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sapphires-and-silver-linings · 1 month

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The Betrayer | Chapter Ten: The Swing of Things

You fucked up. Badly.

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

Tags: Fluff, Violence, Injury, Death Mention

Notes: Woof. It has been over a year since I last updated this fic, and I am SO sorry. In that time, a lot has happened in my life, including graduating from college with a bachelor's degree and a slew of health (both mental and physical) issues that are still ongoing. I can't promise that my updating will be consistent or quick in any capacity, but I hope this quells you guys' fears that I have "given up" on this fic lol. My sincere hope is that I will someday finish it, even if it takes many many years. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this addition! I suppose you can consider it somewhat of a "filler" chapter, but I genuinely believe even the more fun chapters still have a degree of important plot (even if it doesn't appear that way at first, as I love adding "blink and you miss it" moments that are either call backs, foreshadowing, or easter eggs lol). Please let me know what you think and if you have any theories! I love reading those! Have a good one, y'all!

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Day 33; Haddonfield

You leaned against the shed wall as you desperately tried to regain your breath, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You were in the middle of a trial in Haddonfield with Laurie, Mikaela, and Jeff, three out of the five generators needed to power the exit gates finished, when a looming figure had appeared behind you as your group scoured for the next one.

He would have gotten you too, if Laurie hadn’t turned just in time to see him lunging for you, his kitchen knife barely missing your shoulder as she pointed behind you and screamed, making you duck.

The four of you scattered after that, losing each other as the Entity’s chosen killer for the evening seemed to pop in and out of existence due to his silent steps, the moonlight and the glow from the completed gens making his deathly pale mask somehow more haunting. It was eerie that someone so large could sneak up on you like that.

You were reminded of what your father once warned you about mountain lions:

“You won’t know they’re hunting you until they're ready to pounce.”

The thought made you shiver.

The other survivors called him “The Shape”. A name so… vague… shouldn’t have instilled so much terror in you. And yet.

But Laurie told you his real name just a couple weeks prior as the two of you were hanging your laundry to dry.

You had been chatting idly about your pasts, and you had foolishly asked her if there was a killer in the realm that was brought with her.

“Yes,” she replied quietly. You waited for her to continue, but it was silent for several moments. You looked over at her after clipping your bed sheets to the clothesline and could see her staring at the ground, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me,” you assured her.

She jumped when you gently placed your hand on her shoulder and she finally turned to you. “Michael. Michael Myers.”

You looked at her questioningly, not recalling that name being mentioned before.

She continued, “He’s the one they call ‘The Shape’. He…” There was another pause as she swallowed, hard. “He killed my friends and very nearly killed me. Ruined my life in a single night, can you believe that? Halloween, of all days. I’ll never be able to enjoy that holiday again without looking over my shoulder. If I ever get back home to experience it, that is.”

All of the killers in the realm gave you a chill when you were told about them, but something about this silent stalker scared you more than most. More than Wesker. Hell, even more than Ghost Face.

You had been fortunate in the month since first arriving in the realm that you hadn’t faced the Shape. You supposed luck always runs out eventually. Ironic, considering your nickname.

Though facing off against any killer could hardly be counted as fortune. In the five trials you had endured since your very first, you had only survived two. And barely, at that.

You couldn’t stop yourself from recalling those nights, the memories of your deaths in particular causing bile to rise up in your throat.

The Hillbilly and his chainsaw ripped you clean in half.

The Pig’s contraption locked onto your head had split your skull apart.

The Doctor and his electric baton shocked you until you bit off your own tongue and choked on it.

But you had still survived twice. You had to remind yourself of that.

You had been beaten and hooked by the Wraith, the agony of the strange weapon (made of human bones, it seemed, though it was hard to tell in the dark) being whipped across your face and the way the hook tore through the meat of your shoulder made you feel an ache just at the thought, but you had gotten out alive.

Your run-in with the Nurse had been much more successful. She still got a hit in on you, but you managed to get out of that trial with just a nasty gash across your chest. It very nearly got infected when you returned to camp, but Rebecca’s careful hand (and Chris’s watchful gaze) dealt with that promptly.

You were getting better with every trial, and that gave you hope.

You had always been a quick study, after all.

You took a deep, calming breath and slid your spine across the chipping paint of the shed, peeking your head around to see if the coast was clear. You weren’t sure where everyone else went, but considering no screams had been heard echoing across the large (yet still somehow claustrophobic) “arena”, you took that as a good sign.

There was no indication of the massive killer, so you made your way slowly and quietly to the street, praying desperately that he wouldn’t find you again.

You skimmed your vision over the area as you ducked behind the car in front of you, the flashing lights of the police cruiser nearby hurting your eyes.

It was strange, you felt, how this seemingly normal looking neighborhood could turn into such a breeding ground for terror. It was almost nostalgic how typically suburban it appeared, and that only made it worse.

You grew up in a place just like it, after all.

There’s one, you thought to yourself as you spotted a generator nestled beside a roadblock at the end of the street. It was out in the open, but it would be easier to spot the killer with one of the exit gates at your back. He’d be less likely to creep up behind you, at least.

You made a beeline for it, surveying your surroundings to avoid being caught unawares, before skidding to a halt beside it.

You nearly leapt out of your skin when Jeff popped his head up from the other end, probably checking to make sure you weren’t the killer coming to collect.

“Hey,” came his whispered greeting as you knelt beside him, his large hands carefully but expertly going through the motions of repair.

“Hey there,” you replied breathlessly. You offered him a smile, but the expression was tight. You got straight to work.

“Have you seen the others?” he questioned after a few moments.

You shook your head. “Not since we got separated.”

He let out a quiet exhale of barely concealed distress but remained quiet as the gen got closer and closer to completion.

You liked Jeff. He was a gentle giant, and a reserved one at that. You were first acquainted when the two of you were partnered in the chore rotation, boiling the water brought in from a group of other survivors and lugging it to the barn for the very long-winded filtration process.

He had seemed like a tough guy between his large stature and full beard, but once you started chatting, he was quick to open up about his love of rock music and artistic abilities. You bonded almost immediately over Iron Maiden and Metallica and jokingly asked him to “paint me like one of your French girls”, cackling at the blush that bloomed in his cheeks.

He had shown you his sketchbook shortly after, and you were in awe of his talent, never having been much of an artist yourself. You thought of Kitty and how you and your family used to say she would grow up to be the next Da Vinci with all of her little doodles scattered around the house. You supposed now you’d never know. It made your heart ache.

The gen came to life under your touch, the noise of it fully starting up jarring you from your thoughts.

Jeff motioned for you to follow him, the two of you expeditious in leaving the area to avoid being discovered by the Shape.

You made your way down the street, opting to slink behind the row of houses instead of remaining out in the open.

You came across Mikaela bent over what the others called a totem; a horrific mix of sticks, twine, and human skulls. A rumble echoed across the trial grounds as your surroundings lit up a soft blue.

So there was magic in the Entity’s realm.

You had laughed out loud when Mikaela had first explained it to you, thinking it was some kind of prank. The severe look she gave you made your eyes widen in shock. You shouldn’t have been surprised, considering everything else you had learned of this place, but the concept of magic seemed almost silly.

But then your fourth trial was with the young redhead, and you would have bled out if she had not utilized one of her “boons”, which miraculously helped to close the wound left by the hook. Not so silly anymore.

You had asked her after that particular event why she didn’t use her supernatural abilities to heal injuries in the camp, and she explained she couldn’t access her powers outside of trials despite all her efforts.

“Right, of course,” you had replied, bitterness seeping from your tone. “Typical Entity bullshit.”

“Laurie’s inside that house working on a gen,” the self-proclaimed witch informed you, pointing at the building in question as she stood up. You noticed the cut across her arm then, watching as the skin stitched itself back together within moments.

“I’ll go help her,” you said, pulling your attention from the mind-bending sight. “Why don’t you two find another one to work on in the meantime, in case he catches us before we finish.”

They nodded at your words and crept off to do just that, leaving you alone once more.

You made your way quietly into the house and up the stairs, finding Laurie with a wrench in her hands, hard at work. She turned to you and smiled tersely in greeting as you dropped into position beside her.

There wasn’t much left to do before the machine would be repaired, and you were confident it could be finished in no time.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Before you knew what was happening, a large hand grabbed you by the neck, the scream brewing in your throat wilting as you were yanked off the generator and thrown into the wall behind it.

The wind was knocked out of you and you were dazed by your skull thudding against the wood paneling of the room. You heard yelling—probably Laurie—as that same hand came back around your throat and lifted you off the ground.

You dangled helplessly, unable to breathe, and you were suddenly reminded of Wesker’s tendrils from weeks prior.

A surge of panic flooded through you as you stared at the white mask, the flickering light of the unfinished gen glinting off his knife.

You grabbed desperately at his wrist, knowing the Shape’s strength was far too great to loosen his grip, even with your jagged nails ripping into his skin.

He brandished the knife, the blade directed right at your midsection, and you braced for the sharp pain of it slicing through your flesh.

To your shock—and relief—the killer had released his hold on you and you slid to the ground, desperately trying to suck air into your lungs.

You were able to focus just enough to see Laurie hanging from his back, trying to strangle him with her arms wound tightly around his neck. Unfortunately, he grabbed her by the hair, ripping her off of him and throwing her onto the floor.

Looking for any way to fight off the killer before he could murder Laurie, you found a screwdriver on the ground, tossed out of her toolbox when it was kicked over in the tussle. You lunged for it, gripping it tightly and ramming with your full weight into the Shape’s form. He was built like a brick wall, but you managed to stab the screwdriver into the junction between his shoulder and neck, quickly yanking it out to watch him rear back, deep voice groaning in pain as a fountain of blood squirted from the wound.

A sick sort of satisfaction rushed through you to see him suffer, even a little bit. You didn’t like that you felt that way, but you brushed it off. He had done much, much worse. It was deserved.

You had just enough time to grab Laurie’s hand and pull her to her feet before he was after you, running out of the front door and into the street to get away from the psychopath hot on your heels.

“This way!” Laurie told you, pointing at the house straight ahead. “We can split up when we get there and vault the windows on either side!”

You nodded, releasing her hand as you dashed into the living room of the aforementioned building. She rushed to the back, leaping over the window to the right, and you immediately went through the left.

Fortunately for Laurie but unfortunately for you, Michael was laser-focused on reaching you first, probably to make you pay for your little stunt.

He was uncomfortably close as you continued to sprint away from him, desperate to lose him as you weaved in and out of buildings, diving over ledges and flinging pallets to slow him down.

It only seemed to make him angrier.

To your relief, you heard the telltale alarm of the exit gates being powered up, hoping that you and your teammates could manage to escape. You made the mistake of glancing back, the massive man’s knife poised to strike the moment he could get near enough.

You stumbled, your fear locking up your legs for only a moment, but it was enough of a delay for him to reach you.

A fence was right in front of you, and you knew you only had a second to act as his knife soared through the air, aimed right at your spine. You dove to the side of the fence, his blade embedding into the rotting wood, and you scrambled up and away as he used his brute strength to rip it right out.

It didn’t grant you much distance, but it was enough.

You barrelled back onto the street just in time to see the exit gate opening, and you made a break for it, the other three survivors spotting you and desperately motioning for you to join them.

As you neared, however, you saw the horror bloom on their faces, their eyes trained on what was behind you.

You knew exactly what that meant.

“GO!” you screamed, and they heeded your words, spinning and sprinting out of the gate and into the empty field beyond it.

I’m so close, you thought. Come on! COME ON!

Your legs burned and your lungs felt like they were full of fire, unable to get enough air to properly breathe, but you knew you couldn’t stop now.

You could feel him behind you—hear the grunt that slipped from under his mask as he made to grab you, his large fingers brushing against the back of your shirt.

And then, as his dirty, blunt nails dug into the fabric…

You burst out of the gate and into freedom.

You heard the roar of pure rage and looked behind you, the Shape pressing his hand to an invisible wall that kept him from pursuing you further, his knuckles going white as he gripped his knife with inhuman strength.

You didn’t stop running.

You ran until you reached the edge of the field, engulfed in a thick black fog.

You ran until you felt like your lungs would finally burst.

You ran until a soft light pierced through the cold, wet darkness surrounding you.

And only when the mist faded, giving way to the safety of the camp, did you finally stop.

You collapsed to the ground in front of the fire, gasping for air through crazed, triumphant laughs that you couldn’t prevent escaping your mouth.

“Lucky!” Chris shouted as he made it to your side, dropping next to you and grabbing your face to look you in the eyes.

He said nothing, but you knew what he was thinking.

“I survived,” you managed to get out through heaves and giggles. “I survived the fucking Shape.”

You heard a collection of cheers from all around you, Chris grinning as several survivors approached—including your teammates—and clapped you on the back or ruffled your hair.

When you finally caught your breath, Chris helped you to your feet.

You smiled as you faced the others.

“Hell yeah!” Carlos whooped. “Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

“Good job,” Leon congratulated.

“Yeah, girl, like holy shit!” Claire exclaimed from beside him.

Whether from the praise or the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you felt a dizzying sort of joy.

You really made it out alive. And this time, with only a handful of bruises to show for it.

“Come on, Lucky, sit down for a while. Get some rest,” Chris told you, urging you over to a nearby log.

There was a buzz in the camp, everyone excitedly chatting about the rare full-party survival of your group. It reminded you of your days in S.T.A.R.S., how you and your team would celebrate another mission well done.

You could almost see Joseph in the way Carlos ribbed Steve. Richard in the way Leon rubbed the back of his neck as he talked with Ada. Edward in Felix checking on Mikaela.

It made you feel both warm and melancholic.

Chris grounded you, as he always did, by wrapping his muscular arm around you, pulling you into him. He kissed your temple, speaking lowly so that only you could hear him, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

You felt a blush spread over your cheeks, glad your recent exercise already colored your face, whispering almost shyly in return, “Thank you.”

You sat together for a while after that, the survivors settling down. Yoichi and Haddie left to start dinner and Chris only got up when they had finished, telling you to stay where you sat so he could get you your food.

You used to argue when he did this, feeling embarrassed by the special treatment. He told you early on that he wanted you to feel special because, to him, you were. The notion was sweet and no one else seemed to really care, so you agreed to let him. He had done it every day now, unless he was the one serving the meals.

How very typical of him, always putting you first.

You watched him get into the line, smiling softly at your doting… whatever he was to you.

The two of you hadn’t put a name to it yet. You weren’t opposed to calling him your “boyfriend”, but it felt ridiculous with how little it conveyed just what he meant to you.

Besides, what you had was still fairly new and despite being physically intimate, you wanted to take this slow. You had all the time in the world, after all.

You could almost laugh thinking about the morning after the two of you first slept together. It started out nice and romantic waking up next to him, his strong arms holding you close as he kissed you slowly. But you had asked to keep your little tryst to yourselves for a while—to feel out what it was you had—and he agreed.

However, that was near instantly trampled the moment you left your room, Carlos clapping Chris on the back, Jill and Rebecca sharing knowing looks, Ada complaining to you about the noise, and Claire clocking the bruise on your neck as a hickey when she saw it.

Chris was sheepish and you were embarrassed, but he had thrown an arm around you, telling you that you might as well own it.

It was strange to have something like this out in the open after years of keeping your relationships under wraps.

You and Kevin thought it better to hide what you had for the sake of the job, only letting loose in front of friends and family. The man had never been the most outwardly affectionate anyway, preferring to show you his love behind closed doors.

And you and Wesker? Well, that was a whole other can of worms.

It was nice to be shown affection so blatantly in front of other people and that Chris didn’t care if they saw him kissing or holding you.

You were stiff at first, unused to it, but the ease with which he touched you and pulled you close eventually had you melting.

Of course, the more intimate moments were hidden from view, usually in your bedroom or his, though the occasional tug inside a closet or bathroom wasn’t uncommon.

Frankly, you were both insatiable, unable to keep your hands off of each other when you weren’t burdened by chores and the daily trials.

You two were happy—as much as you could be in this place—and you wanted to keep it that way.

Your thoughts were scattered when Laurie appeared before you, gently tapping your shoulder to gain your attention.

“Hey,” you greeted jovially.

“Hey,” she replied, voice sweet, “I just wanted to say thank you for saving me in the trial. I thought for sure I was done for. I’m sorry he went after you when we split up.”

“Don’t sweat it. You saved me first anyway, remember? I think we can call us even. Besides, it’s not your fault he picked me to terrorize.”

She smiled at you. “Still, I’m glad you were there and that you got out safe. You must be our lucky charm or something.”

You laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll take a win when I see one.”

Chris returned, holding out a plate to you, and Laurie simply squeezed your shoulder fondly before wandering to the back of the line. You saw Steve sidle up next to her, trying to look cool as he chatted her up.

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention to the man beside you, taking the meal with gratitude and a brief kiss on the lips. You wondered if you’d ever get used to that.

“What was that about?” he asked conversationally, digging a fork into his food.

“Oh, just talking about the trial. I saved her from the killer after she saved me.”

“How so?”

You explained to him what occurred, reminded of the way Michael’s blood spewed out of him like a fountain—the way you felt a sadistic glee that it was you that spilled it.

You kept that bit to yourself, but Chris saw the way your brows furrowed, because of course he did. He was a lot more observant now than he once was, especially concerning you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You took a breath in, unsure of how to answer, when Ace called out to the group, unknowingly rescuing you from a talk you weren’t ready to have. You both turned to face him, his arms full of various bottles of alcoholic drinks.

“Who wants to party?!”

Many survivors excitedly cheered in response, gathering around the table Ace placed the bottles and a stack of cups upon.

Carlos and Jill came up beside you, the former looking down between you and Chris. “How about it, you guys want a drink?”

You stood up, holding your empty plate in your hands as you replied, “You’re joking, right? After the trial I just had, I need one.”

Your small group chuckled, Chris standing as well and taking your used dish. “Pour me something, Lucky. I’ll go put these away.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek before walking off, and you caught the way Jill’s eyes shined and Carlos smirked at the action.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your gaze.

“Oh, nothing at all,” Jill replied, smiling wide.

“Just that you two are so darn cute,” Carlos added, pinching your cheek and cooing. “Young love, am I right?”

You smacked his hand away. “Whoa there, no one said anything about love.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, pulling away his hand as the three of you made it over to the table to fix your drinks. “Denial is a river in Egypt, you know.”

You scoffed at the stupid jest. “And you’re too young to be making dad jokes.”

“Hey, I might not be a dad,” he started before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “but the ladies still call me Papi. Isn’t that right, Jill?”

She elbowed him hard in the side, making him yip in response. “I think you should shut your mouth now.”

You laughed as he grumbled, taking two glasses and filling one with whiskey—as Chris would prefer—and the other with rum, which was more up your alley.

Chris returned and you handed him his drink with a smile, turning around just in time to see Claire reach for an empty cup. The man glared at his sister, voice stern as he said, “Absolutely not.”

“Seriously?” she questioned with a huff. “You know I drank in college, right?”

You could see Chris bristle at that. You knew Claire being flippant about her education was something of a sore spot for him.

Their parents died when he was fourteen—not much older than you had been when you lost your mother—and the two of them were forced to live with their uncle whom neither of them liked very much and was rarely around to take care of them.

Chris had to grow up quick, and he did everything in his power to give Claire a good life, even at the expense of his own. Nearly every penny he earned from the moment he started working went towards her; new clothes before every semester, birthday and Christmas gifts, school supplies—everything she needed, plenty of things she wanted.

But he had always been lax with her, nearly to the point of spoiling her rotten. This change in demeanor was strange to you and you wondered where it stemmed from.

“Well, you should have been focusing on your studies, not partying,” he admonished.

Claire wasn’t having it, clearly fed up with her older brother’s behavior. “I can do both.”

“C’mon, Chris,” you coaxed. “She’s a grown-up now and it’s not like there’s a legal drinking age in this place. What’re you gonna do? Call the cops? Arrest her yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, but you could sense him relaxing as the logic of your words dawned on him. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. But don’t be stupid about it.”

With an appreciative smile towards you, she grabbed her cup. “We’ve got a lot in common, big bro, but not that.”

He scoffed in offense, turning to you as his sister trotted off with her spoils. “You hear that? Teenagers.”

You chuckled, raising your glass to him. “Can’t live with 'em.”

He grinned, clinking his cup to yours. “Amen to that.”

Rebecca sidled up to you, her own drink in hand. “I like to think I’m not that bad,” she teased.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a nerd and like, ridiculously responsible for your age,” you told her light-heartedly, bumping her shoulder with yours.

She gave you a faux pout before breaking into laughter, bumping you back. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t call me a nerd.”

Not everyone decided to join in on the alcohol consumption, but the survivors separated as usual, chatting amongst themselves. The teens hung out around the campfire, goofing off, and Ace even started a poker game that a few of the others joined in on.

Carlos, witnessing that, turned to your group of older adults from your world, which had settled down at a table near the medical facility. “How ‘bout we play a drinking game?”

“What, like beer pong?” Leon asked dubiously.

“Maybe Truth or Dare,” Ada teased with a smirk, making a blush rise to the young man’s face.

“No and no, though I like where your head’s at,” Carlos said. “I was thinking more along the lines of Never Have I Ever.”

“And how does one play this game?” Sheva asked with an amused chuckle.

“Someone says something they’ve never done, and everyone who’s done that thing has to take a swig. If no one has done it, the person who said it takes a drink instead,” Carlos explained. “So, who’s interested?”

“I’m down,” you offered, placing your elbows on the table in front of you. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Carlos glanced around at the others expectantly and they all agreed, some more hesitant than others.

The game started innocently enough, the whole group—except for Leon, it would seem—getting tipsy quickly.

Then, as it always did, it took a more raunchy turn.

“Never have I ever…” Sheva started, considering her next statement, “had sex in public.”

You and Chris shared a secretive look and you both bit back laughter as you took a hefty sip from your cups. Ada and Carlos did, too, which didn’t surprise you, but everyone was shocked when Jill raised her glass to her lips.

“What?” she asked defensively. “The military was a weird time for me.”

Ada leaned forward because it was her turn, thinking of her own line as the group finished reeling from Jill’s admittance. “I’ll do you one better, Sheva. Never have I ever hooked up with someone on the job. And no, Leon, a kiss doesn’t count.”

You raised your brows as Leon opened and closed his mouth immediately, looking like an embarrassed fish. You were vaguely aware they had some kind of history together, but it apparently went deeper than you initially thought. You felt your heart ache for Claire, seeing why Chris was so concerned about her feelings for Leon.

Yikes on a bike.

Without thinking, you tossed back your cup in response to Ada, the only person in the group to do so.

When you looked around with a drunken smile on your face, the expression dropped like your stomach as you realized your mistake.

It was clear that Carlos, Ada, and Leon assumed it was Chris you were referring to, and if Sheva knew otherwise, she clearly didn’t understand the problem with your revelation.

Jill, however, stared at you with furrowed brows, and you could see her trying to piece together who it might be.

You gulped as you glanced at Chris beside you, who had tensed up, his features that were previously open and relaxed turning stony as he met your gaze.

That sobered you immediately.

You fucked up. Badly.

Neither of them knew of your relationship with Kevin in the past, feeling it was unnecessary and a threat to your job security if you admitted you had a long-term relationship with your former partner.

However, it wasn’t Kevin that you had sex with at work, and you were almost tempted to lie and say it was.

Because you definitely couldn’t tell them it was Wesker.

“Well, that was fun,” you claimed as you stood, hoping you could get away from this situation before it blew up in your face. “But I think it’s time I head to bed.”

“Yeah, me too. Don’t want a hangover,” Chris said, voice gruff.

You swallowed thickly as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it probably wasn’t good. You weren’t ready for this conversation. However, he clearly was.

Tersely, you said goodnight to the group, their expressions perplexed by the awkward tension that now fell over you. Chris gave them a noncommittal wave, following after you as you trudged into the medical facility and into your room, anxiety swelling inside of you with every step.

Once inside, Chris closed the door, not facing you when he asked lowly, “Are you going to tell me who it was?”

You took in a sharp breath, already picking at your cuticles as you replied, “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago.”

Not exactly a lie. It had been nearly a year since you and Wesker had done something as risky as hook up in his office. It was the first and only time, as he made very clear.

Usually, it was in the safety of hotel rooms.

Chris turned abruptly, expression appalled. “You’re serious?”

“You sound like Claire earlier,” you said, trying to alleviate the tension.

“No, don’t do that,” he warned. “Don’t try to play this off.” He stepped forward and you eyed him warily. “I thought we were closer than this. I thought you could trust me.”

“Of course I trust you!” you exclaimed.

“Then why hide something like that from me? Worried I’d judge you?” His jaw was tight and you wanted nothing more than to hold his face in your hands, to go back to before you decided to play that stupid game.

You could at least admit to being with Kevin, lie and say it was him you had sex with on the job, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Chris, I don’t want to tell you because it didn’t mean anything. It’s something I wish I could forget. Can you please let this go?” you were in near tears as you tried to explain yourself, not willing to relent and give him the information he was looking for.

This was still far too raw, and you had been more than happy to pretend your previous relationships were nonexistent while exploring this new one with the man standing in front of you, fists clenched at his sides.

He looked at you for a long moment, taking in your pleading expression and the way you tore the skin off your fingers in distress, and finally backed down. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just… I want you to be honest with me.”

“And I am,” you assured him, closing the distance between you. “That part of my life? It’s not important anymore. In fact, I wish it never happened in the first place. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

He sighed, features softening as he allowed you to pull him into an embrace, his large hands sweeping across your face. “Alright, then. I’ll let it go.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, nuzzling into one of his palms. “And I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You’re lucky I can’t stay mad at you for very long,” he teased in a hushed voice, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple.

“You nicknamed me well,” you replied, grinning up at him as he pulled back.

He rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from tugging you into his arms.

“C’mere,” he said, lips meeting your own fervently.

As you returned the kiss, the back of your knees hitting the bed while he led you further into the room, you knew your night wasn’t over yet.

***

September 14th, 1996; Raccoon City

“‘Bout time you showed up,” your brother admonished with a goofy grin, opening the front door of your family’s home to let you inside.

“Good to see you too, Tic,” you replied sardonically, ruffling his hair the moment you stepped over the threshold. “How’s school? You keeping out of trouble?”

He pushed your hand away, fixing the strands you had pulled out of shape before answering with a playfully annoyed tone, “It’s only been like two weeks, Sis. How much can change?”

You chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Although you got along with both of your siblings—even with the large gaps in age—your personalities were as different as they could be. Tic, despite his sense of humor, was far more studious and careful than you ever were, taking his grades seriously. He was a popular kid too, becoming the rising star of Raccoon City High’s junior varsity soccer team. You often worried about his ability to juggle it all, but he hadn’t burned out yet.

Tic rolled his eyes good-naturedly at your response before changing the subject, “Anyway, I heard we’re expecting company tonight?”

“Sure are. My friend from work, Chris, and his sister, Claire.”

“No Kevin then?” Tic already knew the answer, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice. Although you and Kevin still talked occasionally, he hadn’t visited your family in weeks, and you knew they missed his near-constant presence almost as much as you did.

“No, he was busy this weekend,” you said, unsure if it was even a lie. “But hey, Claire’s only a couple years older than you. You two might get along.”

Your brother’s demeanor shifted, a mischievous smile forming. “Is she hot?”

You scoffed, gently smacking his shoulder. “She’s in college, dude. Don’t even think about it. At least until you’re eighteen.”

He fake pouted, rubbing his arm as if you’d maimed him. “Geez, fine. No need to bust my balls over it.”

Before you could comment on his crass reply, a blur of pink tulle came flying toward you at warp speed, the tiny body of your baby sister being launched into your arms.

“SISSY!” she bellowed as you gave her a big hug. “I thought you were never coming home!”

You laughed at such a ridiculous notion. “Now why would you think that, Kitty?”

“‘Cos it’s been forever since last time,” she half-whined, as typically theatrical as any seven year old girl, you imagined.

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“You’d be surprised how much can change,” Tic interjected sarcastically.

“Oh, you’re about to get the worst noogie of your life,” you threatened, setting Kitty back onto the floor before making a grab for the collar of your brother’s shirt.

“It’s not my fault you're getting too old to remember what you said five seconds ago,” he replied as he deftly dodged your outstretched hand.

“You’re only making it worse for yourself,” you warned, Kitty giggling as you chased Tic down the hall. Man, that kid was fast. It was unfair he was already taller than you at fifteen.

You were about to catch up when an evidently displeased voice called your name from the kitchen entryway, “Now that you’ve finally arrived, can you help me finish the dinner I’m making for your guests?”

Ah, your infinitely uptight stepmother was here to break up the fun, as usual. Though you couldn’t fault her this particular time. The Redfield siblings were indeed your responsibility tonight.

Your relationship with your stepmother was a… complex one, to say the least. She came at a time that was far too soon after your mother’s death, and it always felt as though she was trying desperately to replace her.

You wanted to hate her when you were younger—make her out to be some villain in your hero’s journey—because it was easier than blaming your father for moving on so quickly and becoming even more of a hardass than he already was. But now as an adult, you understood the truth.

She was simply a young woman who didn’t know how to handle a grieving child.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, quick to meet her in the kitchen and wash your hands, getting ready for whatever prep work she would throw your way.

She hummed in acknowledgement, sending your siblings off to the backyard and out of her hair before the two of you quietly made dinner.

You eyed her warily as she stood over the stovetop, the chicken breasts sizzling in the pan as she flipped them with a spatula. You continued your task of mashing the already boiled potatoes, thoughts drifting to the years of fights you had with your stepmother, and the resentment that you’d slowly been trying to chip away at now that you were an adult.

She was the secretary at your father’s job when they first met, hired about a year into your mother’s cancer diagnosis. It was only six months after your mother’s passing when your father introduced you, telling you—in no uncertain terms—that this stranger was to be your new maternal figure.

You always wondered if they just married quick so your father could push the responsibility of caring for you onto someone else or if he had moved on before your mother was even dead. After years of speculation and knowing that if you asked, you wouldn’t get an honest answer out of either of them, you still couldn’t decide what scenario felt worse.

Your disdain for the woman was not helped by the fact she was neurotic, and it always felt like she saw you as some charity case that needed “fixing”. She couldn’t stand that you were a tomboy, always forcing you into frilly pastel dresses when all you wanted to wear was your favorite jeans and your mother’s old band shirts.

You remembered when she threw them out to force your hand when you were about thirteen, and you cried so hard you puked. It was the only time your father ever intervened with her schemes and made her dig the shirts out of the garbage. You wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want the last remnants of his late wife to be taken away—as he got rid of pretty much everything that belonged to her when your stepmother first moved in—but you knew it was probably because your tantrum grated on his nerves.

You were about to toss in the butter to the mashed potatoes when the woman in question stopped you. “Only one stick of butter. You of all people should be more mindful of your health.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes, returning the second stick to the fridge, mentally grumbling about how you always used two and that you knew it tasted better that way. Instead of arguing like your younger self would have, you simply returned to the task at hand, stirring the quickly melting butter into the fluffy mixture.

No, you no longer hated her. Even with her nagging and patronizing remarks, she did mean well. The two of you just never clicked, and at the end of the day that was all there was to it. Besides, she was a wonderful and doting mother to your siblings, which was the most you could hope for.

“So,” she began, startling you from your reverie, “what is this Chris boy like?”

You considered it as you sprinkled some salt and pepper into your bowl. “He’s a good guy. Funny, friendly, and he can be pretty charming, I guess.”

She raised a brow at that, a knowing smirk gracing her perfectly painted lips. “Will he be coming to dinner more often, then?”

“I mean, probably,” you replied. “He’s become a really good friend, after all.”

“Just a friend, huh?” she teased, and although her insinuation made you scoff, you couldn’t help but appreciate the rare moment of camaraderie between you.

“Yes, just a friend.”

“A shame,” she tutted. “I was so disappointed when Kevin stopped coming around, and I hoped maybe you’d move on. I always thought you’d marry that boy, you know. How is he these days?”

Your face fell at her words, and you covered it by looking back down at your bowl of food, mixing it far more than necessary just to keep yourself preoccupied.

Marriage. It had once seemed so inevitable before it fell apart.

You sighed as you replied, “He’s doing well. He has a new work partner now that I’m in S.T.A.R.S.”

“Well, you tell him he’s always welcome here.”

You nodded sullenly. “Will do.”

The rest of the dinner preparations went by in silence, which you were grateful for.

A while later, you had just finished setting the table when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” you called to your family members scattered across the house, jogging to the front entrance to greet your friend and his beloved sister.

Your mood shifted instantly as Chris’s large form stood before you, a grin gracing both of your lips at the same time.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” you said to him, leaning against the door frame. “Now where’s this sister I’ve heard so much about?”

He laughed as he greeted you in turn, stepping slightly to the side to reveal a gorgeous young woman with reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“Hi! I’m Claire. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, giving you a firm handshake, the strength of her grip surprising you. Her smile was warm and cheerful, so much like her brother’s it was almost uncanny. “You’re even prettier than Chris described!”

You quirked a brow at that, your eyes meeting your friend’s, who simply rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. You replied, “Thank you! I’d say the same, but I’ve seen your picture.”

It was her turn to look confused. “You have?”

“Yeah, Chris keeps a photo of you two on his desk at work. Hard to miss it.”

She laughed, gently punching her brother’s arm. “Aw, you big softy.”

He rolled his eyes but chuckled along, and it suddenly felt like you’ve known the two of them your whole life.

After chatting idly in the doorway, you finally led them inside, the duo peering at the family photos that decorated the walls. Their attention was moved when your stepmother gracefully appeared, manicured hands already perfectly clean despite cooking with them only moments prior.

She greeted them with a wide grin, gingerly shaking their hands and corralling your group into the living room.

“Make yourself at home, you two!” she chirped before turning to you. “Now come help me finish dinner, honey.”

You begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to leave your company by themselves but knowing they’d be just fine for a few minutes, following your stepmother back into the kitchen.

As the two of you finished up the meal, emptying food from their pots and pans into her nice serving dishes, she leaned over to you with a twinkle in her eye. “That boy sure is handsome. You better nab him before someone else does.”

You pulled a face at that. “As I said, just friends.”

She tsked in response before sweeping out of the room, clearly unsatisfied by your reply, and you trailed behind her. You knew she just hoped you’d “settle down”—probably because she wanted grandkids sooner than your siblings could give them to her—but it wasn’t as if you could tell her your only interest was in your boss.

Though, it wasn’t her approval you worried about.

Despite your father’s general apathy towards your existence, you knew he would be very against such a scandalous relationship. Not just due to the fact Wesker was your superior, but because of the age gap between you.

Hypocritical, you thought.

It was about the same as the one between himself and the woman walking ahead of you.

You put on a smile as you reentered the living room after placing the food on the dining table, leaving your stepmother to arrange it as she liked. You were surprised to see your father already there, shaking Chris’s hand and giving him a look that you knew well. He was sizing him up.

“Well, dinner is about ready,” you announced, trying to prevent what was sure to be an awkward situation.

Chris looked over at you and smiled, your father’s gaze narrowing. He said nothing as the group followed you into the dining room, your younger siblings already in their seats as your mother completed her artistic array of dishes and cutlery.

Seeing you enter, she wiped her still-clean hands on her apron, introducing your siblings to your companions. Your brother’s eyes widened when he met the gaze of Claire’s and was quick to avert them, the girl not seeming to notice as Kitty launched into asking her a million questions. You managed to stifle your chuckle at the sight before your stepmother caught your attention.

“Would you be a dear and get us some drinks from the garage?” she requested sweetly.

You nodded, about to do as you were asked when your father placed a hand on your shoulder. “No need, me and Chase here have it covered.”

You froze, knowing he was probably going to interrogate him ruthlessly, as he had done to Kevin years prior. You schooled your expression. “It’s Chris, dad. And shouldn’t our guest be allowed to sit at the table?”

“It’s no worry,” Chris said, clearly ignorant to the warning expression you gave him. You sighed as your father turned and left, Chris winking at you as he passed you by.

Welp, guess he’s on his own now.

You sat down at the table at your usual spot across from your brother, a chair left between you and Claire, meant for Chris.

Despite your concern for your father’s antics, you were quickly pulled into a conversation with your friend’s sister, an amiable girl through and through. Your worries were forgotten as she spoke, telling a joke that made you chuckle. Even her sense of humor felt familiar to you, so reflective of her older brother.

Your stepmother then asked her about her studies, and after she described her college experience so far, she explained that she was on the girl’s soccer team, something she enjoyed.

“Well ain’t that something,” you marveled, “Tic also loves soccer.”

When he didn’t reply, you kicked him gently under the table, giving him a look that said, ‘Now’s your chance to make a friend’. He sputtered out an agreement, the conversation falling silent as he couldn’t seem to offer anything else. Well that was new. He’d never been so awkward or quiet in his life.

Before you could change the subject, your father and Chris finally came back into the room, a bottle of cold soda and a couple of already opened beers in tow. Your group took turns pouring some for yourselves, and once Chris settled into his seat, you looked over at him.

Catching his eye, he offered a small smile, but there was a furrow to his brows you only ever saw on particularly hard missions at work. Your expression was questioning, worried your father had really said something off-color, but he seemed quick to shed whatever concern he had, joining the conversation and making a quip at his sister’s expense.

You yourself eventually relaxed, the evening going quite well despite the few hiccups.

After nearly an hour, your stepmother asked you to clear the table, and Chris immediately jumped up to help despite both of your protests. He wouldn’t relinquish the stack of plates in his hand, however, so you beckoned him to follow you into the kitchen as your sister excitedly ran to a nearby cabinet to pull out her favorite board game, easily roping Claire into playing it.

You and Chris remained in companionable silence for a few moments as the two of you began putting away any leftovers and getting to work on doing the dishes in the sink.

“Thanks for helping out. You know you didn’t have to, right?” you said as you lightly ribbed him with your elbow.

“It’s the least I could do after feeding me so well,” he replied with a shrug.

You smiled, looking down at your handiwork as things fell quiet once more.

After a few more beats, you asked quietly, “My dad didn’t give you too hard of a time, did he?”

“Not at all,” he answered, to your surprise, before continuing sardonically, “He only threatened to kill me if I ever hurt you. Nothing too crazy.”

You laughed at his sarcastic remark. “You got off easy, then.”

He pulled a face before chuckling. “I’d hate to see what him going hard on me looks like.”

“Aw, you’ve got nothing to worry about if you behave. If you don’t, though? Well, they’ll never find your body.” You said that last part deadpan, and Chris flicked soapy water in your direction.

“Well, you better get used to the idea of me haunting your ass then.”

You pretended to shiver in fear. “Only my ass?”

His responding laugh was loud, and you worried your grin would be etched into your face if you couldn’t stop it from forming.

The two of you finished up quickly, drying your hands before joining in on the game in the nearby room. Your sister was having the time of her life and your brother finally started to act more like himself as the evening continued, the two families before you meshing better than you could have imagined.

Caught up in your reverie, you didn’t realize it was your turn to roll the dice, Chris bumping his shoulder into yours, placing the two cubes of plastic on the table in front of you. “You can stall all you want, but I’m still gonna win.”

You rolled your eyes as you began your play, the group laughing at his remark. The dice clattered across the table, and you bit your lip as you all stared at the result.

“Oooh, snake eyes. Unfortunate,” Tic stated before snatching them from the table. “Better luck next time, Sis.”

You huffed in faux displeasure, and the game went on.

One hour turned into two turned into three, and no one seemed to notice or care, you least of all. This was the most fun you think you’ve had in months.

You smiled warmly at the people around you, the two halves of your life fitting together like puzzle pieces, all prior concerns forgotten.

Right at that moment, sitting in your family’s dining room next to one of your closest friends, you knew one thing to be true.

This is home.

--------------------

Masterlist | Previous | Next

#albert wesker x reader #chris redfield x reader #albert wesker #chris redfield #dead by deadlight #resident evil #dbd #re #the betrayer

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plague-of-insomnia · 11 days

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I ship sebaciel but I only like their dynamic, in my head I imagine an adult Ciel and I only read fanfics when Ciel is way over 18 and can decide by himself/not be manipulated. I was raped when I was 15, I could never ship something like that. But anti pro shippers never bother to see the nuance. I'm afraid if I start publicly shipping it, people will call me a pedo lol Also I think that the ones who like the age gap still can't be compared to real pedos who consume lolicon/ realistic drawings who REALLY resemble children and explicitly are in a setting of a child being molested. I see incels doing that, and the kuro fandom is mostly women.

Hi, anon. Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday. I had COVID a couple weeks ago and now have bronchitis and i just ran out of gas to formulate a response I felt this ask merited.

First of all, I’m sorry that happened to you. I hope you’ve been able to get past it enough that it doesn’t affect your daily life too badly 🫂.

Sadly, a lot of antis act as if they’re the only ones who have been victims of (sexual) abuse, and that any survivor who doesn’t behave the way they do either must be lying or “deserved” what they got— which is absolutely awful to do to anyone.

As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re not a monolith. Some survivors find rape play (whether role play or in fictional works) helps them move past their trauma because it helps them to have the control they didn’t have as victims. But others find it triggering and upsetting and not helpful at all— and that’s valid too.

I personally don’t ship sc anymore mostly because I just don’t click with Ciel in the ship the way I do with other pairings. I also personally get very very uncomfortable with some underage depictions. For example, there was a fantastic sc fan fic a few years ago that I had to stop reading. It is one of the best written works in the fandom, but it just made me so uncomfortable (it’s underage) I had to stop.

But what did I do? Did i leave the author an angry message saying I was not gonna read it? No, ofc not. I just clicked away.

So if for you, you need situations in which you feel Ciel can fully consent/is in control to feel comfortable and happy then that’s perfectly valid! There’s no one “right” way to ship anything, and you have to look out for yourself first. Because we come to fandom to have fun and escape, so no need to delve into things you don’t like or that make you uncomfortable.

Antis are incapable of seeing these kinds of nuances, or realizing that purposefully consuming content that upsets you is self harm.

Sadly, if you openly ship sc (or even aren’t absolutely against it) you may get some hate. I know I have gotten my share, and it’s *always* about Ciel, no matter how I’ve depicted other characters or what ages they are in my stories. But I’ve also gotten hate for being a fujoshi (misgendering me at that) more than once, and some of it even before I joined the fandom… for my original work.

My point is that people are gonna attack you if they’re gonna attack you…. if you’re not willing to take that risk by being public about your ship that’s valid too. I definitely get how exhausting antis can be and if you’re just wanting to stare at your blorbos for a bit you don’t wanna be fighting of negativity left and right too.

It’s a shame that antis have started using the word pedo as a word for anyone they dislike, devaluing it, but the real shame imo is that they refuse to see that actual CSEM is bad not because it’s gross or immoral but because it harms actual children, who grow up to be adults with trauma.

I think it’s very important to distinguish actual CSEM (or “fictional works” that were intentionally modeled off real CSEM) from anything that’s purely fictional. Because you can never really know why someone made something or why someone likes something.

I write about child abuse, sexual and not, a lot because I find it very therapeutic, but someone might read my works and may draw other, completely erroneous conclusions about me and my motives.

I honestly think a huge chunk of the kuro fandom is nonbinary, but I don’t really know the demographics. I’m sure they’re slightly different depending on if you’re looking at the western or eastern fandoms…

But women can be toxic just like anyone else. Some of the absolute most vile antis I’ve seen identify as female.

Ultimately, I think that the best thing to do with the fandom (or any fandom, really) is to curate your experience. Block accounts that trigger you or don’t vibe with you. Find like-minded friends to chat with in private, so you don’t have to worry about strangers hopping on what you say. Filter tags and use apps if you need to.

I think it’s a shame that antis are so vocal in the fandom and have divided it so much. As a multishipper not much into sc, I have definitely felt that fracture more than some others, since sadly too many non-sc shippers think they need to scream about how icky that ship is and be jerks when we could just ignore sc entirely and enjoy the other ships we like instead together?

But the no matter what antis claim, sc shippers have always been and will always be the column that holds the fandom up, and you either need to make peace with it or learn to ignore it.

🫶

My ask box is open for anyone who doesn’t feel comfortable being open about their love for kuro but would like to squee over it/the new series with someone who doesn’t mind listening :)

#sorry for the long ramble #i hope i made some sense #poi answers #black butler #anon #fandumb #tw csa mention #tw child abuse mention #tw rape mention #sebaciel #antis dni

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kyra45 · 10 months

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[Image ID: A screenshot of an ask sent by cathelenecreations1. It reads as follows: “Hello there! As a new user to Tumblr, I am still learning the ropes. I am currently battling Metastatic Breast Cancer and a brain tumor, and your support would mean the world to me. I would greatly appreciate it. And if you are able and willing, please consider making a donation to help with my medical expenses and support my health journey. Thank you so much!” /End ID]

It’s been confirmed this account is stealing a post off twitter and is not the person pictured. Don’t donate to them, please. They are scamming people. They have multiple accounts and I’m going to list them all with images of every ask they’ve sent to prove it. Any blog they run is scamming people the actual person is only on twitter.

[Image ID: A screenshot of a partial ask sent by the username cathelene-munyiri-oyuko. It reads as follow: “Salutations! I'm sorry to trouble you, but my fundraising efforts are not going well, and time is running out. I don't have the reach required to generate a significant response. Would you please lend me your assistance by spreading the word or donating whatever amount you can afford? Every dollar contributed goes towards financing my infusions, analyses, and medications, which are critical to my well-being.” /End ID]

[Image ID: A screenshot of a partial ask sent by the username cathelene1. It reads as follows: “Hello, could you kindly reblog / share / donate towards my fundraiser( pinned post) ? I'm Cathelene Munyiri. She/her, I'm black. Battling breast cancer / Brain Tumor. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, I choose to live. /End ID]

[Image ID: A partial screenshot of an ask sent by the username cancersurvivorsposts. It reads as follows: Hello,hope I'm not being intrusive, could you kindly reblog / share / donate towards my fundraiser( pinned post) ? I'm Cathelene Munyiri. She/her, I'm black. Battling breast cancer / Brain Tumor. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, I choose to live. /End ID]

[Image ID: A screenshot of a blog called cathelene-munyiri. /End ID]

[Image ID: A screenshot of a blog called cancer-survivor. /End ID]

Link to proof showing the real twitter account.

Newer blogs:

cathelene-cancer-survior | cathy-chemo-queen/cathelene-cancer-thriver

#scam #donation scam #cancer mention #psa #justin’s scam list #longpost #long post

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slocumjoe · 10 months

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Something I wish they did in fo4 is recognize when you’re cheating on a romanced character… I have a few ideas but I’m curious how you think this should play out in game

This is actually a pervasive...I don't want to call it an issue...roadblock, maybe? In games with romances. Seems like no one knows how to handle this.

Verilybitchie on YouTube has a great video called "bisexuality in video games" that goes into this, so if you don't want to read this, just go put that on in the background.

Also sorry this isn't a react, but I've always had Thoughts on this

So, since this is a Fallout blog, we're talking Fallout first.

In Fo4, you can romance every single companion in the game. Well, the romancable ones (sorry, Nick harem). The only requirement to romance someone is raise their affinity through actions or natural, slow-building of the stat (affinity will slowly raise itself over time), and then you select and succeed at the final romance dice roll. Sometimes there is a quest.

Already we have an issue, because there is no feasible way to logically date all these people. It isn't a numbers issue; it's the fact that most of them hate each other. If you're (you as the sole survivor) can romance and make Hancock swoon for you, its not likely you're the type that can reel Danse. You can't be the kind of person who Preston would fall for, while also pulling Gage. That kind of thing. It isn't that no one would be down to be poly, its that most of them have so few of the others that they'd be poly with. Again, Gage is not sharing with fucking Preston, and he sure as hell isn't falling for someone who Preston can love.

It's just so players can see all the romances, I think, but it's never...it's ludodissonance, I think. At most, a romanced character will hate it if you flirt with someone else in their presence, but I don't believe it'll amount to anything.

So, what would that amount to, IRL? Everyone would be pissed! Their partner has a secret harem that doesn't know its a harem! That's an awful thing to feel. But if Sole sat them all down and explained they wanted all of them at once...still wouldn't work. I don't think any of them would really be comfortable with poly, and all of them have at least one person would they wouldn't want to be poly with. For most of them, that person is Danse. Which is very funny to me.

The thing is, Fallout 4 is a huge game, and making a game is. Fucking Difficult. It is a nightmare. And you'd have to program in all of the different combinations of reactions. That's potentially 144 conversations, if you think about every companion reacting to you being with another companion. Then you have the potential of a companion reacting to you being with two other companions. Three. The number gets insane. And Fallout 4 is humoring us with the socializing/dialog as is, so that's obviously not happening.

In Dragon Age Inquisition, you can flirt with everyone, pretty sure, regardless of romance status. If I remember correctly. But if you romance someone, than try to pursue a romance with someone else, person 2 will waggle their finger at you like nuh-uh-uh, you very naughty boy! Even when it doesn't make much sense for them.

The Iron Bull, for example, i think would be down for a poly relationship. Sera, maybe, I could see that too. Josephine is a manager, so I can see her liking the idea of delegating her love life to an outside contractor when she doesn't have the time. There are romances, here, that could have multiple people. But DAI says no, you can't. But it gets real loosey goosey with what is and isn't cheating.

So, I played that game as a dude, and obviously I went straight for Cassandra, my buff book nerd warrior princess darling. I flirted with no one else. No one. I romanced her and her alone.

BUT.

For those not in the know, Dorian is a character in DAI. His thing is that he's gay from a homophobic country, and his dad tried to conversion therapy him via magic. You go take him to meet his dad, since he showed up looking for Dorian. Dorian spells it out for you that he's gay, since while its kind of obvious, he keeps it hush due to. Well. His experiences.

You have the option to tell Dorian you've been with the same gender yourself. It's marked as flirty if you're a guy, not sure if its the same as a woman. But for a male character, this is flirting with Dorian.

Later, when you talk to Dorian back at home base, you have some options to comfort him, because obviously he's kind of upset. One of these options, I knew to be saying you actually think better of him, and think he's been very brave. I picked this the first playthrough, because I felt it was more genuine and kind.

Second playthrough, I also picked the "I'm gay too" option from earlier.

When I picked the "I think better of you option" back at base...

I'd flirted only with Cassandra. I was dating her.

And my guy and Dorian started sucking face in the corner of a library.

NEVER FLIRTED WITH HIM BEFORE. All I did was say I was also gay, and then I said I thought he was strong for going through the shit he did. Thing is, you can romance Dorian immediately following the end of that quest. So, I tested something. We just made out for like, five minutes. Wanna date? "Aren't you with Cassandra?"

So, the issue here with DAI is that it doesn't always account for...oddities. For example, The Iron Bull will flirt with you hardcore if you flirt with him, but you try to pursue him while in a relationship, he won't. He'll tell you you have great tits and that he likes being pegged, all while making suggestive faces, but the moment those birds come to roost, he's out. What? Why not? Josephine would totally be down to clown with two beefy Qunari men, Bull would be down to clown with Josie! Why is this here???

Again. Games are really hard to program. And that's after you've written all the actual story.

For DAI, I can think of three romances that would be down for poly. So, you don't have much to do there. But there's still other things you need to account for. You can't acknowledge one thing, and ignore the others. If I threesome with Sera and Josie, what happens if I try throwing Bull into the mix? What happens if I break up with Sera? What happens if we ditch Josie, and add Bull, when Sera is a lesbian? Get the issue? Relationships are fucking complicated. Especially when you're the asshole having to puppeteer them in every possible direction, in the name of player freedom.

In the other direction, we have Stardew Valley. I compare it to a child's xylophone toy with utmost affection, its very plinky-plonky in nature.

SDV works on a heart system. 8 hearts with a bachelor or bachelorette, you can offer them a bouquet and start dating. At 10 hearts, you can propose and get married.

If you marry someone, you can date as many other people as you like. You might get a cutscene where your spouse is jealous that you're giving someone else presents, but they don't actually acknowledge that you have a side piece or two. And this jealous cutscene only plays with...a side piece of the same gender as the spouse. So, the character Shane doesn't care if you and Emily had sex in the woods, but God Forbid you give Elliot a duck feather.

HOWEVER. If you reach 10 hearts with all romance options of one gender (meaning you reach 10 with all of the boys, or 10 with all the girls), you get a cutscene where all of the boys or girls confront you with your cheating, and they're all pissed at you for, like, a week in game.

HOWEVER HOWEVER, you can skip this by carrying a lucky rabbit's foot in your inventory. If you have the foot, the cutscenes just play as you hanging out. So, the boys, rather than confronting you, just have a friendly game of pool, and the girls will just chat, I think. So, the only real acknowledgement that you have multiple partners can be skipped.

On the flip side, there's Skyrim. There is no flirting in skyrim, at all. You wear a necklace, and if the person is available, they'll comment on the necklace. You get married, and then you can never divorce your spouse, or get a new one. It's the game equivalent to church kids getting married right out of high school and sticking with it.

The only game I've ever seen handle this, and handle it well, is Hades.

Hades Supergiant my beloved.

In Hades, you play as Zagreus, the son of Hades trying to escape the underworld, because Hades got full custody in the divorce and Zag wants to see his mom on weekends. I kid but that's literally the plot.

Zagreus used to be dating the fury, Megaera, who also works for Hades as an enforcer and guard. She kills Zagreus in his escape attempts. Their relationship ended poorly, and its heavily implied to be because of Zagreus being a shithead to her. She's pissed at Zag, but with enough time and Zag making amends and apologizing, she is more than willing to be friends again.

Then we have Thanatos, the god of Death. He's always busy, and you never hear of him until a certain point in the game. It takes a long time for him to show himself. When he does, it's with a ringing bell, and the area turns green with his presence. He and Zag have a much more complicated relationship, as they've both carried a flame for each other, and never acted on it. Thanatos will appear to help Zag kill enemies before he starts showing at the hub world.

Finally, we have Dusa. Dusa is a floating gorgon head. You know Medusa? Cut off her head. That is Dusa, as her own entity. She's the shy, skittish, workaholic maid for the house of Hades (the hubworld) and has an obvious crush on Zagreus, day one. Whenever you talk to her, heart effects appear, and she quickly flees. She's attracted to Zag, but she's so skittish, building a relationship with her is more like trying to make a stray cat accept pets and treats. She's down, but she needs to get comfy around Zag, not feel so shy.

You can romance all three of these people! If you romance Thanatos and Meg, they'll show up in your bedroom, and you have a brief conversation about how this relationship will work, and if you're down, all three of you hook up. Then, for the rest of the game, you have a boyfriend and girlfriend! As for Dusa, they know about her, too, and she knows about them. Dusa just can't or doesn't want to have sex, so she's more of Zagreus's platonic partner. It's hard to explain. They don't have sex because Dusa isn't into it. It's very cute and sweet.

But the point is, Than, Meg, and Dusa will get together and figure out what they want, then approach Zagreus and see what he wants, and they all work it out from there. This is possible because there are so few romance options, and the writers accounted for people wanting all three. That's actually the intended path! But either way, Supergiant considered how romance would work and function in the setting they built, and how their characters would react and adapt.

Since they were working with a small number of characters, they could easily slot in different paths and choices. You can turn down Than, Meg, and Dusa. Turn down two of them. Accept all of them! And by having characters that like each other, you don't have to worry about Person B looking at Person C and gagging at the idea of sharing Person A.

The problem with romances in video games is that, if the game isn't, specifically, about the romances, you're not going to get a fully-realized experience. Hades has two gameplay modes; the escape attempts with the combat, and the visual novel side of the game with the developing relationships with all of the characters, romances or not. Hades very much puts both things in the spotlight—and it gets away with it, because Zagreus is a fully-realized character, who is not customizable and has no player input. Zagrues decides things on his own, not because a player pushed a button to accept a quest. You don't get to puppet him around. You get very few choices in dialogue with Zagreus.

Most games with romances, you play as a customizable character, who can be anyone, and do anything. The game devs have to account for that. To account for that, everything has to be squishy, and maliable, and that means that nothing really...matters. It can't! If you put too much importance on something, but the player has x amount of freedom, there's a chance they could miss it, or break it, or do something to render it moot. In Mass Effect 2, I believe, you have the choice to save the space government. If you let them gov die, in the next game, the new government is just...the old one in different suits. Letting the gov die is a big fucking deal, but because you made it a choice, you can't expend too much time and effort on realizing the consequences. Because you also need the timeline where the gov was saved. Why would you put so much time into an optional thing, when its possible most players will choose to do the intended path of saving the space gov?

Well, its the same for romances. Why put so much time into paths and consequences that some people won't see? Why would you write discussions of Sera wondering why you thought she'd have sex with Bull, a man, when most people aren't going to do that? Why would you write 144+ reactions to you cheating on all of the fallout 4 companions?

Writing is both very easy, and very hard. Getting ideas is easy. Working out the kinks in those ideas is hard as shit. Add a deadline, a budget, and lots of investors waiting expectantly, and lots of shit gets chucked on the cutting room floor.

#fallout 4 #fo4

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the-valiant-valkyrie · 9 months

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Hey, what characters do you think know that Wigfrid is a persona? Like, they have heard about the opera, read about it or something like that. I imagine someone, maybe Maxwell, has a clue. Also, how she would react if someone questioned her about it? She would just not understand or just experience a panic attack? (Also, sorry if there is any mistake, I ain't a native english speaker, so writting fright me a bit. And thank you for your understanding)

This is incredibly serendipitous timing because I was just about to make one of those tierlists about this very subject actually!!

I’m pretty sure out of all the survivors, Maxwell is the only one canonically established to know. And I like to think Wigfrid knows he knows. Now, how much does he actually remember after all those years? Who’s to say… But it was the thing he used to get Wigfrid to accept his deal to begin with. Not to mention he muses about it in passing with his “What’s Wigfrid’s motivation?” comment (‘motivation’ in this context being the stage terminology version of the word). He just doesn’t say anything directly to her face.

Beyond that, I like to think that Winona must know. I mean, after Charlie disappeared, Winona took to the news, finding all that she could about the other missing survivors in the process. Though she isn’t shown to be on what parts of the corkboard we see, I have to imagine she knew about Wigfrid going missing, considering Charlie and Wigfrid both dropped off the map during 1906.

I also think that if anyone would know beyond those two, it’d be Wickerbottom. If she was snatched up in 1911, that’s only 5 years after Wigfrid disappeared, that’s not too far for her to fade into irrelevancy. And even beyond that, if Wicker hadn’t heard of her personally, she must know enough about mythology to understand the character Wigfrid’s playing. She’s shown to know enough to understand that her gear isn’t accurate to that of a real Norse warrior, and seems to understand most of her terminology better than the other survivors do.

In regards to being confronted about her past, I think Wigfrid would completely shut down if someone tried to directly confront her about it. Wigfrid absolutely remembers her past, she just doesn’t want to. She would respond with denial first, then aggression if that doesn’t work. But it would take a massive toll on her sanity to even think about the subject.

#headcanons #ask #this was very fun to answer than you ahee hee :]#wigfrid dst #max’s motivation quotes is one of my favorite ones bc it gives me another excuse to call him a theater kid #‘savvy more than just theater kids know about the stage definition of the word motivation’ shut up. experience maxy theater kid heaven w me

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coldresolve · 3 months

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I’m sorry if this comes off as ignorant, that is not my intention.

What is torture apologia? I haven’t been able to find a specific definition and it’s confusing for me. What does it look like in regard to the whump community? On top of that, what are some ways to avoid this in writing?

If you don’t want to type out a response to this, how can this be researched? You make some good points in your post about it, and I want to make sure my own writing isn’t based on stereotypes and misinformation about the subject. I am very, very new to the “whump” community, so I don’t fully understand the ways that torture apologia might be displayed in some of the popular writings.

Thank you for your time, and I apologize if this comes off as ignorant or confrontational.

hey no worries, youre not gonna offend me by asking a clarifying question. what pisses me off are the people who flat out dismiss everything i have to say without actually engaging with it. youre nowhere close to that lmao i promise

uh. i use the sexual assault r-word a bit here, because i just came up with a good rule of thumb that requires drawing similarities between torture and r-word, so. trigger warning if you dont wanna read that

there is no real definition of torture apologia out there, but i treat it in the same way i would rape apologism. and i actually think theres real worth in keeping with that similarity, because rape is considered a form of torture. so like. yeah

id go as far as to say you can switch out "torture" with "rape" in your story to see if the logic holds up, if you might be saying something you don't want to say. for example, "my hero tortures the bad guy, and this is framed as a form of vigilante justice", swapped with rape, uh, might not exactly be the sorta message you would want to send lol. your hero can torture the bad guy ofc, im not saying they can't, but you better be ready to grapple with the full fucking depth of morality of a situation like that

off the top of my head, things i'd steer clear of:

anything that implies that torture is useful for any purpose. torture just traumatizes people, that's about it, and it's dangerous to spread ideas about whatever imagined utility, because your average person has zero grasp on basic ethics - this is what turns your "useful" torture into "sometimes justified". a third of people globally believe torture can be justified "in some cases". like i can't stress how real this issue is

torture works as an interrogation method or as a way to obtain false/forced confessions (useful)

torture can be used to make someone obedient (useful)

torture can be used to change people's beliefs (useful)

torture can be used to brainwash people/control them (useful)

stockholm syndrome through torture is included in ^ (useful and also just. ehh)

any variant of the ticking time bomb scenario (useful + justification)

torture being portrayed as "scientific"; torturers being "experts" in the "skill" or "art" of torture (implies utility)

when the bad guy does it, it's torture; when the good guy does it, it's vigilante justice (justification)

there's a handful of ideas people use a lot in fiction that i wouldn't necessarily categorize as apologia, but which do still send a message you maybe should think twice about sending. torture victims/survivors being "broken", they'll never be able to live full, happy lives, etc. and there's also this idea that torture only negatively affects the person who is being tortured. i especially think showing the effects torture has on perpetrators is worthwhile, but that might just me having a weird fascination with perpetrator trauma. torture also tends to fuck up the organizations that use it, so

#asks #rape mention #torture discussions

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stories-and-chaos · 22 days

Text

Tarnished pt 23

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 23/?? Word Count: 1857]

[CW: Drug abuse, addiction, gaslighting]

—————

Two weeks later, Blitzo sent another letter. It was thinner than the first. Barb gave it the same treatment, ‘RETURN TO SENDER’. The next one was even thinner, probably just one page in the envelope.

After she had that one sent back, he started sending postcards. Mostly they were generic landscape images from across the Rings. But not being in an envelope meant she saw snippets of the text on the blank side. Barb let Fizz know that Blitzo was sending mail, but never the content.

She didn’t mean to read any of them, but checking the address meant seeing what was written. There was a theme of ‘sorry, please talk to me, let me explain, I’m sorry, text, call, so sorry,’ in his scribbled handwriting. Knowing their dad’s account of events, her brother’s repeated requests for forgiveness just infuriated Barb.

She saw there were a few that mentioned her and their mom. Blitzo was asking if Fizz knew where they were. You’d know if you’d stuck around, traitor, she thought bitterly as she sent the postcards to be shredded.

The frequent reminders of Blitzo’s existence kept her off balance. And Fizzarolli was spending more time in Lust. He kept denying any emotional attachment to Asmodeus but Barb saw the difference in how he talked about the Sin. His absence left her somewhat at loose ends in her downtime.

The other survivors from their circus had scattered; few wanted to stay in Greed with all the established gangs and corruption. Barb, not wanting to be alone constantly, found other demons that shared her interests. One of those interests being drug use was incidental.

After seven months, the postcards arrived less frequently. Barb didn’t really notice; she had access to stronger stuff and was getting fucked up on a regular basis. Fizz was paying her enough that she could afford it… for now. But as the next pageant got closer, she started missing more days.

At first it didn’t matter too much. Her friend was off being Ozzie’s boy toy. The PR team was finally filtering the mail somewhat. And just before the pageant, Blitzo sent a card saying, ‘I’ll leave you alone Fizz. You know where to find me. I’m sorry.’ That was one less stressor; Barb celebrated with a weekend long bender.

She managed to be clean for a few days before and after the clown pageant. She was able to function as Fizz’s security the whole time. Once again, he won. Once again, Mammon immediately signed him on with a year long contract.

This year though, the king of Greed had some things to talk about concerning Fizzarolli’s assistant. Whisking him behind closed doors for the rigamarole of the contract was the perfect moment to plant seeds of doubt about Barb in his mind.

“Y’know Fizzy, that assistant o’ yours…I know she’s your friend but she’s been slacking big time,” he said as they signed and initialed pages. “I’d hate for someone from your past to take advantage of you, yah?” Mammon had a look of intense concern as he finished his portion of the contract.

“I-I’ll talk to her, Mammon sir.” Fizz was already worried about Barb. He knew she’d gotten hooked on painkillers after the fire. She’d been sober for years but he could see the signs popping up. And if Mammon noticed, things were getting worse.

“Good boy Fizzy! ‘Cause we’re gonna be real busy again and we don’t need c**ts coasting off your success.”

The day after the pageant saw Fizz in Lust again, working with Ozzie on updating the Fizzies. Asmodeus took him out for lunch again. He’d told Mammon before the contest that he’d need the whole day with the winner for their work, preventing his fellow Sin from interrupting anything.

After lunch, Ozzie sprung an offer on Fizz. “I’d like you to work at my lounge club, Froggie. Get you some experience outside the Greed Ring and away from all those creeps.”

Fizz waved a dismissive hand. “Psh, I’ve always had creeps around, it’s not that big a deal. Besides, Barb’s got my back.”

“Yeeeeeeaaaah, about that,” Asmodeus said slowly.

“Oh not you too Oz! Mammon was just bitching to me last night about her!”

“Hey, I’m just saying…she’s having a bad time lately. I’m not gonna pry, but if even Mam has picked up on it? Your girl needs help.” Ozzie cupped Fizz’s cheek. “Look, I know she’s important to you. You’re basically family right?” Fizz nodded. “So I want to help. And moving you both out of Greed is a good way to start.”

Fizz sighed. “Yeah, she’s never really liked it there anyway. I can’t make her do anything though.”

“You know me babe; I ain’t about forcing anyone. Unless she’s in deep shit, too deep to handle or putting herself in danger? you gotta let her make her choices.” He leaned back in their private booth. “I’m serious about working at my lounge though. You’d make a great M.C. Fizzy-frog.”

Fizz agreed to perform at Ozzie’s, with the frequent scheduling starting in a few weeks. He had prior commitments with Mammon to take care of first. Doing nightly shows at the lounge would mean moving to Lust.

Before that, he wanted to talk with Barb. The first chance he got was almost a week later, after they were done at Mammon’s for the day. Fizz had to steal himself to talk to his friend so he went to her apartment after hyping himself up via a phone call with Asmodeus.

Barb, meanwhile, had taken a hit of her current drug of choice as soon as she got home. It was the first big high she’d had in the past two weeks. When Fizz showed up at her door unannounced, she could feel the drugs hitting her system. Although he looked serious and she was trying to focus on what he said, the chemical filter in her veins meant she really only caught a few words. Kind of like those snippets of Blitzo’s postcards.

“Barb, I know you’ve got a problem. You’ve been using drugs again, I can tell. We need to get you help, but we can’t do it here. Asmodeus offered me a gig, I’ll need to move to Lust. Please, come with me. I can’t stand seeing you destroy yourself. We’ll get away from all this shit in Greed. Get you some fucking help.”

Barb tried to string together what he was saying. What truly stuck with her was he was moving. Leaving for Lust and Asmodeus. Away from her. She growled angrily. “Urrrgh! Fine, go fuck off with your royal sugar daddy! I don’t need you!” She pushed him away from her. Her intoxication meant she didn’t have much control of her strength. Her push knocked him against the wall; if he hadn’t hit it with his prosthetic arm, it would have left bruises.

She stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Get the fuck out Fizz. The other imp looked stricken so she pushed him again. This one sent him into the hallway. Barb slammed the door shut, locked it and put the chain on. He had a spare key, but even his extendable arms would struggle with the chain. She pressed her back against the door and slid down it as Fizz knocked desperately. He kept saying her name but she didn’t respond. She just curled up, silent and crying.

Eventually, he was gone. Her sense of time was completely distorted. Maybe it had been an hour, maybe just a couple minutes. She just wanted to forget about everything again. Fortunately, past Barb had picked up a baggie full of little friends from her dealer that were very good at helping her forget.

A few days later, she’d come down enough to realize she had to go work. That many pill-shaped friends weren’t cheap. But when she got to Mammon’s main offices, her keycard didn’t work. Barb tried multiple times, flipping the card in different directions but she continued to get error sounds. She was ready to punch the scanner when the door opened smoothly.

The shark demon that stepped out towered over Barb. “What do you want?” No politeness, just blunt demanding attitude.

“I want to get to work. Why isn’t my keycard working?” She waved the offending piece of plastic in front of the shark’s snout.

His concentric ringed eyes focused on the card, reading her name. “Barb Buckzo. Yeah, your position’s been…terminated.” He gave her a leering grin and flicked the card. His claw hit with enough force to send it spinning out of her hand and down the street.

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘terminated’? I’m Fizz’s assistant and bodyguard!”

“Not no more. You haven’t been here for a week. Mr. Fizzarolii and Lord Mammon don’t need some lazy ass coasting on her buddy’s success.” He straightened up to his full height. The shark crossed his arms and continued to match her glaring look. “So you’re out, shoulda got a termination letter in yer mail.”

Her jaw dropped. Those assholes! “I wanna talk to Fizz. Right now!” She tried to push past the beefy shark, but he outweighed her and Fizz combined.

“Mr. Fizzarolli is busy. Lord Mammon is free for the next ten minutes if you wanna talk to him.” Barb growled, a rumbling hiss coming from her chest. “Thought so.” The shark went back inside and the door slid shut behind him.

Barb stood there, chest heaving. She had mostly come down from her high and there was no drugged filter between her and her emotions. After a few minutes of glaring at the locked doors, she started hurling nearby rocks at the building. Her aim was still good from all those years in the circus. But those doors were designed to withstand bullets; a valid concern with all the turf wars likely to pop up in this Ring.

All the rocks in Hell wouldn’t do much to the structure. Barb didn’t care; if anything it made her madder. She kept hurling the same rocks over and over, screaming obscenities all the while. Until she threw one that ricocheted back, hitting her directly on her circus brand and knocking her on her butt.

She sat there, dazed. The pain on her forehead belatedly hit and she rubbed the spot to find ichor welling from the scratch. “Fine. FINE, YOU HEAR ME! YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES! HAVE FUN BEING A PAMPERED WHORE FIZZ! YOU’RE JUST LIKE THAT TRAITOR BLITZO!” Barb turned away, rubbing her upper arms with both hands as she tried to keep the anger in the forefront. She flipped of the building as she walked home.

Not that the studio apartment would be home much longer. She was behind on rent and her landlord was ready to kick her out. Checking her mail, she found the termination letter; included was her severance check. Not enough to back pay everything. But enough to find somewhere else. Something cheaper and closer to the drug dens she was visiting more often.

Within two days, she was gone, ghosting everyone in her life.

—————

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#helluva boss #helluva fanfiction #helluva au #helluva blitzo #helluva fizzarolli #fizzarolli #barbie wire #helluva asmodeus #asmodeus x fizzarolli #fizzmodeus #helluva mammon

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ship-discourse-confessions · 3 months

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This con is very long so i apologize in advance.

https://www.tumblr.com/ship-discourse-confessions/740357030060195840/something-about-proshippers-constant-using

I’m deeply sorry you feel this way and perhaps none of us have explained our stance on it clearly enough, so i think ill try. As needed pieces of context for this, i am a CSA survivor, and some of this may be worded bluntly as im autistic but i dont mean any of it to be confrontational or condescending, please read it all neutrally at the very least.

In short, us trying to move terminology forward to be more descriptive and clearer about intent of these materials isn’t us implying that other survivors deserved their abuse, their exploitation, and their rapes. We are just survivors trying to move from terminology associated with adults having consensual fun to terminology that cannot be mistaken as anything but abuse and exploitation with the intent of not treating (child) rape and consensual sex with the same language and gravity. You and some other survivors choosing to use language many of consider offensive and outdated doesn’t mean that we think your abuse material isn’t actually abuse material or that you weren’t actually raped.

Point 1) We dont say that CSEM can’t be drawn, we say that art of fictional characters cannot be CSEM because there is no child being sexually exploited. You cannot exploit nor abuse a fictional character. Very obviously sexual art of an identifiable real life child would be CSEM, no matter how stylized, you are sexually exploiting them and their likeness. Realistic art of fictional characters is not CSEM, but it legally treated as such because the inherent danger it poses and the difficulty with which you could distinguish it from CSEM.

Point 2) The association with the word “porn” implying consent doesn’t actually apply retroactively to sexual abuse materials, and it never has. When we say “porn = consent” we mean that sexual materials filmed with consent is porn, and if it was NOT filmed with consent it cannot be porn, and is instead sexual abuse material. We need to separate consensual erotic material and abuse, both socially and legally (which particularly uses outdated terminology constantly), and we are trying so fucking hard to do that. We already have swaths of radfems spreading the “porn is rape on tape” and “all porn is rape” rhetoric and muddying the waters of what is abuse material and what is porn.

Point 3) No, we don’t think your abuse material is not all of a sudden consensual because someone calls it a term other survivors say is wrong and offensive. We are saying it shouldn’t be called that in the first place because it doesn’t accurately describe what happened to you in that material.

Point 4) No, we don’t believe that pornstars are incapable of being raped or incapable of being raped on film, but we do believe that any resulting material isnt “porn”, its sexual abuse material. I dont know how you came to this conclusion, but anyone who believes a pornstar cant be raped because at other times they recorded consensual sexual activity is a fucking asshole. Thats not how consent works. Its also an asshole move to call someone a pornstar *because* they were raped on film.

Point 5) Insisting on calling filmed consensual sexual activity “porn” and rape/assault “abuse materials”, once again, does not magically change one into the other because you called it that. These terms are used to describe what the material actually is, not vice versa. “Revenge porn” is called revenge porn because it is the nonconsensual spread of materials that were filmed consensually for the purpose of revenge. It is spreading sexual materials in which all people involved consented, but they did not consent to the distribution. Thats why its called that, and its an appropriate name for it.

Point 6) Recordings of people being raped shouldn’t be called porn, we should be calling them sexual abuse material. Same point I’ve reiterated several times. Someone using an outdated for their own abuse material doesn’t all of a sudden mean they believe themselves to have consented now, and no one else is implying that they were no longer raped because they used such a word. Again, don’t know where you saw this.

Point 7) I don’t think anyone has ever implied that child sex abuse/exploitation material isnt used for predators to jack off to. Its kinda in the name…… children are being exploited and abused for sexual purposes. Again, i really don’t know where you got this idea. Calling it CSAM doesn’t reduce what happened or for what purposes, and neither does CSEM. The reason we use CSEM more commonly than CSAM is because the former is more all encompassing. All sexual material of real children is sexually exploitative, but not all sexual material of real children is abuse (read, the art of real children we talked about previously. While exploitation, the child wasnt sexually abused to make it).

#shipping discourse

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i-am-minty-fresh · 5 months

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For the strawhat relationship thingy maybe luffy and robin??(platonically ofc)

she is kinda like a mother figure but i also think she works equally as well as just a friend

idk but i think theyre really silly and want to hear what you think as well

Okay I have the flu right now so this might not be as long as I want, but you’d be strained to call it short.

Robin and Luffy hold a special place in my heart for being the most explicit example of what being friends with Luffy can do to a Motherfucker. When Robin initially joins the crew she manipulates Luffy into taking responsibility for her, and manipulates everyone else on the crew using their abject flaws when facing an enemy (Sanji loves women, Usopp and Chopper are children who like having fun, and Nami likes money). She runs into an initial problem with getting on the good side of Zoro because Zoro believes in action above all else (like how he almost killed himself to prove Nami wasn’t bad in Arlong Park). As viewers we aren’t meant to trust Robin, and so we don't ...up until Skypeia.

Skypeia is the first time that she takes an action that would put herself in danger to protect the crew…she’s growing attached.

And who can blame her! Luffy’s heart isn’t a log pose it’s, an eternal pose meaning it doesn’t sway to unrelated distraction islands and is always accurate. He knows that Robin is a good person because she helped him not die of poisoning from Crocodile without any real reason. He’s never been afraid of her….

He’s never been afraid of her.

From Robin’s perspective this will wear off soon. She has lived her life as a dead woman, never belonging anywhere because she’s the devil’s child. She’s never been a person as much as face to throw darts at in every pirate bar and marine headquarters. She’s seeked after for either her knowledge or her power…Luffy wants neither.

Think about that. He doesn’t want either. Like what we saw with Sanji when he asked him to join his crew without (actually) seeing him fight or eating his food. Luffy wants good people on his crew and he’s not been wrong yet.

But at the same time, Luffy doesn’t dismiss either her strength or her knowledge. He understands her to be an absolute force of nature but doesn’t expect her to use that if she doesn’t want to. Luffy puts the crew's comfort above what they provide for him (which is the reason the Water 7 Usopp fight happens but that’s for another time), meaning she can kill everyone here if she wants but she can just sit in her chair and read her stories while Luffy takes care of it.

Before Enies Lobby, Robin might have assumed that Luffy underestimated her which is what her leaving was supposed to emphasize, ‘I’m too much work and I’m sorry you had to find that out now…we had fun and now it’s over’ she thought that once Luffy and Co. found out about CP9 and the buster call and her polyglyph knowledge they would take the easy way out by leaving her to die. They didn’t sign up to deal with an actual fugitive who was the sole survivor of a genocide, and she can pay them back for all that they’ve done for her by saving their lives one last time…

TOO BAD IT’S THE STRAWHAT CREW, BABY!

So they save her ass and teach her the meaning of friendship and what naught and now Robin’s in so deep she’s at like Zoro levels.

She’s crazy, she’s feral, she’s demented as fuck, and you know what she also is? A straw hat. Her crew loves her and respects her not just as a psychopath willing to break everyone’s spines nor as one of the few people in the world who can read the Road Polyglyphs necessary for Luffy to become King of the Pirates, but as another member of the spontaneous strawhat crew.

For Luffy specifically she does in fact act like a mother, but she’s like a perfect combination of mom’s that Luffy has had. Makino and Dadan. Dadan let Luffy run wild without bandaging his wounds because he doesn’t like being coddled like a child very well. Dadan’s all mama bear, violent and protective over what she has left of her cubs. Makino has that ‘normal’ mom vibe. Comfort and serenity. Someone to clap when Luffy does something cool and read to him when he’s all tuckered out. Neither of them taught Luffy the insane moral compass that he has, they only helped him grow along with it. With Dadan it was more about learning to leave the other guy bloodied and beaten, never let anyone mess with what’s yours. With Makino it was about compassion and believing people have good intentions, leaning on others whenever you need help.

Robin does both. She pets Luffy’s hair and indulges in his childish antics but she’s also raw power and protective strength. Luffy taught her to stop only using her powers for herself (more or less as a form of self-soothing, only focusing on herself as a defensive mechanism to keep herself safe) and so now she’s gonna use those powers for others. Her family. Luffy relies on her the same way he relies on any member of his crew, and in return he’s got an elite force of killing machines that will watch the world burn in order to protect him.

I don’t know if this made a lick of sense because I’m kinda drowsy and blinking in and out of consciousness but hopefully this explains everything! (I might re-read this later and re-write it when I’m not off my rocker).

Thanks for the ask!

#one piece #monkey d luffy #nico robin #character analysis #minty musings

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

Hello,

First, I would like to state that I am still on a hiatus, but before I go, I wanted to make my peace on here.

I am deeply sorry for any SA survivors that I personally hurt/offended/triggered in any capacity by my venting. I did not have the intentions to diminish anyone’s feelings, or the fact that SA survivors use noncon/dub con to cope with their own trauma. I understand how it came across and while this is no excuse, my venting was purely based off of my own emotions. I was upset and hurt because it felt like my trauma was being romanticized and made out to be “hot.” “sexy.” While the fic itself upset me, it was the comments that truly effected me because it made me feel like my assault was sexy. Nothing about me being assaulted, on multiple counts, is sexy.

I recognize that I should have tagged my vent post appropriately. I truly did not know that I needed to do that until it was pointed out. I thought venting was just free rein and whether you choose to believe me or not, is completely up to you.

I understand that feelings were hurt. However, mine have been as well because numerous people have casted their pre-judgement and accusations upon me when they don’t even know me, let alone the reason why I vented in the first place.

While I’m sure people will continue to call me a hypocrite, and send hate in my inbox, I truly would just like everyone to know that I’m sorry.

I normally do not let my triggers effect me in the way that they used to. Am I perfect? No. I have my good days, and bad days just like anyone else. I have been going to therapy for over two years and I am actively working through and processing my trauma. I also understand that I had every chance to not participate in reading that fic and I still decided to. I am holding myself accountable in that aspect. I know that I can block tags, accounts etc but at the same time, why does that have to be my only option? Yes, we all cope in different ways but why is the fact that my own feelings are being pushed aside and dragged through the dirt because I didn’t agree with something?

Why does that make it okay? It doesn’t and I will be sticking behind this.

If you choose to actively hate me, think I’m some terrible person for allowing my feelings/emotions to control my actions, I don’t have anything to say to you other than the fact that you are beating a dead horse and to please leave me alone.

I will not be responding to any hate in my messages or inbox.

At the end of the day, I am a real person behind the screen. As is everyone else. I am a human being and I make mistakes and hold myself accountable for them. Please remember this before you send me any form of hate.

If you have read this entire thing, processed it, and learned to forgive and understand where I am coming from, thank you.

Goodbye for now,

-Gi

#tw sa #tw rape mentioned #tw rape #tw dub con #tw non con

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meliorao · 2 years

Text

I love him to the day I die.

Summary: your boyfriend is now gone and you have to live without him.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson Reader established relationship

Warnings: Death, angst, slight survivors guilt(?), minor swearing! Minors go away! Don’t read any of my works if you’re not 18+, please! Also not fully proofread. Just wanted to post something for fun as I was bored!

Words: 2000

A/N: This is the first time I actually upload any of my work so please be nice! However it is very rushed as I wrote it out of boredom one night when I was in my Eddie feels (as always)! I hope you enjoy it though!

———————————————————————

You rushed up to your brother, the anxiety that had been boiling up under your skin that your brother would be harmed in any way shape or form finally left your shoulders. You threw your arms around him in a desperate attempt to make sure he was real, that you were not imagining it.

“I swear to fucking god, I would have never forgiven you if you didn’t come back, what happened to your leg?” you whispered and hugged him tighter, almost squeezing the life out of him. After this god forsaken spring break you had never felt so relieved to see his goofy face again. You felt how Dustin hugged you tightly back. You felt how teardrops started to fall from the pitch black sky, not even a star in sight to light up the path for you. You pull away, taking a deep breath as you cup your brothers cheeks in you’re and that’s when you realised… the pain in his usual happy features, the tears fighting to push through and fall onto his cheeks but Dustin tried his hardest to keep it together…

Eddie, Eddie wasn’t there.

“Dustin… Where is Eddie?” You whisper out, the words trembled from your lips. You started to feel lightheaded, you felt like vomiting… you mind started to fly everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “Dustin Henderson, you better be telling me right now where Eddie or I swear to god-“ more couldn’t you say as you saw how the boy in front of you broke down. Tears started to stream down his cheeks as if someone switched on a switch, pulled a plug and let the water flow, he was in panic.

“The bats.. he, he said he would buy time and… and, he was attacked, a lot. I was too late, he, he-“ more didn’t Dustin need to say, you understood. You wrapped your arms around your brother once more and took a shaky breath as your eyes started to tear up as well, just like Dustin’s. You hush him, trying your best to calm him down. You had to remember, you’re the older sibling, you had to stay strong in these situations right? Didn’t matter that your goddamn boyfriend is dead, it was still someone your brother had looked up to, seen as a brother for himself. You couldn’t be egotistical right now, not for him.

You closed your eyes, remembering the last time you saw Eddie.

“Just look at us, we are no heroes” Eddie said as he smiled a bit. The plan was risky, yes, but it was your best shot at defeating Vecna, or Henry, or 001, it was confusing on what actually you were supposed to call this thing by now.

You had a bad feeling about this, it wasn’t a perfect plan by any means. However, you knew your brother were safe with Eddie, you would trust him with you life before anyone else. You took a deep breath before jogging up to you boyfriend and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, resting your hand on his shoulder. His surprised yet warming eyes looked at you as you pulled away.

“What was that for?” He whispered with his gentle tone.

“Good luck I guess, I see how people do that sort of shit in movies all the time” you whispered and let out a chuckle.

“You’re so god damn cheesy, baby” he said gently.

“I’m sorry to break up your clearly adorable yet disgusting moment guys but we have to hurry” Robin spoke up, making both you and Eddie look at her direction.

“Kick that Vecna-dude’s ass for me, will ya?” Eddie said as you gave him a smile and jogged up to Steve and Robin.

“Only if you go full Ozzy-style on those damn bats” you said back. “Deal?”

“Deal”.

Looking back at that moment now, you wished you would have kissed him just a few seconds longer, maybe given him a hug… but it was all too late now. And he would be known as a murderer and traitor in Hawkins forever.

Minutes became hours and hours became days It had already been three days since the accident and you were practically forced by your friends to follow them to donate the stuff that Mrs wheeler had gathered together for the people in need. Yes people had been hurt, people lost their homes. And you? You lost your Eddie. The news was spitting out these false accusations. No matter where you looked people called him the frantic cult murderer, the damn idea Jason had poisoned their minds with.

You hadn’t slept, not eaten.. the guilt was eating you alive. You could have been there, you could have saved Eddie if you would have been there with him and Dustin. You could have cleaned up his name, you could have had a future with him, like you two promised. All you could say in your mind was he could have been with you now.

As Steve got sent to help with the laundry and Robin to help with the sandwiches, you were sent to simply look around. That’s when you saw your brother, giving Mr Munson Eddies necklace… as if your heart hadn’t been hurting the entire time, it once again broke into pieces as you saw Dustin explain the truth to Mr Munson. Fuck… you wiped away a tear from your cheek as you hadn’t even noticed it falling in the first place. You saw your brother getting up and walked away, leaving Mr Munson alone on the bench.

That’s when you took your chance. You slowly walked to the man. Taking a deep breath, he didn’t even notice you as his head was in his hands. At the end of the day, he was the only connection you had with Eddie left.

“Mr Munson?” You spoke up, catching his attention. You saw how he cleared his throat, trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

“May, why are you here?”

“I don’t know, can I talk to you?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?“

You sit down quickly, looking at him. A man that Eddie had spoken to highly off. Wayne had never been too fond of you, clearly as he was worried that Eddie would be hurt again. But you had tried so many times to win his approval as he was at the end of the day, Eddies father figure, someone Eddie looked up to. Every time you asked about Eddies parents he just changed the subject, clearly not wanting to say a word about it, he only spoke low of his father, so you could only imagine what sort of man he would have been.

“I just wanted to say… I heard what Dustin told you and I know you hate me but, I just want you to know that I never ever thought he was nothing but the most amazing person I’ve ever known. Not only as a boyfriend, because he was that too, but he was the most caring and loving guy I’ve ever met. I was forced to speak to the police at multiple times this past week and I always told them that he was innocent. No matter what you thought of me, I loved your nephew. I love him to the day I die” you said, your voice breaking at multiple places in the sentence.

To say that Wayne looked chocked was an understatement. First Dustin told him the truth of what had happened to his nephew, and now Eddies damn girlfriend was sitting beside him, speaking to him about Eddie too. It was too much to handle for the man clearly, which you understood. So much to take in on such a short amount of time.

“Come with me, I’ll show you something” Mr Munson said, standing up as he put the necklace into his pocket.

“Where are we going?” You asked slowly, standing up as well. You followed Mr Munson out to his truck. It was filled with boxes in all sort of sized. You rested your back against the truck as you saw how the man was going through some of the boxes.

“Our trailer got broken into ruins by the earthquake, but I managed to save some stuff” Wayne said as he finally stopped the frantic search and pulled up a big book, a scrapbook. He just like you rested his back again the truck before opening the book up. Your heart started to beat faster as you saw it, the book was filled with photos of him.

“He came to me when he was only 6, his mom died when he was only 5, the poor kid tried to jump into the casket to his mom at the funeral. My brother is the biggest fucker out there, didn’t take care of him for shit. So when his dad got sent to jail, I took him in. No one else wanted him, I knew I didn’t have much but I couldn’t let him go into foster care” Mr Munson explained as he changed page. It was an old photo of him, at a talent show with Gareth and Jeff, their black T-shirts was handmade and said Corroded Coffin, wrongly spelled on them. You could barely recognise your own boyfriend, his buzzed hair and missed front teeth… you couldn’t help but to smile a bit. There had been so much he had kept from you about his past..

“It took me about a year to even get the poor bastard to trust me. I don’t know what he really went through with his dad, but I won him over when I gave him my Black Sabbath cassette. I guess it’s my fault he got so into music, I was the one teaching him quitar in the beginning as well, but he quickly became better than me, so when he was 8 he started his own band” Wayne said. You could see, Wayne truly loved Eddie, he must have been the only one in his family who did… the only one he could trust.

Mr Munson then skipped to one of the last pictures in the entire scrapbook. However nothing could have even prepared you for what you saw in front of you.

A Polaroid, you and Eddie last Christmas. You had forced him into wearing a big Christmas sweater with devil horns on. He always said that Christmas is a time for capitalists to rob us on as much money as they could on as little time as possible. However despite how much he absolutely despised the holidays, he loved you more, and after some promise for some special jolly fucking you did end up winning and you got him to wear it all night. However as you had to celebrate Christmas Day with your family you ended up spending Christmas Eve together.

You couldn’t help but to smile at the picture. Despite him looking absolutely in agony with his arms crossed and brows pulled down, you seemed to be awfully happy. In the corner of the page it said Maybe Christmas isn’t as bad if they’re all with her.

And that’s when the tears came again. “Thank you for showing me this, Mr Munson, i wish he was here” you whispered as you wiped away more tears with the sleeve on your sweater.

“I don’t, if he knew I even had this in my possession he would have murdered me on the spot, cold hearted” Wayne chuckled which also made you giggle despite both of you having flooded eyes by now.

#fanfic #imagines #writing #joseph quinn #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot

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incoherentbabblings · 2 years

Note

What do you think of Bruce as a father? I understand that he’s not perfect, but I’m incredibly uncomfortable with the way he’s written as a parent. A lot of reproachful, unkind behavior gets brushed aside as “that’s just the way he is” or “he was under a lot of stress”. I don’t know, I wish the writers would take a lot more care in writing this part of him because it honestly makes me somewhat dislike his character as a whole 😔

Abuse discussion content warning below.

I have a lot of contradictory feelings towards Bruce. I think he loves his kids more than anything. I think he loves Dick more than anything. I think he has moments where he goes above and beyond the duty of any parent for their child. I think his reasoning for helping his kids is genuinely alturistic.

I also think Bruce is abusive, and I don't think it's one off tone deaf writers 'getting it wrong'. It's a consistent part of his character and goes back decades. And just as in real life, it's hard to reconcile the idea of a parent loving their child whilst also being abusive. It's not an easy thing to write about, so if I'm crass here, or get things wrong, I am sorry.

But I think the best example I can give is that Lemire's Robin and Batman is my favourite depiction of Bruce and Dick's relationship in years. It unequivocally writes that Bruce: A) Loves Dick very much. B) Is abusive. I'm very grateful for the fact that the book never side steps this fact.

I don't know. There's a lot of uncomfortable and difficult to explain things regarding Bruce's behaviour. It's all well and good to say the abuse stems from ptsd and trauma but then, is that just stigmatising mental illness, which is something that Bat comics (or superhero comics in general) do all the time? Do we really want to perpetuate that? And I'm not sure about the answers to any of that! I think the writers intent matters in these cases, and the thing that kills me is that there is no intent. Most of his writers genuinely have no clue what they've done, creating such a realistic cyclical depiction of an abusive parent. And a lot of the time, I really don't know how to feel about it all.

And yeah sure there's a lot of contradictions in his approach to his kids, but things that crop up again and again is denying them agency, unrealistic expecations, and a resulting coldness for when they fail to match them. I have seen, and I agree I think, that the very concept of Robin is abuse, and no not in the vigilante dodging bullets way, but in the Fear needs Hope Batman needs a Robin way. Placing the emotional stability of an adult as a responsibility of a child.

It's not just the hitting - of which there is plenty over the last fifty years to see - its the lack of communication, the financial control he exerts, the rejection and withdrawl of affection based on the kids having to hit impossible targets, the lying and manipulation... it goes on and on. Bruce ticks every box when it comes to parenting his kids. I don't blame people for wanting to scrub it, and they will have very sympathetic reasons for doing so. I get a little antsy however as that doesn't mean the actions and words are actually gone. Bruce smacking Tim was awful. I've seen arguments about its ooc nature and how it should be ignored and forgotten etc... but Bruce still hit Tim. I can open a book and look at it right now. Ignoring it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

I don't mind reading or writing fics where Bruce is decidedly not abusive, I do it all the time certainly, but in canon, I think the whole #NotMyBruce is well intentioned but also a bit dangerous. People seeing their own abuse reflected back at them, and how in many ways that can actually be quite affirming, only to have someone come along and be like 'that's not the real him' or whatever long essays they write about BtAS (which... he's still abusive in that I'm sorry but he is) being the 'their' Batman doesn't really help.

Abuse survivors don't want to read an iteration of such things versus those who in one way or another take comfort from it. The needs of one don't cancel out the needs of the other? I hope that makes sense. It's a very complicated thing to try and put into words. Many blogs have written about it much better than I.

I just think, the abuse is still there on the page, saying it 'doesn't count' because it was ooc (it's not) doesn't make it go away, and I think its dangerous to ignore it. I think it's important to draw a distinction between looking at what is shown on the page, and how that fits into a pattern of other instances, versus what you want Bruce to be, and how there may be contradictions about the abuse portrayed in other pages.

#dc #ask and i'll babble #abuse cw #this is why I've gotten so angry at wfa in recent months in case its not clear #and why i stopped reading it a while ago #batfam meta

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uninspired--poet · 2 years

Text

Personal update regarding my fanfiction (opinionated, for sure. I’m not deleting anything <3.):

I wrote for the warcraft fandom every day from the end of 2018 to around six months ago. Over a million and a half words in that time. I wrote for WoW and, more specifically, Sylvaina, because I loved the characters and I believed I could write them a better story than they were getting.

The ‘finishing’ of Sylvanas’s story, along with the release of her novel, have resulted in things going incredibly south for me creatively. I wrote the stories because I loved the characters, as I’ve said. Especially Sylvanas.

I thought the issue was the high demand level of my job, but it wasn’t. It was just way easier to tell myself that than to admit what had actually happened.

This ship, especially, has been. Y’know. This isn’t the first time the character I identify most with has been turned into something she was never supposed to be. But that’s fine. When the ship trend became, not only noncon, but pushback against tagging it as such, I coped. (Y’know. As well as could be expected considering the reason Sylvanas is who I identify with is that she was the epitome of a survivor character and said trend turned her into the very thing I, personally, survived.)

I even coped when this ‘trend’ became the norm, somehow. When the character’s entire point was regaining her own agency and ensuring the agency of her fellow survivors. It’s fanfiction, right? What could it hurt, right?

I’m fully aware content policing is bad. But also, I have personal opinions and beliefs and it sure does suck that the ship I started writing for to cope with escaping a really bad situation became ‘the noncon ship’.

So, first, the ship’s fandom itself made her something she wasn’t intended to be. Easy enough to deal with. I simply won’t write her like that. I’ll write her the way I think she should be written, and the way that helps me process things. I’ll do everything in my power to always write healthy, consenting relationships. I’ll even withdraw socially from most aspects of fandom because I can’t fathom interacting with anyone who thinks this characterization is ‘hot’. Because in real life, it’s very much not.

And again, the pushback against requests that this particular trigger be tagged? Probably pretty telling regarding the direction things were heading. But I kept writing! I loved the characters. I loved the people who found my works as comforting to read as I found them to write. And because I still believed I could give these characters a better story than canon. Eventually, things evened out a bit on the content being produced for this ship and I felt a lot more comfortable being involved in it on a personal level.

Now we’ve arrived back at canon. The thing I felt so compelled to fix and do better when it just got harder and harder with each content patch. And the craziest thing happened. They stopped just short of canonically giving her the exact characterization I was just addressing. But they didn’t stop before she stopped being Sylvanas Windrunner, and they didn’t stop before the entire lore of the game was irreparably broken.

And I don’t know how to fix that. After so many words and stories and ‘it doesn’t matter, I can fix it.’, I can’t, anymore. And that’s super sad for me on a personal level. I’m not sorry for any opinions I’ve expressed regarding this ship now or in the past, but I’m sorry I can’t fix it. It just feels so much like there’s nothing left to fix. I’ve definitely tried. I’ve opened my docs so, so many times. I even wrote a whole one-shot in one sitting recently. And then I found out the writer currently responsible for Sylvanas’s direction is now writing for Overwatch, which has been one of my favorite things to do since I haven’t been able to write, and I was just like, okay. Writing for Blizzard franchises is becoming genuinely upsetting, and it’s really hurting my ability to write anything at all. I need to stop trying so hard to fit a square peg in a round hole before I ruin my ability to get this creative outlet back at some point.

Anyway, this isn’t some melodramatic ‘I’m leaving forever’ thing. I just wanted to express some things after so many years of so much involvement. There’ll be fics I discontinue, and fics I’ll update when I feel like I can enjoy updating them. Probably not many, though, and I wanted to be transparent about that because there are so many of you that I’ve come to care about and enjoy seeing in my comments and notes over the years.

Also, like what you like! Don’t let me stop you or make you angry about it. If I don’t even have the strength to keep trying so hard to write about these characters, I definitely don’t have it in me to argue about tag preferences, lol. I’m not some weird overarching characterization deity. I’m just a guy with ptsd and strong opinions.

But also, tag that shit if you want to write it. Don’t negotiate about it. It’s not a debate. If someone asks you to tag a theme, just believe them when they say it hurt them, or that it could hurt others. Behavior like that sets the mood and tempo for a lot of things, and you never know who has been through what in their real life.

Anyway, it’s really a perfect storm of things except the storm has been happening for years. I’ll still update some things. I still love the character Sylvanas was. And I’ll always appreciate the journies everyone took with me. They helped me more than you’ll ever know.

I’ll see you in the next silly or gratuitous elf one-shot. Sorry about the longfics. No promises on those, for sure. <3

-Poet

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au-starss · 1 year

Note

I saw you were asking for request ideas so what about prompt 35 and 36 with Kaeya and reader? Hopefully with a happy ending? Also I know we know he's not the prince of Khaenri'ah after that diluc event but like... In my head he still is 😌

PRINCE'S LETTER !

༄ synopsis… your lover has been distant as of late, and you're determined to find out why

༄ characters… kaeya x gn!reader

༄ tags… prompt 35: 'so you forgot to mention you belong to royalty', prompt 36: 'i have to push you away to keep you safe', angst with comfort, petnames

༄ words… 841

༄ author’s thoughts…what a request anon i love it! the concept was cool and i adore the creativity! i hope you enjoy!

Your eyes stay fixed on the door in front of you, worried about the person on the other side. It had been days since Kaeya contacted you, which wasn’t normal for him. What was normal was him coming to see you after his shifts with the knights.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door to the office. “Kaeya? It’s me, [Name].”

Silence was the only thing that greeted you after you spoke. Irritated, you knock again.

“Come on Kaeya, I know you’re in there.”

Once again, nobody spoke a word. With enough frustration in you, you open the door instead, not waiting for an invite.

Sure enough, Kaeya was on the other side scribbling furiously on some papers. He didn’t even notice that you have walked in. So engrossed in his own little world.

“Alberich.”

He finally glanced up, a shocked expression crossing his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m worried about you!” You respond, frustration evident in your voice.

Looking around the office, you notice how dirty it has become. They were papers everywhere, all seemingly discarded after being written on.

“Kae what’s.. what’s going on with you?”

Kaeya let out a frustrated sigh, slamming the notebook in front of him closed. It’s only then you notice the dark eye bags underneath his eyes. He looks like an absolute train wreck. And you really don’t know what’s going on with him.

“This isn’t any of your concern.” He said firmly. “Just leave, okay? This is for your own good.”

Just as you were about to argue with him again, one of the crumpled papers caught your eye. Specifically the signature at the bottom in Kaeya’s handwriting.

‘Yours truly, Prince Kaeya.’

You immediately move to grab the paper before he can stop you. “Kaeya.. what’s this?”

“Nothing! Just something for Klee’s imagination! Now give it!”

You move further from him so he can’t grab the paper. Looking over it, it wasn’t something meant for Klee.

You begin reading some lines aloud. “’The plan is set to move forward. I can assume the throne after this phase. Congrats on all of your hard work and thank you.’” It said, with some more instructions. “Assume the throne? Is this all real?”

Looking up, you notice that Kaeya has since stopped moving entirely. He’s frozen, a hint of fear evident in his eyes. He seems concerned. Like you learned everything you weren’t supposed to.

“Yes, it’s real.” He admits.

You give a questioning look to him. “So you just forgot to mention you belong to royalty?”

“I had to, [Name]!” Kaeya says, moving closer to you. “I love and cherish you so much, but I had to keep this a secret. It’s dangerous. And I have a duty that calls. You’re gonna have to stay away, my love. I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your long-time boyfriend just admitted to being a prince. And now he decides that he needs to leave you? For some princely duties? What the hell?!

“You don’t have to! I’ll be there with you, Kae.”

Kaeya gives a pitiful laugh, brushing your cheek with his hand. “You don’t understand, [Name]. I have to push you away to keep you safe. I’m royalty to the fallen nation of Khaenri'ah.” He speaks quietly, hoping no one outside his office is listening.

Now this wasn’t making sense. That nation fell so long ago. How could he possibly be a survivor from it, let alone be royalty? Yet, even with such a complex turn, you still longed to stay by his side. His presence in front of you reminded you of why you came in the first place.

To stay by him and protect him.

“You don’t need to push me away. I can handle this with you.” You speak in turn, hugging him closely.

His eyes widen at your words. “You understand how much danger you’d be in? If you get hurt [Name], I-”

“Hey-”

You look back up at him, maintaining eye contact. You bring up his hand to your shared eye level, showing him the ring on it.

“Remember this? A promise of protection, love, and forever.” You say, placing a kiss on the promise ring. “I’m not going anywhere. So good luck trying to get rid of me.”

Kaeya’s expression went from shock to that of peace. You were right. He had you here, and he could be bound to protect you for as long as he can. He leans into you, capturing your lips on his own. A reminder that you were real and in fact right in front of him.

Meanwhile, Albedo stood at the crack of the door, watching as you two shared a moment. He took a deep breath, moving back to his office to continue writing his letter.

‘Keep an eye out on Kaeya. His partner knows. He may not be trustworthy soon enough. But if the time should come in which he betrays us, I will be ready to assume the throne in his spot.

-Albedo Kreideprinz’

#༄ order up!#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #genshin kaeya

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antisocialxconstruct · 1 year

Text

calling this DONE because I don't want to look at it anymore. After exploring some of the other potential outcomes in @the-passenger-if I've warmed up to Ever's first ending considerably, although the one (1) thing that disappoints me is that if you're not on good enough terms with Roach you never get to find out Why™. So this was just my attempt to fill that little gap :v

2.8k, Ever and Roach have a nice friendly chat :) Major endgame spoilers, probably don't read if you haven't finished at least one playthrough

“Ever?”

He starts, glancing up at Fiama as if he’s only just become aware of her presence. From where she's hovering on the other side of the counter, coffee pot in hand, she arches a single sculpted eyebrow at him as he sits up slightly. "Hm? Sorry, I was a thousand miles away."

That's the understatement of a lifetime. Or overstatement, maybe. It's been eight months and he never once stopped thinking about Luna Ridge. About the feast. About coming the closest to perfect he’d ever been in twenty-six years, the closest to free he’d ever been… just to bounce off the damned portal like a bird hitting a window. Nothing’s felt right since. Nothing ever really felt right here, but he had learned to endure so long as it felt like he’d been moving steadily toward the end of it. Now…

Now there’s that little voice somewhere in the back of his mind telling him the same thing over and over. That was your chance and you missed it.

Fiama eyes him a moment longer, and he tries to smooth away whatever must be showing on his face. “I said are you doing okay? I feel like I’ve seen less and less of you lately, ever since…” She gestures vaguely with the coffee pot, but she won’t say it. There’s still some tiny, reluctant part of her that doesn’t like admitting any of that really happened, that the world extends that far beyond what makes sense. But Ever has no doubt she’s been thinking about it too.

“Oh… yeah I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Everything is so achingly normal now, he adds internally, and it’s a conscious effort to flash Fiama a light smile instead of the sneer that wants to accompany that thought. That wouldn’t be in character. That’s not how Ever Newman acts. But the little frown settled onto Fiama’s features isn’t going anywhere, and a sidelong glance tells Ever the diner is too empty for her focus to be redirected. He inhales sharply, clears his throat. “It’s just been an adjustment, you know?” he presses on. “We’ve been arranging some renovations to the bakery for Livvy’s sake, and in the meantime I’ve taken on a lot more of the work there to give her a break. It hasn’t left a lot of time for social calls is all.”

It’s a pretty weak lie, and not one that will hold a lot of water if Fiama has even one conversation with Livvy about it–the renovations are real, but in reality Livvy’s adapted admirably to her lost sight and the whole thing has become her pet project. The truth is Ever has been pulling away, avoiding people. The discomfort of having to pour himself back into this body, into this tiny excuse for a life, had deepened pretty quickly into resentment and disgust with every new reassurance that the other survivors of Luna Ridge still trusted him, still loved him, still thought of him as the Ever they had always known. I’m not, he wanted to remind them, I’m not anything that you know, I’m not anything that you could even comprehend. It had been dull to play human when his true existence had been a secret he had to keep. Now, to have that secret out only for the others to continue responding to the human mask after it’s been well and truly shredded… It's hell.

Still, he knows how to use it, and the lie gets exactly the reaction he was angling for. Fiama purses her lips in a sympathetic frown and gives him a slow nod, then leans in to top off his coffee. “Just make sure you’re making time for yourself,” she says softly. “It’s so important especially when you’re also looking after someone else.”

Ever empties three sugar packets into the freshly filled mug and tosses her a smirk. He starts, “speaking from exp-” but the comment dies on his lips when he realizes her attention is fixed on something over his shoulder. In the instant that follows a spark of panic arcs white-hot down his spine, before he can remind himself that there’s no longer anything after him.

Then Fiama straightens and the moment passes. “Sorry,” she chuckles, but her attention is already drifting, scanning the meager crowd in case she’s needed. “That person by the window just looked so familiar for a second.”

The non sequitur is enough to smother Ever’s fear in favor of curiosity, and he twists in his seat to see who she was looking at.

Then he freezes.

They do look different. It’s subtle, not immediately apparent whether anything actually changed or the distance of eight months has made their features seem unfamiliar. Maybe their hair is shorter? Maybe their clothes are new? But it couldn’t be anyone else. If Ever had been naive enough to doubt, it would have evaporated the second they glanced up and the sunlight bounced off those strange honey-gold eyes.

He’s out of his seat and across the floor before he can really even think about what he’s doing. His hands come down on the tabletop with a sharp thwack as he bends down to meet their eye. “If you were half as smart as you like to act,” he growls, “you’d be halfway around the globe right now.”

Roach blinks, then gives him a slow, syrupy smile. “And if you were half as powerful as you like to claim, I don’t think we’d be having this conversation right now, would we?” Ever holds their gaze and grits his teeth, but he isn’t able to offer any kind of rebuttal before they speak again. “What are you going to do, Ever? Are you gonna kill me? Explode my head right here in front of all these lovely people? You could, right?”

Could he? It’s a tempting prospect in spite of the mess it would make. His eyes stay locked onto theirs for another moment as he weighs his options, until a strangely acrid smell hits his nose. He glances down to see the clear coating of the table begin to warp and bubble around his hands, and the sticky tearing sound it makes as he yanks them away makes him wince. His palms feel raw but he crosses his arms without looking at them, takes a deep breath, counts to five inside his head. He never takes his eyes off Roach, and they never waver as they stare back in patient, openly amused silence.

“Why did you come back?” Ever finally asks, once he’s calm enough to be certain his voice will stay respectably level. It’s still dripping with vitriol. “I can’t imagine you thought you would finish the job.”

Roach laughs, sharp and sudden as they ever did. Like the two of them are sharing a long-running joke. “This might be hard to believe but my life doesn’t revolve around you, Ever. I came back to see how Jonny was doing. Because I like him.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it was just a wild coincidence that we crossed paths here?”

“Oh, no.” Roach shrugs. “I did follow you here.” Ever unfolds his arms and moves as if to grab Roach out of the booth before pulling up a split second later, balling his hands into fists at his sides and fixing a withering glare over Roach’s shoulder at nothing in particular. What is he going to do, beat them up in the middle of the diner? He’s fairly certain he has them to thank for the fact that no one has taken notice of this little confrontation yet–a realization that only makes him bristle all the more. “Reconsidering that whole ‘exploding my head’ option?” they purr, reining his attention back in. Then they lean back in the booth, drumming their fingers on the table for a beat before they continue, “so how are you adjusting to life without a Hunter on your tail? I really thought you’d bail when that was all over, imagine my surprise to find you still living out your days in this little dead end of a town.”

“I can’t,” Ever spits, as if Roach should feel stupid for even asking. They don’t even flinch. “Tzr’nekre’s essence wasn’t enough to break free, I had no choice but to shove myself back down into this dimension, into this.” He presses a hand to his chest, then drags it down the fabric of his shirt like he’s trying to rid himself of some distasteful residue. The melted plastic, maybe, and not the ever-clinging concept of humanity. “Now I’m stuck here for-” he grimaces, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling before snapping them back down to the creature in front of him. “I don’t know. Maybe forever."

Roach pouts. "You seem a little bummed out about that."

"You have no idea what this feels like, Roach, I’m not like you,” Ever bites out, rapidly losing the already shaky grip he had on his own temper. “I'm not small enough to fit in this reality, every second I spend here feels like I had to cut myself down to the right size. And I still remember what I was, I remember how much I had to cut even if I can’t remember what I lost. I can feel the holes.”

Once started, the confession comes tumbling past his lips almost against his will, but then that’s how it always went, didn’t it? All the rage boiling under his skin, all the contempt for humanity and the deep certainty that he deserved more, he deserved respect and deference–Roach was the only one who could begin to understand it. So they were the only one who ever saw the mask slip. Before their betrayal was revealed he had convinced himself that they must be sympathetic, that even if he and they existed in totally different strata, they understood that he was right, that this was unfair. Now as they watch him with a commendably mild expression, one elbow on the table and chin propped up in their hand, he can see the cold glimmer behind their eyes for what it really is and he finally understands. They just think it’s funny.

They blink once, a slow little gesture that might have seemed playful in the past. And they smile. Then at length they finally say, "sit down, Ever. I want to tell you a story."

Something in their tone puts him immediately off balance. They still sound perfectly conversational, but there’s an edge he doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, a knife against his throat telling him this is not an invitation, it’s an order. Something between them, something in the balance of power that had always seemed so obvious and natural, has just fundamentally shifted.

He sits down.

Roach doesn’t immediately start talking again. They shift in their seat, picking idly at the new and unmistakably handprint-shaped blemish on the tabletop as they make a show of looking thoughtful. Just when Ever is about to prompt them to move on, they speak of their own accord. “When this all started you asked me what I was. I wasn’t… entirely honest with you at the time.”

“No kiddi-”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

Ever snaps his mouth shut with a bitter frown. A second passes, and then a bright smile lights up Roach’s features again.

“Before all this, before Earth, I was… immense. Or I was part of something immense,” they begin, only to momentarily hesitate. “I don’t remember exactly… There were millions of us, but we were all one. Like a hive, or like… cells in a single organism. Connected. We existed to feel and learn, to experience as much of all the infinite universes as we could, and we all felt and learned and experienced as one. Knowledge and understanding and sensation gained by one of us instantly passed to all the others. It was… an indescribable existence. We were omniscient.” They hold Ever’s gaze with an intensity he finds unsettling the whole time they’re speaking, and when they pause again he gets a prickling, uneasy feeling that they’re daring him to comment. But they did say not to interrupt, and he keeps his lips pressed firmly together as he leans forward to fold his arms atop the table and wait for them to arrive at their point. Apparently satisfied, they do just that. “Then we started to die. Just winking out, one after another, over and over and over.”

A cold knot of dread settles in the pit of Ever’s stomach as the picture Roach is painting finally comes into focus. “You were being preyed on,” he breathes. Roach simply tilts their head slightly, coaxing him onward to the second half of that revelation. He grimaces. “By me.”

He had never questioned why Roach sold him out. It had seemed obvious, they had made the calculated decision that putting him in the line of fire would give them room to escape. It was a coward’s play.

“Can you imagine what it feels like to die, Ever?” they ask. Still light, still conversational. “Like to fully stop existing, not just come close? I don’t have to, you know? I know exactly what it feels like to be hunted, cornered, consumed, a million times over. I lived those deaths right along with them. And the funny thing is that’s pretty much the last thing I do remember feeling. By the time you were done and I had fallen here on Earth…” they spread their hands out, palms up, on the table. “I couldn’t feel much of anything anymore.”

Ever takes a long, slow breath and holds his silence a little longer. It makes sense. He might try to convince himself that vengefulness is a human trait, assigning too much moral weight to the instinctive actions of his kind… but that doesn’t change the facts. It doesn’t change that he wiped out an entire species simply for daring to challenge his freedom to do as he wished. It doesn’t change that Tzr’nekre followed him to earth just to tear him apart piece by piece for the crime of not dying between its teeth. It doesn’t change that he would like very much to reach across the table and finish what he started.

He closes his eyes, takes one more deep breath, then faces Roach again. “What was the goal, then? In coming back, telling me all this… what do you want from me?”

Roach laughs again, and it’s a much sharper and colder sound now. “Are you for real? Obviously I wanted you dead.”

“Okay well you didn’t get that,” Ever sneers. “So now what?”

“True,” Roach concedes with a shrug. “But if I’m being honest, all this…” they sweep their hands out to encompass the diner around them, “this little private purgatory you’ve built for yourself? it’s probably better than anything I or Tzr’nekre would have come up with.”

That’s not the direction Ever was expecting that to go. He blinks numbly at Roach for a second, then casts a hasty glance around the diner. “What?”

“You said it yourself, you’re stuck here. The one place you least wanted to be, the place you were prepared to sacrifice anything and anyone to leave. Everyone still believes you’re one of them, and you can’t prove otherwise.” Roach casts a glance at Fiama, busying herself with tidying the countertop and entirely unconcerned with Ever’s conversation. “Even the people who know, they still think you care, that you were ready to put yourself in harm’s way for them and not the other way around, and you can’t tell them any different because the one thing you do care about is being liked. You can’t bear the thought of any actual friction in your life so you’ll keep playing the perfect, charming friend and neighbor because you know it’s the closest thing to worship you’ll ever get again.” Roach leans forward, their smile turning to nothing but teeth and sharp edges. “And I for one, really hope you’ve got a long, ordinary, human life ahead of you.”

Ever’s blood runs cold in an instant. He scrambles out of the booth and several paces away from the table before finding the composure to at least pull himself up straight. “I’ll get out,” he declares, and even to his own ear it sounds like he believes it less than he ever did before.

“Maybe so, it’s good to have dreams,” Roach snickers. The look Ever shoots him probably could have curdled milk, but he turns without another word to make his way out of the diner. Not running away. No. Just nothing left to say to someone like Roach.

But it means Roach gets the last word. “But hey, in the meantime,” they call after him, “maybe I’ll see you around!”

#the passenger #the passenger if #the passenger spoilers #ever newman #the end feels a little rushed and messy but sadly my brain started melting out of my ears #anyway Ever sucks..... I hate him ♥#rom fiction

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