask. Finding ace related content is a strUggle. I’ve only ever read ONE ace!reader x AOT fic before and I literally teared up. So in a way, writing this request was like actually writing MYSELF into a fic. And a Levi fic at that. Well, except I use she/her pronouns, and per your request this is non-binary, so I’ll do my best!

Since being ace is a different experience for everyone under the ace umbrella, I’m writing this from my own perspective on the matter(s), as this allows me to speak my truth :)

(N/N: Nick Name)

Hope you enjoy!

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All your life thus far, you couldn’t help but to feel disgusted by at least fifty percent of the people around you. Both as a teenager making your way through bootcamp away from your controlling home, and even after you’d joined the Survey Corps and surpassed the cadet rank to become a Captain despite the jeers.

One comment after another; “faker” “liar” “prude” “confused” and so many more followed you around like a dark cloud whenever you turned someone down from their advances. And many there had been.

You’d have loved nothing more than to retaliate and lash out at them about how they were wrong about you in the moment, but you’d learned long ago it was a waste of breath.

It was around the time you were promoted to Captain that you’d given up on any chance of finding anyone decent that would respect your boundaries, and kept to yourself and your duties. Sometimes, you’d even had to cut friends out of your personal life for trying to push and pull you into directions you weren’t comfortable going.

But it wasn’t until you’d been selected by Captain Levi to participate in his squad that you began to think maybe, maybe…another shot at friendships was okay.

Your Captain treated you with respect, despite your hesitance to open up in the beginning. With the experiences you’d had thus far, you weren’t all too keen on making another friend to let you down. And somehow, he seemed to completely understand that without either of you uttering a single word on the subject.

As time went on, you both grew closer as teammates, and the idea that you could find a real, valuable friend within the brutality that was the Survey Corps sparked into your mind once more.

Many a time you’d accompany him for tea late into the afternoon. Idle chitchat would follow, perhaps even a soft laugh or two as the candle between you two melted past the wick and melted in its tray.

It became a routine of sorts, checking in on one another throughout the day and sharing tea by night. These days, your steps were lighter. You mind, less bogged down with negativity. He was certainly the first thing you looked forward to when you awoke, and the final thought that soothed you to sleep every night.

This provoked a realization within you, with a feeling of both dread and excitement making your heart plummet to your stomach. Despite having never felt this deep of a connection with someone before, you’d known exactly what you then realized you felt.

Which led you to now, standing before the only other friend you had accompanying you through this mental struggle.

“Well if you like him, go tell him!” she encouraged, grinning ear to ear as she squeezed your hands in excitement.

Pulling back slightly, you internally cringed. She knew how you felt about physical contact, yet always brushed it off with a simple ‘that’s just who I am’. And at this point, with this being her only way of overstepping, you decided to just deal with it. She was really the only one who didn’t judge you otherwise, anyways.

“I-it’s not that simple…You know I don’t have a lot of experience admitting what I feel. And to someone I like? I don’t know how.” You sighed, once again letting your hands slip out from hers.

Her exasperated huff made you raise your eyes and take in her perplexed expression.

“Now how in the hell do you think you’re gonna pursue a relationship with that hunk of a man if you can’t even handle holding hands? Relationships are a lot more physical than that, N/N.”

Immediately you froze, trying to find the right words to say next. “You know how I feel about that. I’m not comfortable with any of…that.”

“Psh, you never are. So what’s the point of even liking anyone, anyways? Anyone can be polite and understanding, but everyone has needs yknow.” She chuckled, patting a hand onto your shoulder.

You started to tense up, feeling your breathing shallow out. Not only for touch she laid onto you, but for the words she spoke that sank your heart further into your chest. For so long you’d overlooked this one trait of hers; being touchy and clingy, and this is how she would repay your tolerance? By ending up on the same road as everyone else had with you?

Feeling your heart pound in your chest, you averted your gaze and scooted away. Maybe she was right…

“He’s nice to me. He’s never hinted at anything more than being my friend…And he certainly has never laid a hand on me; friendly or other.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” She scoffed, furrowing her brow and retracting her hand. “I’m just being honest. You told me yourself once; you prefer honesty over a sweet lie. Should I lie to you and say ‘Oh don’t worry N/N, this guy’s different than anyone else on earth. He’s got no human emotions or desires; your perfect match!’ ? Cause I won’t lie to you. That’s the truth.”

Taking another step back, you fought to keep control over your shaking. But little by little your composure was breaking away.

“That-that’s not true. Not wanting to be touched doesn’t equate to being emotionless or having no desire, innocent or other.”

“Oh so now you’re not “ace” or whatever it is? This asexual thing you explained to me means no desire or attraction!” She chuckled exasperatedly.

“That’s not how that works for everyone-“

“No. You. That’s not how it works for you. Because there’s no one else out there who thinks up this bullshit like you do. You can think whatever you want for yourself, that’s fine. Just don’t confuse it with the truth.” She cut you off, crossing her arms over her chest with a sigh.

“Listen, I’m just saying that, as a woman, you gotta expect these things, yknow?” She continued on, using a softer tone paired with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t go by woman, or man. You know that,” You cried out in exasperation, hugging your arms tightly.

“And that! First with the contradicting ‘sexuality’ and always with the in between gender! You cant just stay in between these lables and expect to live a normal life anyone could understand!”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you watched her storm out of your dorm room with her last insult stinging your heart, and your wanted nothing more than to run and hind when you heard her continue to mutter to herself as she paced down the halls. Now left alone, you contemplated your choices.

She could be right about him; he could simply be someone who knew how to hide his intentions and you’d end up trapped in a situation your rather die than be in.

But…

Who were you to trust? The woman who never quite accepted your request for physical boundaries, or the man who had applauded you for keeping to yourself out of self-comfort?

The man who had been your comfort these past several months.

With your mind made up, you left your room in a hurry. Though your tears kept you from seeing exactly where it was you were stepping, you knew this rout by heart and could follow it blind.

A short moment that seemed to last forever with how hard your shoulders and sides shook and your heart pounded, you came at last to his door. Knocking quickly, you found it hard to find the patience to wait for his monotone voice to call out for your entry.

Pushing the door open quickly, you all but slammed it shut behind you with a stifled gasp. Immediately Levi’s gaze left the paperwork before him, shooting you a once over look of concern.

“The hell happened to you?” He muttered softly. While he might not be so soft with his words, his tone was never anything but gentle with you.

“M-my friend. She…She said…That I can’t do this-I can’t…” as you struggled for both your breath and train of thought to return, Levi stood from his desk and approached you slowly.

“Oi, you’re shaking like a damn leaf. Take a seat on the couch, I’ll get some tea for your nerves.”

He stood close, but didn’t try to reach out. Somehow, he always knew how to approach you, no matter the state you were in. Instead, he just stood beside you for a moment, letting you see he was only a pace away and listening. You could have cried from relief right then and there had his offer not reminded you why you were here.

“Yeah…Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, shuffling over to his couch and plopping down in the corner seat. After a moment, he joined you with two cups of tea. He sat yours on the coffee table, then took a seat on the other side of the couch to observe you. After you’d downed a couple of sips from the warm mug, you sighed and closed your eyes.

It was now or never.

“So, your friend. Do you want to talk about it, or keep guzzling down the drink like a horse in their troft and rob me clean of tea?”

Nearly coughing over the chuckle you tried to suppress, you showed him a thankful smile.

“If you have the time, I’d like to get it off my chest.” You admitted, deciding to keep your eyes fixed on the mug in your hand rather than meet his inquisitive stare.

“I have the time. You think I poured us both cups if I didn’t?” He mused. To others it would have sounded like a scoff, but you knew him well enough to know he was only attempting to lighten your mood with crass humor.

“Well, I’ve told you before how she…oversteps my boundaries often.” You started slowly.

“And I’ve told you before you should kick her ass to the curb. You let one get away with it, and suddenly there’s a line of people demanding ‘their right.’ “

“Okay, firstly,” you chuckled, setting your tea down. “I have. She walked out, and I’m done entertaining her. Secondly, you’re one to talk. You let me get away with all kinds of things.”

“…That’s different,” he muttered from behind the rim of his cup, switching his gaze from your face to the window on the adjacent wall.

“Well, I uhm…She’s gone now. But, didn’t leave without a few harsh words. I’d hoped so hard she wouldn’t be like the rest, but in the end…A simple difference in preferences had her changing her attitude. I’ve always respected her decisions, I’ve always addressed her by she or her, and I’ve always respected how she feels about partners. But she can’t do the same for me? Because I’m not like her?”

You took in a deep breath, shuddering as you reached for your mug once more. Levi watched on in silence as you drank your fill and slowed your breathing, mulling over your words.

“Well, for starters, it’s a damn good thing you aren’t like her. She sees everything at face value; doesn’t dig deeper for any sense of meaning or value, and couldn’t even if she tried.”

You chanced a glance his way, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over yet again.

“She told me…She said that I can’t stay in between lables and expect to live a normal life anyone could understand. And maybe she’s right. Either way I’ll stay myself. But to think there might be some truth to what she said…”

“I’ll stop you right there. There isn’t.” He stated in a tone so sure and confident you nearly believed it yourself.

“Who gives a fuck if you’re a man or a woman? Or neither? Or both? Or what’s in your pants? Or whom you sleep with, and who you don’t. You don’t truly fall in love with one’s body or gender. Real love is seeing that person’s soul and understanding it. Learning with it, growing with it, healing with it, and all that other mushy shit.”

You took a moment to really absorb his words as your tears flowed freely now. You couldn’t be sure which emotion was running strongest through you at the moment; sadness, or relief?

“I…I never mentioned to love?” You whispered, chancing another glance his way.

With an expression similar to a child being caught in a wrongdoing, Levi’s eyes widened slightly and his lips were quick to close tightly.

“I…Just meant that, either way…Whom you love, whether they be a friend or a partner, shouldn’t be based on their preference of your identity.” He muttered softly, his eyes trained back on the cup in his hand. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have sworn you saw the tips of his ears flush a slight pink hue. Then again, maybe you didn’t know any better just yet.

Again your heart stopped, but this time not out of grief or fear. Turning to the side so as to face him better, you brought your knees up to your chest and cradled your cup close to your chest.

“Well…Since you brought it up…” you swallowed nervously and cleared your throat. “That’s what I was talking about with her. As much as it scares me…And excites me…I think I’ve finally found that.”

“Found what?” Levi asked slowly, eventually meeting your gaze with curiosity.

“Love,” you replied softly, feeling your face heat up and your hand begin to shake once more.

“I was telling her…Maybe I’m ready to take that chance, now that I understand what I feel. She was telling me that…I have to expect that every guy has needs, and while that’s not something I’m comfortable exploring…Love is. Romance, and affection found through things other than touch.”

He listened to you intently, looking deeply into your eyes as if searching for a question he hadn’t yet asked. But of course, you knew it was there. Eventually his silence made you worry, and you tucked in on yourself a little tighter.

“M-maybe she’s right, that any guy would get tired of waiting for something that may or may never happen but…I’d like to think she’s not.”

“She’s not,” Levi finally murmured, never breaking eye contact with you from across the couch.

“Not everyone feels or acts that way. Some of us feel the same way you do.”

“ ‘Some of us’? “ You asked, your tone just as quiet as his. He only nodded, giving you all the answers you needed with a simple gesture.

“So then…you…” A crack in your voice halted your question as your throat seemed to dry out.

Could he really, truly understand?

“Never been interested, never cared. Not after everything I’d seen growing up.”

Normally he would have closed off more when the conversation drifted to his life down in the slums, but it seemed he truly wanted you to understand something now.

“The things I’ve seen, and heard…The things they forced my mother into doing for table scraps…It was a deterrent from something I didn’t want any part of to begin with.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to drag the conversation here-“ He cut you off with a shake of his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I want you to know I understand, in some way or another, that you aren’t alone in feeling this way. And that…I won’t ever judge you for any of it.”

Uncurling your legs and loosening the grip on your mug, you fully faced him with a warm smile.

“And neither will I, to you.” You promised him softly, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

He turned too, so that he could face you fully from across the furniture.

“So then…What you said about love?” He asked cautiously, and you could practically feel how he sank further back against the armrest.

“Yeah, I may have been talking with her about you,” with an embarrassed chuckle you drained your mug and set it back onto the table.

“If-if that isn’t something you were thinking about before I won’t-“

“Would I be gripping the armrest with worry for your response if I hadn’t? I didn’t just open up for nothing you know,” he muttered, averting his gaze once more. And this time, you were sure of the color that filled his cheeks.

Relief washed over you, filling you with the courage it took to scoot a little closer to his stiff figure. Looking back over to him from only a cushion away now, you smiled.

“In that case, would it be too much for me to admit I like you a little?”

“Only if it’s not too much for me to confess I return those feelings, Y/N.”

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argumate · 3 days

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Israel’s success in defending against large-scale Iranian missile and drone strikes from Iranian territory on April 13 underscores the vulnerabilities that Ukrainian geography and the continued degradation of Ukraine’s air defense umbrella pose for Ukrainian efforts to defend against regular Russian missile and drone strikes. The Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps (IRGC) Aerospace Force launched roughly 170 Shahed-136/131 drones, 30 cruise missiles, and 120 ballistic missiles at targets in Israel in a strike package similar to recent Russian strike packages against Ukraine. Russian forces have experimented with cruise missile, ballistic missile, and drone strikes of varying sizes and combinations, and are now routinely conducting large, combined strikes against targets in Ukraine. Iran’s similarly large, combined strike package was far less successful than recent Russian strikes in Ukraine, however, with Israeli air defenses intercepting almost all of the roughly 320 air targets except several ballistic missiles. Iranian drones and missiles had to cross more than 1,000 kilometers of Iraqi, Syrian, and Jordanian airspace before reaching Israel, affording Israel and its allies hours to identify, track, and intercept missiles and drones on approach to Israel. Russian forces launch drones and missiles from throughout occupied Ukraine and in close proximity to Ukraine from within Russia, affording Ukrainian air defenders a fraction of the time that Israel and its allies leveraged to successfully blunt the mass Iranian missile and drone strike. Israel also has a robust air defense umbrella that is responsible for responding to potential attacks across shorter borders with its neighbors, the Gaza Strip, and the West Bank; whereas, Ukraine has increasingly degraded air defense capabilities to employ against missile and drone strikes across a much wider frontline in Ukraine as well as its international borders with Belarus and Russia. Ukraine also currently lacks the capability to conduct air-to-air interception with fixed wing aircraft as Israel and its allies did on the night of April 13. Ukraine’s large size compared to Israel makes it more difficult for Ukraine to emulate the density of air defense coverage that Israel enjoys, especially amid continued delays in US security assistance.

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roleplay-evil · 11 days

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Umbrella Corps Starters

"Never imagined you'd actually ask to be sent in."

"You've gotten bored of this place, haven't you?"

"Unlike before, now you won't be able to run away."

"This is the hardest difficulty level in the simulator."

"I won't make the same mistakes."

"I've told [blank] about how well you're doing."

"One of the bigshots at the top has heard about you."

"That definitely complicates things."

"Nope. No questions. That's just asking for trouble."

"[name]'s an enemy to us both."

"I can't take it anymore. We have to do something about [blank]."

"You must be one of those types."

"I'm just here to finish what [name] started."

"So... things have changed. My newest order is 'kill [name] within an experiment'."

"You'll be joining [name] in eternal slumber here."

"Fucking hell! Why won't you die?! Are you human?!"

"Do try to stay alive... but I won't be holding my breath or anything."

"You're still alive. Of course you are."

"I would not recommend a direct confrontation with [blank]."

"Happy birthday! Here's a shotgun."

#umbrella corps #resident evil rp #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #rp ask meme #rp inbox meme #rp meme #rp starters #sentence starter meme #sentence starters #starters

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justforbooks · 4 months

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The American photographer Elliott Erwitt, who has died aged 95, was renowned for his largely unposed images of famous people. Among the political figures he caught on film were Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, laughing and waving a cigar in Havana (1964); Jacqueline Kennedy swathed in a black veil at her husband’s funeral in 1963; and Richard Nixon, pointing and jabbing his finger at Nikita Khrushchev’s chest in 1959.

Cultural figures included Marilyn Monroe showing a leg while filming The Seven Year Itch in 1954; Jack Kerouac, unusually meditative, wearing a tie, in 1953; and Dustin Hoffman, with whom Erwitt made a short film, The Many Faces of Dustin Hoffman (1968). Animals were his obsession, and he devoted several books to pictures of dogs, with titles such as Woof (2005) and DogDogs (1998), as well as another short film, I Bark at Dogs (2011).

He spent nearly 80 years behind a camera (for preference a Leica 35mm or a Rolleiflex medium format), selecting subjects from around the world, and working primarily in black-and-white, though he could use colour to make a point.

According to Erwitt, who disliked over-theoretical analysis: “Colour is descriptive. Black-and-white is interpretative.” He defined photography as “an art of observation” or “a biography of a moment”. He suggested that artistry lies in “finding something interesting in an ordinary place … I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.”

In his view everything has photographic potential. If you care to look, he wrote, “you can find pictures anywhere. It’s simply a matter of noticing things and organising them. You just have to care about what’s around you and have a concern with humanity and the human comedy.”

He cared a great deal, politically and personally. Erwitt was furious rather than flattered that the Republicans used his Nixon/Khrushchev image (without his permission) for their 1960 presidential campaign, and sent a $500 invoice, which was paid. It can be viewed as Nixon bullishly asserting the US against the USSR, and represented what Erwitt most abhorred in US politics.

He was born Elio Ervitz in Paris, the son of Orthodox Jewish parents, Eugenia and Boris, who had fled Russia following the 1917 Revolution. His forenames were his father’s choice since “he had once attended the University of Rome … and liked it”, and he later anglicised his name. The family moved to Milan, until the rise of fascism prompted their return to Paris in 1938.

Although Erwitt’s parents had separated, a year later all three left together for New York, then Los Angeles. Erwitt completed his schooling there in 1947, and a year later he returned to New York to embark on film studies at the New School. He then joined the US army Signal Corps and, while serving in Europe (1951-53), his fluency in four languages assisted him in compiling his portfolio.

He gained further experience working as a film cameraman in France; a staffer for the Standard Oil Company and Pittsburgh Photo Library; and then – increasingly – as a contributor to a variety of new picture magazines including Look, Life and Holiday, which provided his entry into the prestigious Magnum Photo Agency, established in Paris and New York in 1947.

Robert Capa, one of Magnum’s four founder members, recruited Erwitt, and a fellow founder, Henri Cartier-Bresson, championed him, describing him as “working on a chain-gang of commercial campaigns and still offering a bouquet of stolen photos with a flavour and smile from his inner self”. Praise indeed, which Erwitt later returned in a homage to Cartier-Bresson’s Behind the Gare Saint-Lazare (1932) with Umbrella Jump in Paris (1989), which captures the balletic leap of a man over a puddle beneath the Eiffel Tower during a rainstorm.

Alongside his sense of empathy, Erwitt maintained his sense of humour. Humans’ capacity for projecting their attitudes – and fashion fads – on to their pets was a reliable subject. One image, New York City, 1974 (Dog Legs), taken at knee level, shows a diminutive pooch in a fancy knitted beret, next to a pair of a women’s fashionable, shiny boots, with another pair of taller legs, clearly canine, completing the lineup. It was a perfect example of stylistic crossover: what appears to be a found image was in fact a shoe advert.

In another image from the same year, a disgruntled-looking bulldog squats on a brownstone doorstep, next to a much larger bulldog squatting on the lap of a human, obliterating any view of his master’s face. Erwitt not only loved dogs, but enjoyed seeing the world from a dog’s eye level.

He was not afraid of humour even in more ghoulish surroundings. In 1955, he shot the naturally preserved naked Mexican mummies lining the museum walls at Guanajuato. Their desiccated skins, slack jaws and awkwardly positioned limbs flank a prettily dressed young couple. The blond lad, in an American-style checked shirt, is pointing, in spirited discussion with his girlfriend. They appear as incongruous as their silent observers.

The incongruous and the absurd became hallmarks of Erwitt’s work, as did political events. In one sequence both came together, during Nelson Rockefeller’s campaigning for the Republicans in 1962. Once more taking a mutt’s eye view of humans, the first shot shows one apparently observing intently; in the next he has turned to sniff the ground; and in the third he raises a back leg. “Fair comment,” a viewer might say. Erwitt’s conclusion was, after all, that: “The whole point of taking pictures is so that you don’t have to explain things with words.”

His work appeared all over the world, including several shows at the International Center of Photography in New York, Elliott Erwitt: a one-man exhibition at the Barbican in London in 1989; and a retrospective at the Musée Maillol, Paris, earlier this year.

Erwitt married and was divorced from four wives: Lucienne Van Kan, from 1953 to 1960; Diana Dann, from 1967 to 1974; Susan Ringo, from 1977 to 1984; and Pia Frankenberg, from 1998 to 2012. He is survived by two daughters, Ellen and Jennifer, and two sons, Misha and David, from his first marriage; two daughters, Sasha and Amelia, from his third marriage; 10 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

🔔Elliott Erwitt, photographer, born 26 July 1928; died 29 November 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #elliott erwitt #in memoriam

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roguetelepaths · 3 months

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sparrow roguetelepaths — ey/em or they/them

used to be enbygesserit, follows from helplessnessxblues

old enough to remember when neopets breakfast cereal was a thing (21+ adult)

aroace to a terrifying degree. not the cool kind that writes smut and passes out water bottles at the orgy, either. sorry

no gender we die like [tv static]

psychospiritually nonhuman, but I don't talk about it here — DM me if you want to know where I do

vaguely anarchist & emphatically against all forms of punishment as foundations for interpersonal relationships

psychiatric survivor and ex-patient. madpunk, psychpunk, neurodivergent in the original radical anti-pathologization meaning of the term. the social model isn't ableist you guys are just willfully misinterpreting it

on team "believe others about their subjective experiences". yes, this includes that subjective experience you're about to send me anon hate telling me is absolutely just kids roleplaying for attention.

my stance on proship/anti discourse can be summed up as "fiction may not literally be reality but it also can't be separated from the context of reality and it's good to foster an environment where that context can be openly talked about" and "freedom of fiction doesn't really exist without freedom of response" and "dislike and disgust are not indicators of morality but they also shouldn't be ignored or repressed, especially since they can teach you useful things about yourself" and "criticize ideas and works, not people" — some people call this neutralship but I've been known to describe myself as a pro-disliker or a pro-critic.

I don't tag unreality. if you need a blanket unreality tag this blog will probably be a bit of a minefield for you. a lot of things that are very real to me, including personal spiritual experiences, have been coercively defined as unreality for me without my consent, and I have a deeply negative association with the term. I will, however, do my best to tag specific things under the unreality umbrella (the goncharov meme, for example, which I tagged as #gonchposting at its height) with their own tags upon request.

fandoms you can expect to see (I care about themes and analysis over shipping, and when I do ship, it's always an extension of the themes I want to explore, so be prepared for me to be a pretentious piece of shit about all of these):

DS9 (especially the Dominion)

Babylon 5 (mostly telepaths but not exclusively. NOT a psi corps apologist in any way, just a season 5 telepath commune arc liker, which is almost as bad to some)

Team StarKid/Hatchetfield

Dune

Severance

The Hunger Games & The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

Percy Jackson/Riordanverse

non-media interests (may or may not post about these, honestly, it's anyone's guess, but feel free to tag me in these):

fucked up unethical social experiments, the more fucked up and pseudoscientific the better

relationship anarchy

aroace shit

community building

apartment solarpunk

the history/culture of Scouting and related youth organizations

#pinned

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ignitingthesky · 1 year

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Valentine's Day Bonus

Long text post + accompanying art.

Alternative ending to the umbrella comic.

The sky darkens with rain but the streets are bright. Today, shop fronts like the one behind you are the same everywhere — pink or red, in hearts or lungs, and light that glows warm through the glitter.

Even though you bought the sunflower umbrella just this morning, drawn to it by a feeling beyond explanation... You think about the heart patterned umbrella you found just now, waiting for you in the empty trash can. You look around you and experience something like déjà vu. What is it? What's with the hearts? What's different about today?

Kim is looking out into the rain from where you both stand beneath the shelter. No, he's looking at you now. Did you say something?

-> "You didn't happen to bring an umbrella, did you?"

"I don't know, did I?"

You see something like a twitch in the corner of his mouth. He didn't. He doesn't. He's walked in the rain with you so many times, in that thin, stylish jacket of his. He doesn't bring umbrellas, not in any weather. If he does, you wouldn't be bringing any.

"Give me a sec..."

"...Take your time."

You consider your choices.

-> Offer to share the umbrella covered in hearts.

"...No," you hear after a pause. Though you can hear the hesitation in his voice, it is a no that brokers no compromise.

That familiar, sinking feeling is back again. Something about today... What's today? Why today?

Encyclopedia [Trivial: Success] Valentine's Day is a holiday celebrated on the 14th of February each year. A Dolorian celebration of martyrdom in origin, the festival has long since evolved in the secular world into a celebration of love, romance and passion. Though many celebrate Valentine's Day platonically, your offer to share a heart patterned umbrella could be read by Kim and the public gaze as undisguisably romantic.

You pull the umbrella back to yourself and sink a little to the ground.

Authority [Medium: Success] He is still in uniform. Look at how he stands: spine straightened, feet apart, hands behind his back. This is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. These are his defenses against the world.

Esprit de Corps [Challenging: Success] To walk down the streets of Jamrock sharing a heart patterned umbrella with you on Valentine's day would make him vulnerable. The world is safer for the Lieutenant than it would ever be for Kim, or for Kim and Harry. You're asking much more of him than you realise.

Empathy [Easy: Failure] Why would he walk with you? Why would he ever follow you into the rain? You should've given him another umbrella. He hates you now. Valentine's Day was never for you. It's never been for someone like you. It's a consumeristic holiday for the middle class.

[Damaged Morale -1]

True love isn't possible after all.

"Detective. Detective— Harry, can you hear me?"

Your heart patterned heartbreak umbrella, cold metal resting against your neck, pink nylon covering your face, is lifted from where it slumps. Kim is pulling at it. You keep it lifted to look at Kim.

"...Come on. I know you have other umbrellas," he says. You can't make out the tone of his voice but he seems almost frustrated.

Empathy [Medium: Success] No, he's embarrassed. He's embarrassed to admit that he'd known about your other umbrellas from the start. Don't point this out.

Suggestion [Medium: Success] Trust me on this one — choose the smallest umbrella.

-> "I have Froggy."

You close the heartbreak umbrella and retrieve the frog umbrella, opening it up to barely cover one of you. It's in the brightest, cheapest plastic green.

"One frog, two frogs... are they all 'Froggy'? No, don't answer that— Froggy's fine. Let's move." Out into the rain, under the tiniest, worst umbrella for sharing, he doesn't say.

You turn your gaze to the shifting colours of light on his orange jacket.

"Kim... do you still like green?"

Congratulations if you've reached the end! I've never written anything nice about Valentine's Day but this can be a little break from cynicism, okay? Happy Valentine's to you 🫰💕

#disco elysium #harrykim #harry dubois #kim kitsuragi #de fanart #harrier du bois #disco elysium fanart #oh i guess i forgot to sleep while drawing this #ignitedart

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gripefroot · 11 months

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Crooked Ways [3/22]

Guilt swelled up so harsh and hot in his throat that he didn’t simply lay her on the floor, which was far nicer than he would have done for anyone else. Instead he briskly patted her colorless cheeks, repeating her name over and over. Then he called her unkind things, hoping that she was faking to punish him and that her temper would rouse her. But she remained limp and Vegeta cursed every Earth deity he could think of.

What was the human procedure for injuries? The extent of his experience were the senzu beans Kakarot and his friends used during battle. Bulma was no fighter, and he doubted she had any in the compound.

He cursed again, tucking an arm beneath her knees to lift her, keeping an eye on the broken bone cradled between their bodies.

Where was Dr. Briefs? Where was Panchy?

Vegeta kicked off through the training pod door the moment it had opened enough to get himself and Bulma through. Into the sky, squinting at the over-bright yellow sun - why did Earth have to have such a stupidly bright sun? - as he flung out his senses to find the thin, wavering energies of…

There.

Dr. Briefs and Panchy were lounging on a balcony. Dr. Briefs with a cigarette between his lips while he fussed with a screwdriver and some Earth technology, Panchy reclined in chair with sunglasses and one of those drinks with an umbrella. She saw him first as he hurtled downwards, lifting a hand to wave and screech out in her piercingly familiar voice,

“Hello, Vegeta!”

He landed with a heavy thud, Bulma stirring in his arms at the jolt.

“Your daughter had a fall,” he bit out.

“Oh, dear!” Panchy’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Dr. Briefs peered over his glasses, frowning. “Well, lay her down inside then. That’s a good boy. Yes, we’ll call a doctor right away…”

Her prattling followed him inside. Through the screen doors, into one of the family’s many living spaces. Blinking for his eyes to adjust back to dimness, he strode towards one of the couches. But when he got there, knees hitting the frame, he suddenly balked.

They don’t care! The woman’s father didn’t even move. And her mother is telling me a story about her falling off a bike as a child. Am I supposed to leave her in their care?

“So sweet of you to bring her here, Vegeta!” Panchy said, her scarlet fingernails digging into his arm with a smile. In response he only held Bulma tighter.

“Her wrist is broken,” Vegeta said blandly.

“Sure, sure! Not a problem. Run along now, we’ll take care of her.”

He bristled before he could stop himself. Run along? Run along? If he still had his tail it would be whipping back and forth, warning the Earth woman of his darkening mood. Any Saiyan would fear him in that state - but she wasn’t a Saiyan. None of them were. And so Panchy merely gave a giggle as she patted his arm, unaware of the currents running through him.

“You can stay by her side, of course. I know how much you care about our little girl.”

Care?

Vegeta dropped Bulma on the couch, her body bouncing once before flopping out to lay still.

“Goodbye,” he said to Panchy, and stalked out of the room with a slam of the door.

How dare she? How dare she suggest such a thing? He didn’t care about Bulma. He didn’t care whether she lived or died. What did it matter to him? Even if it was his fault. Even if he had to find a new place to train. Even if…

The hallways of Capsule Corp. were dark with the approaching evening, purple-streaked and endless. Not that Vegeta needed the light. He was fine without it. Just like he was fine without Bulma, fine without her hospitality and her robots and her wry “Ever heard of salt?” and how her lips quirked just the right way when she was flirting.

Blast it! Had she even pre-programmed the robots so that they’d work now? Or would he have to wait until she could set them up?

She wasn’t even conscious and she still found ways to drive him mad.

If anything else, the robots were a reason to bite back the hope that she wouldn’t die after all.

She didn’t die. Vegeta knew it the moment he heard her screaming his name.

And not even in a good way.

Hissing out in frustration, he lowered the hundred-pound weights to the ground as the hairs on the back of his neck rose at Bulma’s shouting. If his body hadn’t suddenly tensed tighter than a fist, he’d ignore her. She’d stop eventually. But he couldn’t focus on his training like this.

It had been over a day since the incident. A doctor had been called (so he’d been told by a chatty Panchy at dinner the night before) and Bulma had been put to bed to rest.

Vegeta grabbed a towel on his way out of the gym inside Capsule Corp (he wasn’t interested in the training pod until Bulma deemed the bots ready), wiping the sweat from his face with a few rough motions. Leaving it to hang over his shoulder, he didn’t knock before barging into Bulma’s room.

“What?” he roared, loud enough to cut off her shouts. She was sitting up in her bed, arms crossed with one wrist in a splint with the sun from the windows blazing behind her head to make her scowl appear even darker and more dangerous.

“You!” Bulma snapped back after a huge breath, likely to continue her screeching. “This is your fault!”

“Did you wake up just to tell me that?”

“I didn’t get a chance before I passed out earlier!”

“Go back to sleep then! I don’t want to hear it!” Truly, he didn’t. He didn’t need a reminder that she was right and he was wrong: it was his fault that her wrist was broken. If he hadn’t dropped her on purpose…

Well! If she hadn’t jumped on top of him in the first place!

“I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway,” Vegeta continued, not giving her a chance to continue railing at him. Her eyes sparked dangerously, but he’d never been afraid of danger. “You’ll be fine in a few days.”

Bulma blinked. “A few days? Believe it or not, Mr. Super Alien, but humans take longer to heal than you! Try a few months, if I don’t need surgery, that is!”

“Months?” he blinked back. “Surgery?”

“Now you feel guilty, don’t you?” A smile appeared on her face, tilted with sleek satisfaction. “Good. I need your help taking me to my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

Without thinking, Vegeta had taken a few steps into Bulma’s bedroom. Easier to shout back at her that way. Or so he told himself, fists planted on his hips. “No,” he stated. “Use one of your car things.”

Fury lifted her chest again, nose wrinkled. “I can’t drive one-handed, you idiot!”

“I can’t drive either, in case you forgot,” Vegeta pointed out. “Have someone else drive you! This place is swarming with humans!”

“The traffic is insane! It’ll take hours!”

“How is that my problem?” He kept his feet squared apart. The stance reserved for enemies across a battlefield. Not that this blue-haired woman could even consider being worthy of his enemy. Nonetheless, he kept the pose.

“Because,” Bulma enunciated through gritted teeth, “it’s your fault I’m injured in the first place.”

“I didn’t ask you to jump.” Vegeta leaned over her to make his point, only too-aware of the way her chin lifted to keep glaring right into his eyes. “You made a stupid choice, now live with it.”

“Remember when you blew up the training pod?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“And who helped you back to health then?”

“I didn’t ask you to - ”

“It doesn’t hurt to be a decent person, you know.” With a sniff Bulma tilted her head away from him. “But fine. Keep acting like a villain. Keep making everyone hate you. Don’t be surprised when you’re left all alone at the end of the day, though, with no one watching your back.”

Vegeta pondered the consequences of breaking her other wrist. He could do it with two fingers; curl them around her fragile bones and squeeze. Feel each crack through her delicate skin.

Perhaps she sensed some of the danger rippling off of him, because in the ensuing silence he heard the faint beat of her heart stutter and surge, picking up its pace. Despite that, she didn’t look his way, pretending great interest in a bookshelf.

She’d hit a good target, even if she’d been swinging wildly with her insults. Vegeta could only give a spat “Bah!” of pretend indifference before turning on his heel to stomp out of the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him, but he considered it, and he didn’t close it gently. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere on the cusp of good and evil that he wasn’t ready to traverse much. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the prickling guilt that wouldn’t leave him, and he didn’t like that all he could see was the disgusted hurt in Bulma’s posture when he’d refused to help.

Menace. If she didn’t treat me like chattel I might have agreed.

It was all he could think to bandage that sliver of his pride that she was right: it was his fault. Was he so far removed from much-forgotten princely duties that he’d rather injure someone more helpless than himself than take the extra seconds to see them safe?

And it was pride, too, that drew him back into the gym to continue his training. Pride that he couldn’t apologize. Couldn’t admit he was wrong.

Vegeta was finding that pride cooled and wavered when he had no one to kill.

The television played one of the asinine shows that Bulma liked while he made sandwiches. Panchy’s hired chef had left a feast of a meal before leaving for the evening, but Vegeta had cleared those plates within minutes, filling the empty space in his gut. But not all the way.

He was spreading mustard on a slice of bread when he realized no one was in the living room to watch the television.

Of course he knew that. Vegeta slapped a few slices of cheese atop the mustard. He hadn’t sensed anyone there. He’d just been too busy to think about it. That finished sandwich went on a plate next to four others. He reached into the plastic bag for two more slices of bread.

“Oh! I thought Bulma was in here.”

Dr. Briefs, thank goodness. Not Panchy.

“She’s not here,” Vegeta said without looking over at the old scientist in the doorway, feline in hand.

“I would have thought she’d be back from her appointment by now,” Dr. Briefs said.

She’s likely still pouting, Vegeta thought to himself unkindly. “I thought she had no way to get there,” he said aloud.

“She walked to the clinic,” her father said in his usual absent tone. “I saw her crossing the lawn myself. Oh, well. She probably just took the long way home.”

Vegeta’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the darkened windows where city lights made stars in the velvet sky. Long way home? From where, another continent? No way should it take her this long to -

“How long has she been gone?” he asked, but he was alone. Exhaling in frustration, he dropped the knife on the counter, knowing he was about to do something he desperately didn’t want to.

Or that he thought he didn’t want to.

The slide of the balcony door made a humming screech in the night. Three steps took him to the railing, knuckles gripping the bars while he stared out at the city. So many humans, their energy signatures negligible but enough to wriggle faintly in his ears. Enough to cover Bulma’s, and enough, in turn, to frustrate him into a growl. He’d have better luck going into the city.

He’d never forgive her for this.

Anger was a comfortable, familiar companion, and he kept it burning bright and hot as he soared noiselessly above and around buildings, avoiding the blush of streetlights or bright windows. Keeping to the shadows was a survival skill he’d had longer than he could remember, and the last thing he wanted was to be spotted. Every so often he’d pass a busy intersection and hear the drifting noises of chatter or laughter, prickling at his skin as a reminder of petty life. Wind trickled past his face, carrying an untold number of scents and rifling his hair, and -

There.

Vegeta skittered to a stop mid-air, whipping his head around with a resurgence of anger. He pelted through a blackened alley, following the low-pulse of energy down one street, then another, and finally to land heavily on the sidewalk twenty feet or so from the woman he was searching for.

Bulma hadn’t been keeping to the shadows. In fact, she bathed in the flickering light of a lamppost, hunched on a metal bench and not looking his way even once, though his landing hadn’t been quiet. His fists clenched at his side. For some reason, he smelled salt.

“Here to gloat?”

Her words carried to him with a breeze, a slash of weary snideness.

“No,” Vegeta said. “I’m here to take you home.”

That was when she turned. Pale face framed by her gauche hair, bright eyes glossy and rimmed with red. His own anger was reflected back to him, but smudged and distant, as if looking through a foggy window.

“Why would you do that?” Bulma asked.

“Because,” he spluttered, visions of her effusive gratitude disappearing in a snap. “Because your father is worried about you!”

A lie.

“Oh, please, I know you’re lying,” she said, waving her good hand in his direction. “Go away, Vegeta. The next bus will be here in a half-hour. I’ll get home eventually.”

“You’re going home now.”

Vegeta made it to her side in a handful of strides, boots tapping on the sidewalk. Each step of the way her eyes stayed on him, narrowing with the closing distance until he loomed above her and she was full-on glaring. For someone who had demanded he take her to the doctor, this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

It was that moment that he realized the salt he smelled was her human tears.

“You have better things to do than look after me,” Bulma said with a spark of her usual scalding temper.

“Yes,” Vegeta agreed. “But I’m taking you home now. Will you stand or will I make you stand?”

She sniffed. The glossiness in her eyes grew until they were twin jewels staring at him, belligerent and beautiful.

It’s because they’re blue, Vegeta dismissed his own admiration, crossing his arms to disguise any outward sign of vulnerability. I like blue. That’s all.

“Why are you crying?” he snapped aloud.

“Can’t a girl cry without being yelled at?” Bulma snapped back. “I deserve to cry! My wrist is broken and all my friends have abandoned me. No one cares about me! I can cry all day and - ”

He had no time for this. With a short huff of impatience, Vegeta leaned over to snatch Bulma off of the metal bench, one arm beneath her knees and the other holding her securely around the waist. He was already ten feet in the air before she started screaming.

“A little warning next time!”

The screech went into his ear and down his spine like a million needlepoints in his bones. Vegeta snarled at the sky. If he had one wish it would be that Bulma didn’t have the tonal qualities of a harpy from hell. It would be worth gathering up the Dragon Balls.

At least that was her only protest. Buildings disappeared below them, the waning moon growing with their ascent. The air was colder up here. He shivered at the sudden warmth around his neck, the slight weight on his shoulder.

Bulma had put her head on his shoulder. And her arm around his neck.

How dare -

Thick lashes spread over her cheeks, tiny wrinkles of worry softening over her face. He didn’t realize he was staring until a bird squawked near them, making him jolt to the side. He’d been flying the wrong direction. Quickly he corrected his course, the silver moonlight burning his left side as he made out the domed shapes of Capsule Corp in the distance.

It was the least he could do, Vegeta decided. To let her cling to him, if she really wanted. It didn’t mean anything. She was probably just scared of heights and thought that if something happened to him, her feeble strength might save her. If it had anything to do with him, it was likely distrust that he’d get her home in one piece.

“Next time,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice - even her limited hearing should understand him within a few inches of each other. “I’ll take you. It’ll get you and your father off my back so I can focus on my training.”

Bulma didn’t respond. Vegeta glanced.

The harpy had fallen asleep.

Tch. She just wants to be carried to bed. Spoiled wretch. His teeth gnashed together, muting the growl forming in his throat. Typical Bulma behavior. Whine and pout and screech to get her way. It was one of the things he disliked about her the most. She could act like a true princess sometimes, pampered and cosseted and crossing the line into pathetic. Like getting him to fly her home from the doctor. She’d managed to get his help in the end, manipulating him right where she profited the most.

The innocence in her dozing face almost put him over the edge. That she could pretend…

She stirred in his arms, brows drawing together before relaxing, her cheek squished against his indigo training uniform before her lips parted, puffing out a soft, sweet breath. He descended slowly to the balcony outside her bedroom, landing so carefully that he didn’t make a single noise.

Ridiculous, he thought savagely. Absolutely ridiculous.

Vegeta carried her to bed.

#vegebul #vegeta x bulma #DBZ Fanfiction

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teecupangel · 1 year

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I've been seeing Wesker fanart on my dash lately (Resident Evil) and, I don't have any direction I intend for this to go but, what if Wesker was Clay's older cousin? Who has always come off a little weird and creepy to Clay, but feeds into his need for *someone* to acknowledge how smart and capable he is. And then one day Wesker goes to check on the boy--bright, worthless father, keep an eye on for future potential--and he's just, vanished. Eye witnesses say an older gentleman began visiting him at his work site, and then he just disappeared, never to be seen again.

Well. Wesker can't very well let that stand, now can he.

It is time for me to dust off my knowledge of Resident Evil lore!

So…

The thing about Wesker is that he’s actually part of a project to genetically modify children into becoming ‘superhumans’, the next step to human evolution. Children were adopted (more or less) and given the surname Wesker and then they were experimented on.

Albert Wesker is simply one of the ‘successful’ ones.

And, and, and…

If we take in consideration that Albert Wesker’s birthdate is around 1960s, Clay being born in 1982 means, for this to work, Wesker isn’t Clay’s older cousin.

He’s Clay’s uncle.

And there’s really no information about Wesker’s life before he became a ‘Wesker’ so we can play around with it.

Let’s say he was Clay’s father’s younger brother, the brighter of the two, the apple of their parents’ eyes. He was taken from his family because he showed potential, told the parents that they would take care of him, make him live up to his potential, the whole propaganda.

So Clay’s father had to live in his younger brother’s shadow the entire time. Perhaps his family fell apart after Wesker’s ‘adoption’, maybe the cycle of abuse started when Clay’s father couldn’t be the child Wesker had been. It does not excuse what his father did to him. It does not excuse the pain that Clay had gone thru.

But it’s what drove Wesker to check up on him.

Call it lingering sentiment.

Call it a weakness.

Call it the possibility of another ‘child’ that Wesker wanted to check before he begins the final stage of Uroboros.

Either way, he introduces himself as Albert Kaczmarek and they start to talk. Clay thinks he wants to build bridges with his father but Albert had long thought of his older brother as a lost cause.

But Clay?

Clay had potential.

And Wesker always liked to have all the cards.

So when Clay disappeared?

Well…

The other projects Wesker had in hand could be pushed for now until he finds his dear… nephew.

Unorganized Notes:

RE and AC lore needs to be played around. The most ‘pressing one’ would be the timeline of events as Uroboros is meant to be finished in 2009 and Clay was approached by Bill in 2010. That’s easy to do. Just make Uroboros have a few more setbacks and delays because Wesker got ‘distracted’.

As usual, all the viruses are derived from failed Isu experiments.

Considering ‘superhuman’ is more or less connected to the Isus in AC lore, this means Spencer was trying to recreate Isus using children.

This also means that Wesker has higher than normal Isu genes (those glowing eyes? Yeah, definitely him having some form of Eagle Vision)

It would be so, so easy to make Umbrella = Abstergo but to change things up, let’s make Umbrella and Abstergo rivals, the two big pharmaceutical companies (it really says a lot about humanity that pharmaceutical companies are easy targets of “yeah, those guys! Definitely evil corps!”)

Umbrella knows about the Templars and the Assassins but they’re in the whole “I stay in my lane, you stay out of mine”.

This does mean that the world of AC would know about bioweapons and all of Umbrella’s dirty secrets but that’s fine. I mean, Wesker is more or less doing shit on his own anyway.

Ngl, I like the idea of Clay meeting Jake just for the sheer exhaustion and sass Clay would do as he becomes Jake’s minder I mean cousin.

Oh. This means Wesker is Ezio’s descendant………

#ngl #considering how shitty clay’s life would be #it’s possible he’d willingly help wesker #until he realizes just how fucked up wesker’s plan is #ask and answer #i would just like to say #dc douglas… you will always be my albert wesker #and i will always remember your global saturation #assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #fic idea: resident evil #fic idea: crossover #resident evil #albert wesker #clay kaczmarek

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