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egipci · 8 months

Note

use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick scene/hc for it

Dubuque, 2004

In the space of three hours that no-good son of a bitch Lee Webb had Dean swaying on his feet. John opened the door and stepped slow over the threshold and there they were with their startled faces, sitting on the couch and their feet up on the table, more than a dozen cans around them and John’s Jack empty, a half-empty bottle of clear liquor and some bills next to it. In slow motion they turned towards the door and saw him and when they saw him the TV flickered between channels and the volume went up too loud before it went down and they sprang up and one of them knocked a can over that tipped and rolled and poured what was inside out on the carpet with a fizzing sound.

He toed his shoes off and took his belt off with the holster and the sidearm. A news channel on the TV now. It was the one week anyone ever gave a shit about Iowa. Everywhere outside college kids and slow-walking retirees trudged through snow and knocked on doors with clipboards in hand, having come down from god knows where to hound the good people of this state. It made his job easier. It made people more willing to talk. Not at first, but when they knew he wasn’t looking to talk politics they looked at him with wide grateful eyes. He knew something about wars, justified and un-, but that was no bar talk and he wasn’t one to bring it up. Got served free doubles by a generous, big-breasted woman for respecting the sanctity of the barroom. She poured all the way up to the lip of the glass, like she could turn water into liquor, like there was a surplus in the back room to be rid of. There was this sense she was making advances and it left him warm and his mind briefly empty and that was when Webb said something about divide and conquer and pulled Dean out, off to interview coeds for the school paper.

Now the kid stood in front of him with the TV remote in his hand and his arm around Webb’s shoulder, and Webb’s arm was around his like one or the both of them could just tip over. He said Dad like he did, his voice dipping, a smile on his face that turned into a grin that turned into a laugh, and he reached out and grabbed hold of John’s forearm like he was about to yank him closer. Then he did. He tugged at John’s arm, hard, looked down at his hand, let go, swallowed, laughed again shocked and sloppy, sloppier than John had seen him since— and looked over grinning at Webb to his left, and that was when Webb opened his mouth or maybe that was only when his voice broke through and John heard him finally, obnoxiously loud, running his mouth, saying something like John, man, we’re just about to call some— and John looked at him then for the first time and Webb’s smile fell. His face was so pink and pathetic-looking that John felt something vicious under his skin, ringing in his ear. He was shaking and his hand was shaking with the gun in it and it was like the pinkness had bled out of Webb’s face and into the room and had stained everything, and before John could say anything cruel or make some degrading thing happen to that asshole he was saying, Sir, are you okay? High-pitched and shaky, and John said, Let’s call it a night, Lee.

Yes, sir.

We’re on a fucking job, he said.

Yes, sir, Lee said again, that’s right. He turned to Dean and looked at him like everyone had looked at the kid since he was fifteen years old. He cleared his throat and said solemnly with furrowed brow, We’re on a fucking job, dude, and put his hand to Dean’s chest and Dean nodded, wrapped his fingers around Lee’s wrist and said, We’re on fucking job, I fucking told you, and for a second the two of them were kids laughing like they were alone in the room. It made John feel old and friendless. Dean’s ears were red. He was grinning and a flush was creeping up his neck. He let go of Lee’s wrist then and Lee pulled him closer with the arm across his shoulders, a half-hug all friendly and jovial, and clapped his hand once to Dean’s chest and said, See you tomorrow, brother, before parting in slow-time. And then, Good night, sir, his eyes at John’s feet as he made his way out. Dean watched him go. Then he looked at John with that earnest drunk grin on his face.

John’s blood thumped inside his head. He closed his eyes, rubbed at them with the flat of his palm and in the time it took him to unclench his jaw Dean had put one arm around his neck, the other under his suit jacket. When he sighed his chest pushed against John’s chest. He said hey. Then he said, You okay, Dad? with that sweet alcohol smell coming off him, his voice trailing at the end of it like it hurt to speak.

John knew all about that too. He pushed the kid back. Dean tripped backwards and sank down to the couch and reached out again for John’s arm and pulled him closer. He pushed his face at John’s hip. His hair was wet at the roots when John ran his fingers through it and he looked up with his dazed eyes red and his mouth red and his cheeks flushed. What the fuck happened here?

We burned the bones.

What did you take?

Gotta ask Lee.

Gotta kick you out.

Okay.

He tugged meanly at the kid’s hair. It was grown out and it made him look like his brother and so much younger John’s heart swelled up and pressed behind his ribs, threatening to jump out. He said, Clean this shit and get the fuck out.

Again Dean said okay but when he hadn’t moved John slapped him. Not hard, more like a tap. It made a low, muted sound. Just the four of his fingers across the kid’s cheek, thumb tracing down from his eyebrow to his cheekbone. Dean leaned into it and John felt his breath inside his wrist, the scratch of his stubble, his hot red ear. He touched his thumb to Dean’s mouth. If he weren’t drunk already just looking at the kid would get him there.

Dean sighed and got up and John took his jacket off and took his place on the couch and as he sat down he felt the liquor sloshing warm inside him. For a minute he watched the kid move slow around the room, careful, sobering up. He put the empty cans into the box and left a new one on the table. John flipped through the channels until he found little Boris Grushenko asking about girls in heaven. He laughed then he yawned and closed his eyes and saw again the woman behind the bar with the big breasts and the snow outside melting. He thought of all of the snow in Iowa and the rest of the world melting and flooding everything and the woman behind the bar turning the water into liquor. There was the sound of the toilet flushing. Then there was only darkness, no telling for how long, until Dean touched his shoulder. He said, Dad. It’s late.

Sure is.

It’s snowing outside, Dean said. And I already took my pants off.

John looked at him. His pants were off. He’d turned the lights off and now he stood in his boxers and his socks and his black t-shirt in the TV glow.

That’s too bad, John said then he closed his eyes and leaned back and heard Dean’s feet shuffling and the breath he took and his knees sinking into the sorry bounceless couch. He straddled John and dug his fingers into his shoulders. He said, I’m not going anywhere, his body bearing down heavy and warm on John’s thighs and his mouth skidding wet along John’s jaw— I’m not leaving— and this— this boldness, this back-and-forth— this kid was more gone than he’d thought and now thoughtless John put his hands around his ribs in that trembling way he’d held him at four months old, overwhelmed then by his goodness, overwhelmed by how much he’d loved him and terrified of how much Dean had loved him back and of what it would mean if he ever stopped, and again at sixteen when he had. On his knees throwing up he’d said it and John had known then that he meant it and that he couldn’t hold it against him. Eight, nine years since then. But it was the room, dark and hot like when he’d found him. What did that fucker give you? He asked, bile rising inside him, his voice something unrecognizable. It wasn’t pot, or anything else he could smell. Under his hands Dean’s shirt was damp with sweat, soaked through with it and warm and even through the alcohol John could smell him.

Dunno, Dean said. He took ‘em too, and John felt heat flare white all through him first in anger, then in need for Dean’s thighs flexing tight gripping him, Dean’s knees digging in around his hips, Dean’s fingers twisting in his shirt. Lee’s a good guy, the kid said.

I know.

Dean said, He wasn’t —slurred. He sighed. We were just hanging out.

Okay. John thought again about finding that motherfucker and scrambling his brains with a tire iron. His fingers clutched tight at Dean’s hair, at the back of his neck, too hard, maybe. The kid’s hands splayed wide leaning on his chest, pressing him into the couch. He’s a good guy, Dean said. You like Lee. John put his hands to his hips and tugged, pulled him closer so that Dean made a soft shocked sound and had to rise to his knees, straddling John’s chest almost with how close. His crotch right there where John could bury his face. He rucked the kid’s shirt up, pressed a kiss to his belly, pressed his cheek to Dean’s skin and felt his heat.

After a long minute Dean pushed him away. He said hey Dad in that way he did. The TV glowed blue but John could hardly see with his kid solid and broad blocking out everything. No seeing his eyes either except through shadow, but now his shirt was rucked up and John had his hands on him, his body the most familiar thing. His skin, his smell. The shape of his nose against John’s cheek when he leaned down to fit their mouths together. The way he kissed, which was the way John had taught him. He’d know this kid with his eyes gouged out. His hands moved over Dean’s arms, his thighs, his ass, his back, fingertips over strong muscle loving him and loving the weight of him. Loving his danger. His masculinity. Dean’s mouth moved slow and sure on his for a long time, his hips grinding tight, a constant keen in his chest and his dick swelled up between them and he reached for it and broke away and said right against John’s mouth in a small wrecked voice fuck me I want it why don’t you fuck me anymore you never— and John took his face in his two hands and knocked his mouth open and swallowed the rest of it, whatever else the kid could say, and thought that would have to be enough.

A long time since John had had him. But here in the dark with the TV on he could. He could. For the first time in years, Dean loose-limbed under him on the bed with his legs held back and the air pushed out his lungs, making those sweet suffering sounds. Blooming wherever John touched him. Sweating through the sheets. He’d open up so easy.

Dad, Dean said again, small and wanting, but John only shook his head. All the while his hands were on the kid, soothing up and down his back. He swallowed and smiled and said, You’re about to pass out, man. You pass out on me, then what? and Dean said you keep going, just—I don’t care, I want it, grinning wide, mindless, and John said what, sick-feeling inside him and thoughts of striking the kid or shoving him away or cracking his head open on the edge of the table, or— wait, Dean said, I won’t pass out, I won’t, shaking his head, but already John’s hands were around his hips, pushing. Dean’s hands clenched vise-tight around his wrists. Tight enough pain sparked electric up John’s arms and he made an old-hound noise. Even drunk as he was the kid was strong. He wrenched John’s hands off him and held them in the space between them and sat there with his head bent down and his chest heaving loud, shaking his head. His whole body shaking. Used to be John could grab both this kid’s hands in one of his. Now look at him. Just about all he could bear these days. Earnest, terrifying things coming out his mouth that John could never stand but even then he couldn’t look away. He searched for the kid’s eyes. But it was dark, and Dean had turned away from him.

#apologies to you kind anon who's almost certainly maggie for the very long delay #trying a new thing called finishing shit drunk and posting drunk and not looking at it afterwards #inspired by the above picture + the getting wasted with lee story + the cbgb story #under a read more and not rebloggable because i'm being a baby apparently #of course feedback is still welcomed and encouraged #john/dean #my fic #eta: now potentially improved and rebloggable!

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gingerbreadmonsters · 10 months

Text

skimming through all of the dead text at the end of an old fic is so strange but weirdly satisfying and i could not even begin to explain why

#so like fun fact #all of the sort of half-sentences and not-quite-fully-formed ideas that i've had over the course of writing a fic don't actually get deleted #generally they just get relegated to the bottom of the document until either a) i've reached the point where i want to slot them back in #b) i've reworked the wording or whatever to make it fit better into the rest of the fic #or c) the fic has ended and i've decided i don't want to use them any more #so going back and reading them is kind of bizarre bc all of a sudden i am flung right back into the headspace of that fic and what it #felt like to write it #remembering 'oh yeah i was going to say that wasn't i'#and 'ooh that was a good phrase i should use that somewhere else'#and ' woah this would have been so different if they had done this instead of that'#its that sort of re-reading a diary feeling #the bottom of a fic document is a weird sort of liminal space for me it's fab #i'm back in the 'resist and elongate' document today to do some work on an alternate version #and included in that dead text is a list of the songs i was listening to as i wrote it #so i'm REALLY back in that space and it's great :DDD #the songs are a deeply bizarre mixture but its the vibe to ME #radiohead karma police is still the song of all time #i can drop the list if u like but it might be exposing my slightly hatstand music taste lmao

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arklay · 1 year

Text

seeing stars.

pairing: diana x albert wesker words: 7.0k warnings: migraine, nausea and vertigo, brief mentions of food and alcohol, internalised ableism [read on ao3] — [part one]

A long exhale sounded from the en suite bathroom. It wasn’t one of relief. No, it was strained, wavering as it left parted lips – the evidence of a day riddled with nothing but stress.

Wesker slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the mirror from how he had hung his head, his hands resting on either side of the basin. The figure behind his reflection caught his eye instantly – dark hair a stark contrast to the white doorframe its lovely owner was leaning against. She was simply watching him with this faint, barely-there frown strewn about her features.

Despite being rather annoyed at Diana for sneaking up on him, or more so at himself for not noticing she had done so, he was glad she had kicked off her heels under the dining table. The last thing he needed right now was the shrill clicking of those awful things on the tile floor.

His head already felt like it had been put in a vise and someone was turning the handle; he didn’t need more noise to aggravate it.

“Where are your glasses?” Diana asked, and Wesker could only wonder if he’d imagined the worry clinging to the edge of her voice.

Could she tell he was in pain? That his sunglasses weren’t just some fashion statement people liked to tease him for? Had she put two and two together so easily when most were too dense to?

Wesker’s eyes darted up to lock on to hers in the mirror, though for only a split second, before he looked down again with a small huff. “I don’t know.”

He’d truly had a shocking day. It had been one thing after another, and at some point he had taken his glasses off to rub his eyes then forgot to put them back on. It wasn’t like him to misplace his belongings, and certainly not his shades, of all things, but the stressors piling up ensured the whereabouts of where he’d set them down slipped his mind faster than he thought possible.

It had all started with that pig, Brian Irons. The initial cause of his foul mood. That poor excuse of a man had proven himself to be a thorn in Wesker’s side time and time again; the police chief thought he could undermine those ensuring his unsavoury past was kept under wraps, but Wesker wasn’t going to stand for such insolent behaviour. He made sure to discuss the issue with William during his visit to the NEST around lunchtime, calling for a shorter leash.

However, the day only seemed to continue to go downhill once he’d returned to the station.

The problem wasn’t simply the piles of reports taking up space on his desk; the image of Diana wouldn’t leave his mind. He shouldn’t have stopped by her lab with coffee and spoken to her at all. He needed his focus to be solely on his work. The way she could capture his attention was quite bothersome, really. And that prompted a rather foolish decision on his part – a phone call with plans for dinner.

It didn’t end there. The newest S.T.A.R.S. recruits were a headache in and of themselves, yet getting a call from Sherry’s school the moment he left work had been the icing on the cake. She hadn’t been picked up hours beforehand, and being the next emergency contact, Wesker was informed of such incompetence.

William’s obsession with the G-Virus was getting out of hand. He’d always been more preoccupied with his work than the people around him, but forgetting to pick Sherry up from school was something else. Something Wesker didn’t quite like.

Not to mention it completely ruined his plans for the night.

With a suppressed clearing of her throat, Diana pulled him back to the present. She pushed herself off of the doorframe and made her way closer towards him. “Would you like me to look for them?”

Wesker shook his head and immediately regretted it; the sudden movement made him wince as a short wave of splitting pain made itself known right behind his left eye, causing him to grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. The pain wasn’t unbearable yet, and he was glad his typical nausea seemed to be at bay, but he had no clue how long that would last. Not long, if he had to guess, given his luck with the rest of the day’s events.

Taking a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, he steadied himself. With each count, he found it easier to tolerate the ache, though it didn’t subside in the slightest. It would have to do though; he needed to get through his nighttime routine.

He reached over and slowly pulled his toothbrush out of its holder, making sure to not move more than what was necessary.

“No.”

Wesker glanced up at the mirror again with one of his brows quirked in genuine confusion, and he watched as Diana’s reflection inched closer. Then her hands were covering his. Why he found himself frozen at her touch was beyond him, but her soft fingers pressing against his skin was a welcome sensation.

She only pried the toothbrush and paste out of his grasp, far more gently than she needed to, then she placed them back to where they belonged.

“You are obviously unwell. You don’t need to brush your teeth when you feel like this,” she said, voice soft and oddly soothing, as opposed to the hammering against his skull.

Diana took Wesker’s hands in her own again, and her thumbs brushed along the raised veins on the backs of them in slow circles. It wasn’t just comforting to him, it was familiar, intimate, and the point at which he’d begun to embrace her touch rather than shun his craving for it was lost on him.

Her eyes finally landed on his own and she directed a small nod towards the door, making him aware of what she was about to do next. Then she took a step back. Then another. And she carefully pulled him along with her, guiding him towards his bedroom without so much as a word from him. Wesker couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, and with how tired he was, he could only let her take the lead. She seemed to have her mind set on making sure he would rest, and that made his chest feel much too tight.

It was almost as if she cared.

The trip to the foot of his bed felt much longer than usual. Diana’s cautious approach made sure of that. He was not intoxicated; she didn’t need to hold his hands and ensure he put one foot in front of the other. And yet she did. He felt like an absolute fool, but he still let her pull him along, regardless.

Once there, Diana sat him down on the edge before she quickly knelt down in front of him, tucking her legs beneath herself as she did so. Her attention went straight towards his boots and deft hands worked to untie their laces.

Wesker couldn’t quite wrap his head around her behaviour. He wasn't sure what to think. On any other day, he would’ve thought her kneeling between his legs quite amusing, especially with how she kept roughly pushing her stubborn tresses that kept falling in front of her face back behind her ears. But his head hurt far too much, and there was just this horrible warmth searing through his chest and up his neck, settling across his cheeks and threatening to join the burning at his temple.

The question in her eyes whenever she’d glance up at him certainly wasn’t helping either. It was almost wary, as though looking for permission to continue. Or perhaps assurance.

Her fingers wrapped around his ankle, carefully grasping it as she pulled off his boot. That made him feel far too odd, but she only repeated the action with its counterpart. He was thankful for the way she placed them next to one another by his bed though, all nice and neat, instead of simply tossing them to the side like anyone else would.

Diana pushed herself up off of the floor using her palms and moved to stand between his legs. Soft hands reached forward to cradle his face, the cool pads of her thumbs brushing along the high points of his cheeks. But she was only looking into his eyes, searching for… something.

He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, to be completely honest. However, the repetitive movement along his cheekbones was calming, almost strangely so, and he hated that his eyes threatened to flutter shut and his hands itched to reach out and hold onto her sides – perhaps even pull her closer, if he dared.

How could she draw such a reaction from him? Especially given the circumstances.

The last thing Wesker needed was for her to look at him like he was some injured animal; he didn’t want her pity. It was enough that he let her drag him out of the bathroom when he was in the middle of carrying out his routines, as though he was caught in some sort of trance. But to look at him in such a way, to help him undress… It was ridiculous. He didn’t need to be fussed over.

Wesker reached up and closed his hands around her wrists. His grip was tight, though not enough to hurt her – merely cautionary, much like the glare he sent her way. Astute as she was, he had no doubt she would get the message.

Diana’s fingers fell away from his cheeks, curling in on themselves, but she didn’t move to break the distance between them. She only continued to hold his gaze, eyes still scanning his own in search of some answers, even as he loosened his hold on her wrists.

It had been wishful thinking, anyhow; he should’ve known she’d remain defiant.

Wesker pulled her hands further away from his face while he slowly rose to his feet. Then he let go, making them drop to her sides in a rather lifeless fashion. He didn’t miss the question in her eyes, or the way a crease formed between her brows, but he simply focused on manoeuvring around her towards his dresser – unsuccessfully at that, as his side brushed against hers with how he staggered.

Movement made the pain behind his eye considerably worse. The familiar sensation of tiny knives stabbing, leaving puncture wounds in their wake to obscure his vision, made it incredibly hard to keep his eyes open any longer. Wesker took a deep breath to try and steady himself, keeping as still as could be so as to not cause himself more pain. If only for a moment of relief.

One of his hands settled on the surface of the dresser while the other moved to open a drawer. He hoped Diana didn’t see how he fumbled with the pull handle. He wasn’t even sure why that bothered him. But he moved to correct his error far too quickly, causing him to lose balance slightly.

The sight of plain black, white and grey t-shirts folded up and sorted by tone brought some level of structure back to the chaos that had been Wesker’s day, and it pleased him more than it probably should have. The shirts were simply for when he was too cold to sleep shirtless – he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them casually, otherwise – and he removed one from its designated place for himself, and one for Diana.

The next drawer he opened contained his pyjama pants, all monochromatic and devoid of patterns, akin to his shirts. Just the way he liked. There were a couple of blue pairs though. Not like that mattered; he chose black, as usual.

A tired sigh left him then.

“Diana.” The sound of her footsteps crossing the distance between them seemed to reach him later than when they’d occurred, because she was already standing at his side. Wesker simply handed her the t-shirt he’d chosen for her, then he spoke again without looking her way, “Would you like pants?”

Diana chuckled at that, and the corner of his lips twitched. He treasured that sound. Well and truly treasured it.

“I doubt anything will fit me,” she whispered, the smile in her voice telling him she was trying to subdue her laugh.

“You have long legs.”

She let out a low, sweet hum at his dry response and positioned herself behind him, lifting her chin to rest it on his shoulder as she watched his hands comb through the pairs of pants in the drawer below. It was clear to Diana that he wouldn’t find anything that would fit her, considering she was barely two thirds the width of him, but she let him figure that out for himself. Instead, her hands ran down his sides and towards his hips. She stood on tiptoe to press a lingering kiss to his cheek while one of her hands travelled between them.

“Doesn’t change that you have more hips than I do,” Diana said between another kiss, tone playful, while her hand squeezed a handful of his firm backside.

Wesker reached behind himself and swatted her hand away, but he couldn’t stop the slight chuckle that bubbled up in his throat before it escaped him – one that mirrored her own. Her arms changing position, wrapping around his waist with her chin settling against his shoulder once more, was not what he expected in response, however. The feeling that brought up inside of him was not something he wished to confront tonight.

He needed to place more distance between them.

“Drawstrings.” Wesker held up a pair of pants that could be tightened at the waist, negating her claims that there couldn’t possibly be anything of his that may stay up for her.

Diana held back another sigh as she loosened her arms and plucked the pants from his grasp. Their short moment of joking around certainly didn’t last long, but she wasn’t sure why she even expected it to. It wasn’t the time or place, but she simply didn’t know how to deal with the situation at hand; it was always difficult for her to navigate when someone wasn’t feeling well.

On the other hand, Wesker was none the wiser to Diana’s inner turmoil. He only withdrew from her slack embrace and returned to where he’d been sitting at the end of the bed earlier, entirely focused on ridding himself of the rest of his work clothes. Without her interference.

Nothing seemed to be in his favour today though, because the moment his hips met the bed the entire room began to spin. It wasn’t like he had sat down too fast – or maybe he had finally lost his bearings – but the way the room was warping around him with stars dancing across his vision caused him to squeeze his eyes shut. His teeth ground together of their own accord and he cursed himself for it as that only amplified the pain at his temple.

All Wesker could do was turn his attention towards the buttons of his shirt, trying to ground himself as best he could by focusing on the feeling of one beneath his fingertips. The way the edges pressed against his skin as he pushed the button through its assigned opening felt so much sharper than usual. And it didn’t help that he fumbled on the first go.

“Let me help you.”

The almost desperate plea from the voice across the room couldn’t have come from Diana. Surely. Not even the distinct accent and low, gravelly quality of it could convince him; she had never done such a thing, never sounded like that, even when he’d reduced her to ruins in bed.

The Diana he knew wasn’t so willing to offer assistance.

Wesker scoffed, perhaps a bit too harsh judging by the frown he received, and only roughly unfastened the next button on his shirt. “I do not need your help.”

Oh, how he wished that were true.

The bile burning the back of his throat begged to differ. And it was getting increasingly difficult to just keep his eyes open, like his lids were being weighed down by some invisible force.

The soft sound of a zipper made Wesker glance over to where Diana stood, only to watch as her skirt pooled around her feet. His hands paused what they were doing as his eyes lazily wandered over her, mesmerised by the way she was carefully rolling her tights down her long legs. It wasn’t until she moved on to her shirt and made quick work of the overpriced garment that he shook himself free of her spell. To say she was stunning was frustratingly accurate.

She stripped down to nothing but her panties before pulling his massive t-shirt over her tiny frame, adjusting her hair the minute it was over her head. That shouldn’t have made him smile to himself. The thought that she was cute shouldn’t have even crossed his mind in the first place.

It wasn’t that long ago when he’d considered her vain for constantly worrying about her appearance, and the first time she had worn one of his shirts he had thought she looked absolutely ridiculous – comical, even. It was only endearing now. He chose not to look too close into that change, convincing himself that the pain he was in was simply making him delirious.

Fuck, he just wanted to go to sleep. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to close this day and reset in the morning.

Despite struggling with each one, Wesker managed to finish undoing the buttons of his shirt and he weakly shrugged it off of his shoulders. It went no further than that, however, even with another attempt. The motion only made his stomach lurch, like waves roiling at sea.

A defeated sigh left him at that, but he was too tired to fight it. He must have made for a pathetic sight, one he wished there was no one present to witness.

That would’ve been grand, if he was so fortunate. Diana was standing in front of him again after dropping the pants in her grasp and crossing the distance in only a few quick strides. Before he could protest once more, she reached forward and laid her hands flat against his shoulders; cold fingers dipped beneath material, causing a shiver to run through his entire body, before she gently pushed the sleeves down his arms. It was unnecessary, but Diana held his forearm as she pulled the sleeve off by grasping the cuff, making sure to not turn his shirt inside-out.

He’d kiss her for that if his head didn’t feel like it was going to explode at any minute.

As soon as she freed him of his undershirt with the same meticulous care, Diana returned to what she had started earlier, before Wesker had stopped her. This time around he wasn’t nearly as tense when she took his face in her hands. In fact, it was the most at ease he had felt all day.

The chill of her palms provided some relief to the burning beneath his skin and the stabbing behind his eye. Even if it was only for a moment – until his cheeks warmed her hands and ripped that pleasant sensation away from him.

The only difference from when they’d found themselves in this position earlier was that Diana now leaned down to place a brief kiss on his lips. Wesker expected some level of warmth in her gaze once she pulled away, but he was only met with the look someone would have when scolding a child who had just hurt themselves on the playground.

If she was insinuating that he was being childish, they’d have a whole other problem on their hands.

Diana readjusted her hold to cradle his face in a more secure manner, fingers pressing firm against his skin. “I know you don’t want my help, but I will not see you make yourself sick because you are too stubborn to let someone look after you.”

Wesker glared up at her. Well, he hoped it was a glare, because whatever left him was all that he could muster in his state. From the way one of Diana’s brows raised, he sure did something, even if he had no idea if it was what he had intended.

They simply looked into one another’s eyes, holding the steady gaze for far too long – a familiar occurrence that usually took place when she challenged him. He supposed it was the other way around this time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her help, it was that he didn’t want anyone’s. He thought himself above that, and he had managed being in this position countless times before. Even if on some of those days he had gone to sleep without being able to change his clothes.

Perhaps he needed some help.

“Fine.” Wesker relented with a long blink, and allowed himself to settle against her touch and relax some more.

That earned him a faint smile from Diana before she leaned in again. His eyes fluttered shut out of habit, but her lips didn’t connect with his own. Instead, they landed on his forehead, and his moment of ease faded away instantly, his hands balling into fists at his sides the longer she lingered there.

The pit in his stomach seemed to lessen when she withdrew and dropped to her knees again. But his head felt absurdly heavy without her hands holding it up. There was too much running through his mind, it was getting overwhelming. And it wasn’t just the hammering at the side of his skull. He wanted her but he tensed up at her touch, he needed her but he hated her assistance, he… He shouldn’t have invited her over tonight.

What had he been thinking?

Slender fingers curling into the waistband of his pants pulled Wesker from his thoughts, and he looked down at Diana, who had glanced up at the same time with that question in her eyes once more, asking if it was alright to continue. He simply nodded and she focused her attention back to what she was doing; he even lifted his hips to allow her to pull his pants off. Whenever she had dealt with the button and zipper eluded him.

He despised that – the feeling that he was no longer in control, losing his vigilance as the pain distracted him too much. It wasn’t just that though, the woman before him also played a part in causing his dazed state.

It was strange. Wesker couldn’t recall ever having a lover treat him like this. She wasn’t telling him that he was going to be okay, that she was there for him, or any of that superficial nonsense. She was just assisting him, doing whatever needed to be done so that he would be comfortable enough to hopefully get some sleep. It brought about another dreadful sensation to the mix already pestering him.

He lifted a hand and placed it over Diana’s when she reached for the t-shirt he had haphazardly dropped on the bed when the vertigo had hit him. She only looked down at his large hand enveloping hers for a moment, seeming to be the one stunned now. Then her eyes finally darted up to his face, and the steely determination in them from before melted away into that look that unsettled him far more.

“I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?” she asked, a slight trace of a chuckle clinging to the edge of it, as though she was almost embarrassed by her behaviour.

Wesker let out what was probably supposed to be a laugh in response, but little more than an exhale came out. “No.”

He paused as his next words died on his tongue. Or more accurately, they didn’t seem to want to leave his throat and even get that far. Diana was none the wiser and just rose to her feet, hand slipping free of his own and taking the t-shirt with it. Wesker chewed on the inside of his cheek for but a fraction of a second before he swallowed his pride.

A sharp inhale, then he lifted his head to look up at her. “Thank you.”

The genuine smile that crossed Diana’s face made him feel far too warm, like the sun was bearing down on his skin and reaching the deepest parts of him; it wasn’t quite a grin, teeth staying hidden, but the corners of her eyes crinkled and the indents on her cheeks deepened somewhat. She didn’t give him much of a chance to admire it though, too preoccupied with making sure she didn’t move him around too much as she carefully pulled the shirt over his head and helped each of his arms into the sleeves.

“I take it you have photophobia,” she said matter-of-factly. It was almost too clinical-sounding for Wesker’s liking, odd as that may seem. The term alone just left a bad taste in his mouth.

It was sort of his own fault, which he didn’t like owning up to. He’d always had trouble with his sensitivity to bright lights, but he was only meant to wear the tinted glasses Umbrella prescribed him when in the lab or outside. It had been the relief he felt without a migraine clawing at his senses that made him forget he was wearing them at all, and in turn, that developed into a habit of leaving them on for nearly all waking hours. His eyes adjusted to the conditions and it only worsened his sensitivity when he was without his sunglasses.

What he wouldn’t give to have his youthful eyes back.

When Wesker didn’t respond to her, Diana gently cupped his cheek. He tried to meet her gaze, but her eyes were focused just below, where her thumb was brushing across the dark circle marring his skin. Another thing he wished he could reverse time to prevent.

As useful as her help was, Wesker couldn’t understand why she was doing this, why she was being so… kind. So tender. She wasn’t a nurturer, or the type to worry about others. Maybe she did actually care for him, more than she let on. That didn’t feel right though – it just left him profoundly uncomfortable. His mind had to be playing tricks on him with how exhausted he was. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Diana’s thumb paused its repetitive motion and she simply held her hand in place. It was just for another second or two, but her touch lingered well after she departed, leaving a pleasant tingle across his skin.

The last obstacle in the way of Wesker being able to just collapse into bed and hope that his migraine was gone by the morning was the pair of pyjama pants Diana was bunching up so she could help him change into them easily. His tired limbs seemed to move on their own, slipping into each pant leg with little input from him, but the moment he lifted his hips as she tugged the fabric over them, another surge of intense pain hit him, causing him to keel over.

It felt as though his head was being split in two, torn apart from the inside out. He could have sworn the eye taking the brunt of the pressure was going to pop out of its socket at any minute. The only thing he could do was rest his head in his hands and endure it, pressing his thumbs down on the innermost part of his brows in hopes to alleviate some of the pain.

Diana shuffled closer and reached forward to place her hands on his thighs. They only ran up and down the sides of them in a gentle, reassuring motion while her mind scrambled to recall the locations of where she’d seen every thing that could possibly aid him in his house.

Her brain was being just as helpful as his was, because she drew a blank, too taken aback by the sight in front of her. The intimidating Albert Wesker slumped over in pain – that was something she thought she’d never see. He always seemed so… invincible. Nothing could tear down his powerful image and break through his composed demeanour this easily, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

“Albert?” Diana’s voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear it, but his name always sounded so much nicer spilling from her lips compared to anyone else’s. “Do you need a bucket? Or…” She paused for a second then let out a frustrated huff. “Where do you keep your painkillers?”

“They don’t work,” Wesker grumbled.

Of course they don’t, she thought. That would’ve been too easy.

Or he was being overdramatic. So, she pressed on. “Not even a little bit?”

The crease between his brows only deepened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. So, that was a definitive no.

Diana pursed her lips as she tried to think of what else she could do for him. She wasn’t familiar with actually dealing with a migraine, even if she knew all of the treatments on paper; she was fortunate enough to never get them, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone around her had. She could list off every over-the-counter painkiller and triptan that was used to specifically target a migraine, but that would do her no good. She didn’t know what worked for him.

There had to be something though. Diana moved to stand and go take a look at what was in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, but Wesker fumbled to take her hand in his own.

That made her freeze on the spot.

She had no doubt he was cursing himself for doing such a thing, for how it almost seemed to be a reflex more than a conscious decision. Or perhaps he just needed something solid to hold on to. Whichever it was, Diana didn’t care, so long as it helped. Even if the way he was gripping her hand hurt like hell; she’d been through far worse, so the possibility of a broken bone was something she would simply bear.

“Here,” she whispered while carefully pulling Wesker up to stand a moment after she did so herself. He stumbled on his feet when upright, but Diana was there – the pillar to hold him up and save him from toppling over.

The arm not reaching for his – right hand clasping his own – was wrapped around his back. It served to keep him stable as she slowly guided him over to what she had long since been acquainted with as his preferred side of the bed. This whole ordeal would’ve been much easier if he wasn’t leaning his entire body weight against her, but at least the trip wasn’t too lengthy.

Their hands only parted when Diana let go to lean forward and pull back the covers for him. Wesker really hoped she didn’t see how his fingers extended on instinct, as if to chase her touch. It was utterly pathetic. The urge to hold her was getting increasingly annoying, and he wished his body would just try to not embarrass him for once.

He couldn’t exactly exert much control over his innate reactions in his condition, but if Diana noticed, she didn’t say anything. That was one positive, he supposed.

And the fact that he managed to sit on the bed on his own without dragging her down with him. That probably would’ve earned him a bony shoulder digging into his chest, and that would just make matters worse.

Diana didn’t have to, but she went so far as to help him lie down as well. In a way that wouldn’t make his head feel as though someone had taken a hammer to it, that is. All slow movements and firm but gentle touches, manipulating his limbs for him as they felt too heavy for him to move on his own. And when she was done, one of her hands reached up to smooth back his hair.

That brought about that dreadful flutter in the pit of Wesker’s stomach. Or maybe that was the nausea. He couldn’t tell at this point.

Weary eyes tried their hardest to stay trained on the figure lingering in front of them. But they were unsuccessful. Wesker couldn’t keep them open any longer, not when everything was spinning around like this. He couldn’t even make out what the expression strewn about Diana’s features was.

It didn’t even matter, because her comforting touch left him before the sound of her feet padding across the floor reached his ears – quickly, like she was in some rush. Unnecessary, Wesker thought. He wasn’t exactly going anywhere, lying there in agony.

He didn’t think it would get this bad. It had been so long since he’d had a migraine like this. The nausea, visual disturbances, and all of that nonsense was typical for him, but the vertigo would come and go. Every time it showed itself he was caught off guard; there was no getting used to the feeling of his body swaying back and forth when he was lying perfectly still.

That wasn’t even the worst of his problems.

His mind decided it wanted to be louder than the rhythmic pulse behind his eye, yelling at him to the point where his thoughts felt like they were what was causing his pain by bouncing around and colliding with his skull.

Weak. Pitiful. Unacceptable. Over and over again.

How could he let someone see him like this?

Not just someone, but her, of all people. The woman who would roll her eyes when one of the researchers called off work, the one who boasted about never getting sick, the one who carried herself like nothing could strike her down. Just like he did. And yet here he was, reduced to rubble by a bit of pain.

That’s what was confusing Wesker. Why was Diana being so considerate of his plight? He had no doubt she’d rather be at the lab, or really anywhere else, doing something worthwhile instead of this. She should just leave, honestly. There was no reason for her to stick around; it wasn’t like she felt anything more for him beyond fellowship. Sherry was wrong in her assumption; Diana wasn’t his partner.

She may have been his, but he certainly wasn’t hers. No, she just enjoyed toying with him.

Now was not the time to fall into thinking about that rubbish again. He should’ve never asked her if she wished to stay the night. Or invited her over for dinner in the first place, for that matter.

“Alright.”

That pulled Wesker out of his head. It may have only been low, simply a hurried mumble under one’s breath, but that entrancing voice was unmistakable to him. His little pity party hadn’t lasted long – privacy breached once more as Diana returned from whatever she had been doing. He really did despise that she was witnessing him in this state; this wasn’t how he wished for her to find out he suffered from migraines.

With her hands full, Diana crossed his room with the stride of someone on a mission – full of purpose. First, she placed a glass of water down on his nightstand, then she used her now free hand to pull the bucket she’d found in the laundry out from under her other arm, where it was sitting awkwardly and digging into her side.

Once she set it down beside the bed, she crouched in front of Wesker and placed the ice pack she’d wrapped in a tea towel in one of his hands, which he lifted to his forehead immediately. Diana had no idea if that would help him or not, actually. She preferred heat for pain relief; being sensitive to the cold always made her recovery with injuries from ballet growing up a horrid experience. Maybe she should have looked to see if he had a heat pack instead. That would help alleviate the tension in his neck and shoulders.

No. She had what she needed, she wasn’t going to run around and make an even bigger fuss. It would probably make him feel worse, anyhow.

The only thing left to do was close the curtains and block out any light that threatened to seep into his room, whether that be from the street lamps illuminating the suburb or the bright moon itself. The significance of his blackout curtains now made much more sense to her.

When she stood to round the bed, Diana had no idea why she took the hand by his hip in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her thumb even brushed across the back of it for a second. There was just this odd need to show him that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Even as she pulled the curtains shut, the thought didn’t leave her mind.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Taking care to not make the mattress dip too much, Diana climbed into bed next to Wesker. The last thing she wished was for her getting comfortable to cause him any undue pain because it jostled him about. It was only then, when the covers brushed across her bare legs, that she realised she was only wearing his shirt – the pyjama pants he’d chosen for her long forgotten somewhere to the darkness.

Wesker decided to be rather ungrateful for her cautious approach, as he moved on his own. Diana couldn’t help how her eyes wandered over him, taking in every detail she could as he began to slowly roll over; his brows were knit together, deepening the lines between them, his lips were pulled down in a frown, and his eyes were screwed shut. It was rather obvious to her that he was trying to not bring up all of his dinner, and that sent her heart plummeting down into her stomach. What he was going through really sunk in then.

She wished she could just take the pain away, make it all disappear and guarantee it would never return.

It was an awful feeling, watching the man who had only ever given her these tiny glimpses of vulnerability do what looked to be such a practised motion, as though he had a tried-and-true method for dealing with his nausea for so long.

She felt helpless. But why did she even care? Countless lovers had come and gone, not ever leaving an imprint on her heart, but he seemed to tug at every string.

A loud thump, immediately followed by a rather feeble sound, pulled Diana from her thoughts. It wasn’t quite a groan, but not nearly a whimper either, and she never thought she’d hear such a sound come from Wesker.

While turning, the ice pack had fallen free of his weak grasp and landed on the floor, causing the disturbance. Diana opened her mouth to speak, to ask him if he wanted her to pick it up for him, but she didn’t get a chance; he curled up against her side all of a sudden, resting his head on her chest. That was something she wasn’t prepared for. He had never done that before, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he heard the way her heart sped up at the act.

Diana kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, not daring to look down at him while her arm hesitated to wrap around his back. What was she even supposed to do? This was all new territory for her, for them, and… it was overwhelming. She didn’t know what to think; there was just this massive weight that had been dropped onto her chest. And it wasn’t Wesker, or the way he slung his arm over her waist.

It was that somehow, despite everything, he had managed to worm his way past all of her defences and make her actually care for him.

But friends do care for one another, yes? That is a fact. And it’s not like their dates meant anything; she had gone on many with casual partners in the past, and they were merely a formality. The longing she felt for him was nothing beyond physical.

The arm around her tightened its hold on her side, pulling her closer, and Diana looked down just in time to see a grimace twist Wesker’s features before he turned his head to rest his brow against her breastbone. Whatever he grumbled as he did so, Diana couldn’t quite make out what it was.

She chewed on her lip while bringing a hand up to the back of his head, gently cradling it and holding him close. She found herself hesitating again, unsure of the implications of her touch – how it could be perceived. But the urge grew too strong soon enough. Whatever was going on between them was just that, and she wasn’t going to complicate matters by overanalysing it.

Her fingers ran through his hair, pressing firm against his scalp in somewhat of a massage. Diana absolutely hated the feeling of pomade residue on her fingers, but seeing the way his shoulders relaxed eased her disgust, if only slightly. She’d just have to deal with the waxy feeling on her skin, she supposed. It was a selfish thought but she wished he’d at least managed to rinse out his hair. She knew he hated it as well, though; his routines were always so important to him.

Wesker let out a long exhale and Diana paused the motion, unsure if what she was doing was actually making matters worse. He didn’t say anything, but the way he held her closer while his legs tangled with her own made her stomach flip, as though she was the one who was going to be sick.

The arm around his back held him firm as she leaned in to press a kiss to the top of his head. She never wanted him to go through this again, and she would find a way to ensure that.

For now though, she made a note to have a look for his glasses first thing tomorrow, before he woke.

#writing.#pair: ewskers #oc: diana #setting: early october 1996. same as part one as it's a continuation of that night // i think i said this all in the tags of the first part #already but i wrote these two fics back in march last year and decided to rewrite them for myself cause my writing has changed and i wanted #them to flow a bit better even though nothing has actually changed in them !! very special fics for me as it shows another side of diana #that i don't really talk much about. i mean all my fics are special to me otherwise i wouldn't write them but you know what i'm saying !!#i wasn't sure if i was going to post this or not cause i'm not feeling great about sharing my writing much but i'm just doing so for myself #if you do read it i would love to hear thoughts for either chapter and of course rbs and kudos are always appreciate but no pressure ever ♡#i'll stop rambling cause i talked about it all in last post in my talk tag but i haven't been on here a lot due to a lot of health reasons #and feeling very disconnected and overwhelmed from here so i'm still around on twitter and such but things have been really bad recently #and i thought it best to not vent on here a lot like i used to and just kind of take time for me. i miss interacting with everyone on here #though and i hope everyone is doing well !!

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hopelesslvr · 19 days

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rereading an old x reader fic that you read in your early teens is so humbling because the reader persona in question is so unbelievably "not like other girls" and i think it makes me want to die a little... and in a sense there are some unbelievably raw teenager parts but god... for writing it in 2021... idk i don't think we should be promoting addiction to the wee kids of wattpad & ao3...

it's just edgy. but like. in a bad way. you're 15, you're just as much a loser as the rest of your class. chill out.

#🩷 yaps.#is this too much?#idk #i have strong feelings about x readers #especially when they aren't really x readers #like okay we're going to give the reader a vague but specific appearance #and of course she's going to be skinny #like girl that's not an x reader fic that's just an oc #way to leave the curvy & fat girls out of it #and idk like... maybe controversial but i don't think we should be promoting smoking #like my friends who smoke #y'all are cool i luv u guys #but it's not something that should be praised or glorified #because... it was really big on wattpad.#wattpad's primary audience is young teens!#idk maybe this is a hot take #i'm still gonna read it tho

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untouchedsoap · 7 months

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i know this is mostly just my preference and my protective nature of mickey but it's like uncomfortable for me when people write him new oc partners. and it's so weird because usually i'm someone who does like to mix and match and see how different people fit together etc not necessarily with ocs that's less my taste but still with mickey it's like absolutely not. he knows where he wants to be

#i haven't read fic in so long but since i'm back in a shameless swing i'm looking at some i bookmarked to read forever ago #and this one i like so far and it's a reimagining of later seasons but written during the early seasons you know #and the author gave mickey this boyfriend and my god. like it is personal preference i can't see mickey with anyone other than ian #even though i can see ian with other people mickey is a one trick pony for me.#so i'm already eh but this guy is written like specifically to annoy the hell out of me.#will i persevere for an otherwise interesting fic? yeah. will my stomach hurt while i do so? undoubtedly #will i stay up later than i should and was planning to just to get to a point where mickey breaks up with him in the course of getting with #ian and therefore not having to sleep on the knowledge that this guy is still there in the fic? maybe #ignore me #mickey milkovich #shameless us

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lesbianlotties · 2 years

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In fics, I always see people writing and joking about how steve used to love robin as like a sort of one off throwaway line and sometimes the reply from robin would be like "gross" or steve would be like "ew dont remind me" in like a teasing way but i actually hate that so i came up with a hc that whenever its brought up, steve would say "and i had GOOD REASON TO LOVE YOU, robbie. I still do, even more than i did that day, but its just a love that looks a little different now." And robin would just start dopey grinning.

(Meanwhile Robin's literal girlfriend NANCY WHEELER just looks between the two dumdums in the background and starts to grin to herself at how sweet the bond is between the two)

GOOD!! THAT'S GOOD!!

i think you're so right. i think we should acknowledge that Steve loved Robin, and i was going to say something else but tbh reading "i still do, even more than i did that day" hits me so hard 😭i mean can you believe that platonic soulmates were invented when these two met?? amazing right??

#i'm pretty sure i read a fic that included a hint of angst about steve still being in love with robin. like obviously he accepted #and respected her as a lesbian but he just couldn't make his feelings disappear in the blink of an eye you know? which i think makes sense?#like he did everything right of course but i want to know how he coped with it all what was his thought process when he realized #'oh this will never ever happen and that's okay but i still love her and moving on takes a little time but i will be her best friend foreve #they're amazing i love them very very much #nancy loves them two. she rolls her eyes and makes a little joke and kisses robin's cheek and sends steve a smile #and everything is good 😭#answered #stranger things #robin buckley #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #st #anon

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aurorawest · 1 year

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So here’s a marketing trend I’ve noticed lately in publishing - “Reads like the best of fanfiction!”

And like, I see what they’re doing here. We know people read—they read fanfiction! A lot of authors currently publishing probably got their start writing fanfiction! Yay fanfiction!

Except trying to market to this group of people who read primarily fanfiction? Yeah, pretty sure that isn’t going to work. People who only read fanfiction aren’t interested in reading published fiction, and if you spend an hour on tumblr you can find the posts proving it. “Published fiction doesn’t explore characters the way fanfiction does!” “Published fiction doesn’t have queer characters!” “Published fiction is all written by cishet white men!”

Yeah, tell me you haven’t read a book since your English teacher assigned Tom Sawyer without telling me you haven’t read a book since your English teacher assigned Tom Sawyer.

Also it’s weirdly backwards. Like. Don’t you guys mean, the best fanfiction reads like published fiction? Clearly they can influence each other—many of the best books I’ve read lately contain tropes that are very very common in fanfiction, and they’re being utilized in a way that I can just tell is coming from an author who wrote fic and is possibly still writing it.

Anyway, you’re not going to to get the AO3 only crowd to buy books, so maybe stop marketing books this way.

#reading tag #yeah the current book i'm reading says this #and sure i can tell the author wrote fanfiction #but i mean they dedicated the book to fic writers #but if this book was a fic and i was reading it #i would think to myself #wow this is high quality enough to be published #similarly when i read shitty books #because of COURSE there are shitty books out there #i think yikes how did this get published #sorry not sorry but to me having a team editing and proofreading and believing enough in your work to sell it #is still the gold standard

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todayisafridaynight · 9 months

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I wanted to touch on Day with the Sun in a manner that's EVEN REMOTELY TIMELY so I don't end up piling too much on when talking about your fics [both in terms of how much I'd have to write and how much you'd have to read]. SO! Sorry if this sucks and is inarticulate… exhausted from crunch AND my keyboard is busted… but I will power through because this haaas to be one of my favorite fics of yours and I Cannot Contain Myself. Also I feel bad for egging you on to post it but not actually saying anything yet so☠️

I've said bits and pieces of this before but I adore your fics because I can visualize them with incredible clarity. Like not even kidding, Top Ten Hallucinogens, you've got everyone's mannerisms and "voices" down perfect and you always have just enough detail to be able to See The Vision without the story having to grind to a halt. I really like the way attention is only brought to certain details with purpose, when they're relevant; that adds a lot to what I'm about to talk about.

I think your writing style really shines in works like this, where it's sort of like a Particularly Involved Substory, or a lighthearted "cooldown chapter"--just like, those parts that are all in-engine and mostly unvoiced but have SO much heart and characterization. I can See the camera moves and transitions, and I can Hear the music and sound cues. But at the same time, you take full advantage of the medium in being able to get into Arakawa's head, see what he sees and does or doesn't take note of and the conclusions he comes to, and get into what their day-to-day might be like and the ways this trip is both reflective of and breaks from the usual for them.

It's just SO well-done! The fic as a whole is a delight from start to finish--there's so much to chew on in every moment, every interaction, and the fact you've managed to pack it all into such a short story while maintaining the perfect pacing throughout is nothing short of commendable. Giggling And Kicking My Feet The Whole Time For Real and I MAINTAIN I was right to be excited… I'm so happy to have had the opportunity to read it [three times now]!

Arakawa's soooo moe To Me and reading from his perspective always makes me ill because his worries and concerns and shortcomings are so human, but he's doing his best to make his family happy, and they ultimately do end up having a nice day because of his initiative… Jo is SO cute in this too, I rewatched Hero SP after completing the show recently and he really has that Tsugaru-like Neurodivergent Awkwardness. Last But Not Least I loved Masato, I was his age the majority of the last couple of times I remember going to the beach… he's just like me fr…

No But I always really enjoy this Era of Masato, because in the singular flashback we get, he seems just a little bit more tolerant of Arakawa. It's nice to see him before [I feel like] he stops addressing him as "Dad" to his face, only saying it to specify who he means when he's talking to other people--that's kind of how I am with my mom now.

At the same time, it's of course a little bittersweet. One nice day isn't going to change the course of their futures, and it's painful to see Arakawa have these high hopes for his son that don't come to fruition in the way he envisions, or to think about how Jo's the only one around to remember moments like these now…

At any rate, closing out with some notes that came to mind as I was reading:

LOVE the premise being based in Masato being more open with Jo--I was definitely hoping Arakawa'd have some thoughts on that and I was happy to see he did, and to see echoes of it in things like Masato choosing to lean more heavily on Jo and Arakawa musing on Masato's "preferential treatment" of Jo.

It's also really sweet to see how Jo's earned it; he really spares no effort when it comes to Masato and it shows in big and small ways, like how he seems more synced with Masato when he wants to be put down while Arakawa's lost in thought. At the same time, even though he's grossly overprepared and clearly didn't pack for just himself though he initially wanted to set up away from the Arakawas, he only really has the courage to do any of what he did because of Arakawa strongarming him into actually involving himself and letting himself have a good time. The synergy with those three is unreal

Love literally every single time Arakawa tries to understand Jo… that longing for a greater depth of knowledge when he already knows him well enough to read his thoughts from what he wrote in the pamphlet… the way he notes and responds to Jo's anxiety and propriety, the way he goes and investigates the book, the Painfully Awkward But Real conversation they try to have about art and theater and how he /wants/ to share but they're not quite communicating, the way he doesn't know to connect things like Jo's knowledge of construction and his inexperience with normalcy to his past but has this gut feeling… the way he's right about how he'll never fully know him…

I wanted to note this separately because of The Subject Matter ☠️but although this quote comes from a CSA checklist, it is applicable to others with abusive backgrounds [I mean… I do HC Jo as a CSA survivor and it is close to my heart given he ticks a lot of said boxes either way, but that's a topic for a much different ask… If Ever, it never felt like an appropriate topic to write in about], and it seems relevant to what's going on with Jo in this fic: "31. Limited tolerance for happiness; active withdrawal from happiness, reluctance to trust happiness ('ice=thin')." Obviously He Has Other Reasons but I feel like that's what Arakawa's picking up on at certain points. That's why I was really happy Arakawa got to spot and capture those Rare Jo Moments where he's happy and at peace… it's something that works whether you read the fic as platonic or romantic, but it's interesting to view through both lenses

VERY MUCH NOTICED THE BOOK HAS A BROWN COVER BTW I'm Literally Delusional but I was obviously reminded of the book that keeps popping up in your comics, the tattoo one and the AraSawa Domestic Moments Cringe [For Masato] Compilation… perhaps not the same one but I wouldn't be surprised if it took years to finish either given he hardly got to read it before being pulled away… he's INSANE for describing that as Light Reading [I can't even read my own art history books, I just look at the pictures] but I respect it… I also respect you both actually using bookmarks instead of just Praying I Turn To The Page I Left Off On like I do…

Dadliest FUCKING moments from Arakawa in this one I swear to goddddd I talked about his attempts to understand Jo but his attempts to understand Masato when Masato refuses to get what's on his mind across at every turn are so real… also spooking Masato like that… showing up with only his wallet and practically nothing else but being fully prepared to spoil Masato… wanting to put Masato's sunscreen on for him… not "acting his age"… the SKIPPINGGGGG… the expectation of a soon-to-be-empty nesty making him squish Masato for reasons Masato cannot discern [not to mention The Symbolism of the sunset imagery as the backdrop for this in particular although it should be a beautiful moment]… his FUCKING FIT [JO'S FIT TOO BUT HIS FITTT] GOD I'M LITERALLY JUST LISTING THINGS THAT HAPPENED IN THE FIC AT THIS POINT BUT HE MADE ME SO ILL

I could hardly say any of the above without thinking of Jo though… I mean… Second Parent is so true… A Dad Of Another Variety... Deeply appreciate him getting to be part of the family… speaking of parents I ALSO deeply appreciate the Akane mention…

I'm just. Obsessed with the entire finale and everything leading up to it [AS IF I'M NOT OBSESSED WITH EVERY OTHER THING] but I should let you go at some point so I'm stopping here <3

OH AND I would absoluuutely love to read [Or View] anything else you might have in mind with regard to Ikumi! Loved your art :] We don't have anything concrete to go off of At All as of now, so I don't think anyone could blame you if you wanted to explore one idea one day and a different one the next. I don't think about her often because I'm not creative enough to know where to take things [and I certainly wouldn't know how to make it Not Miserable], so I'd be very curious to see :]

Would also love to hear your thoughts on We Make Antiques 2 and The Deer King :] if you have the time/If They're Still Knocking Around ☠️

[EVERY THOUGHT I GOT DOWN BELOW]

i think its Physically Impossible for you to write anything Lame nor Inarticulate dont WORRYYY best wishes to you and your keyboard regardless tho 🙏 more over i'd be THRILLED to read a novel's worth of your commentary on any of my works- but i also know typing a lot is. Tiring LMAO SO i'm utterly grateful for anythin you send in (;´༎ຶ▽༎ຶ) i also never mind how long it might take for you to send something in: i know you always put a lot of time and effort into your asks, and all of that time is well worth the wait since they always end up being my favorite things to read (❁´◡`❁)

moving on tho, ABSOLUTELY makes me happy to hear my descriptions are good ! i always worry about doing too much or too little, so im glad it's Just Write in terms of highlighting what's important while not lingering too long on unimportant things or going too fast ♪(´▽｀) reading the fic three times… thems Deer King numbers WHAT AN HONOR TYSM FOR ENJOYING AND READING (^人^)

im glad this story can feel 'substory' esque. when it comes to my comics, i generally try to give them that 'side content' kind of feel: just something nice to cut away to away from the 'main action' of the canon story, so im glad that can be reflective in a fic like this (and probably makes sense as to why this is my 'strongest' fic) (╯▽╰ ) ive mentioned it during a stream before (and probably in my tags too), but i do try to 'direct' my art and treat things like a movie set. i try to keep that same kind of mentality when writing, so i'm happy to hear it was effective :]

being able to write from arakawa's perspective is a fun experience to say the least. i really Do Not Hide It when i say that i borrow a lot from my life and the people in my life whenever i draw or write something, and i've made it noooo secret my dad is a big inspo for the things i make, ESPECIALLY when it comes to family. with all of that said, an aspect of arakawa i wanted to try to explore lately was his struggle of maintaining a happy family despite his circumstances. it wasn't a MAJOR focal point of this fic I Dont Think, but definitely was something i had in the back of my mind and is generally something i keep in the back of my mind when trying to portray arakawa

all of that said, i'll try not to be SUPER personal (as i do that anyway LMAO) but i'll confess that writing arakawa is 'special' to me. i can't exactly put a word to it, so 'special' will have to do. when i was growing up, in some sense, i was upset with my dad for things he ultimately had no control over. despite the time that's passed though, he's always tried his best for my siblings and i (and even my mom before this year when An Incident occurred and finally woke up him up to how terrible she is LMAO). he told me once that he wanted nothing more than a happy family, and that he never wanted his kids to feel alone or abandoned. that's a sentiment i can very easily imagine arakawa having not just towards masato, but towards the rest of the arakawa family as well due to his own upbringing; that sort of care extends to jo too Evidently. whether it's romantic or platonic, i do want to communicate that arakawa does try to get close to jo not just cause It's Expected for him to care about someone in the clan, but because he can identify the signs of an uncomfortable upbringing in jo, and doesn't want anyone else to have to shoulder that loneliness by themselves like he did. yk: have a more personal reason to as opposed to it being a part of his job. and lbr: jo can't brood ALL the time, there's GOTTA be a single second he actually does seem happy for once (and those very rare momence, me thinks, are very much all the waiting for arakawa)

with all of THAT said, being able to explore these thoughts and scenarios with arakawa is a way for me to better understand and appreciate my dad and what he had to go through i guess- sort of like an apology for how much i tended to doubt him even though i knew he wanted nothing more than to be there for us, so i'm def happy exploring that for myself has been able to become a good read (❁´◡`❁)

onto jo tho…. i love portraying jo in these domestic settings somuch (evidently). bro really is just so out of his element, ESPECIALLY when he's trying to appear Tolerable (in his eyes: arakawa will ALWAYS love him) it's just such a hilarious contrast to how we know him (a cunt) ☠️ as i was writing this fic i just kept thinking to myself that- in an ironic sense- jo would absolutely be a beach/airport dad given the circumstances (just pack unnecessarily, be overly vigilant to make sure things go accordingly, etc etc) and it's what really made writing everything so fun when i got to sit and imagine it and share it （￣︶￣）

that fun bit aside, i do also enjoy writing jo in these types of scenarios in a similar vein to why i like writing arakawa: it's a bit personal. i'd rather equate my upbringing to negligence opposed to outright abuse like jo experienced, but i can't imagine how my thoughts manifest to be too different from jo's in certain scenarios. especially when it comes to his hesitance towards happiness or believing he isn't deserving of that happiness (or anything good really), it's a very personal feeling i get a lot, and in particular his need to not want to intrude or take up space (doubly considering it may seem as tho he's trying to 'steal' masato even though he gave him away in the first place). it's pretty easy to write with that respect (and is probably why i tend to drift to portraying his pov's LMAO), and trying to capture that feeling of anxiety or worry or apprehension but still keep it in tune with jo's 'stonewall-esque' character is definitely cathartic in a sense. it's also interesting to do when i have him next to other characters, and ESPECIALLY when im writing from a perspective that isn't his own. it's important i don't make him appear too outwardly anxious or 'small,' but i also want to make sure it's clear he does feel those things in that moment: i want that fact to be sort of a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of deal.

all of THAT said though, i AM very interested to hear more about your thoughts on him as a CSA survivor (and me wonders if that is what you were referring to when adding to his backstory some asks ago)... VERY fair if you'd rather keep that discussion elsewhere though: it is a very sensitive topic

onto masato though, i enjoy portraying masato a lot pre-ichi times. i guess it's just a nice phase to touch on before Everything Spirals, so to speak: he still has some of that anger from his childhood, though he can't express it the same way anymore. he has to be a bit more mature about it- but he is still a teenager. plus, since he's still a teenager, he still predominantly relies on jo and arakawa, and Of Course i have the most fun when i get to portray any combo of that trio interacting with each other (and it shows lmao).

on that note though, i do enjoy thinking a lot about the supposed relationship jo and masato mustve had while he was growing up. as it shows, jo turned out to be 'masatos favorite' (however much that means all things considered). there surely must have been some seeds planted for that to have been the outcome later on, so it's fun thinking about how those things can manifest, and it's especially fun getting to pen arakawa's perspective on it

AND OF COURSE THE BOOK WAS INTENTIONAL LMAOOOO yk what they say One's An Incident Two's A Coincidence Three's On Purpose You Asshole ☠️☠️ the first two times were truly accidents but at this point it doesn't hurt to have a 'running joke' or something like that in my comics/fics. we'll get him a new book someday i promise ♪(´▽｀)

as for me though, i cant trust to open on the same page i left off on.. plus i really like collecting bookmarks, especially when they're of butterflies: it gives me a reason to look them up and learn something since the designs are always pretty enough for me to wonder what species they're based on (❁´◡`❁)

ALL IN ALL THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR ENJOYING !!!!!!!! truly commentary like this gives me reasonsto keep writing its SUCH a huge motivator i cant stress it.. all the pain is worth it when i can see how much you enjoyed the fic.. i hope to always make you feel that excited to read something from myself ╰(°▽°)╯ !!

with THAT in mind tho… i certainly do feel the motivation to pen at least ONE ikumi story now.. when that's finished is TBD but for now i hope you enjoy this Kinda Old scribble of a Little Older ikumi i did (or at least one variant of an older ikumi) <- drew it so i could hallucinate better

im not good at fashion and i was really trying to figure out a look for her that still REMINDED people of ikumi but yk. was appropriate for a 30-something-year-old woman in the 90's.... but i have plenty of time to explore other looks so i wont worry (i do really like this hair cut tho.. maybe that'll be a constant)..

AND OF COURSE i'd be happy to write two quick lil reviews for those movies: i LOVED them after all (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

for WMA2, my favorite bits of these movies is always The Plan Coming Together- yk the last like. thirty or so minutes LMAO BUT FR ill never get over watching everyone work together to con people (plus the turtleneck really is A Look for nakai.. BIG fan- also them goofy ass magnetic glasses.. what even are those i love them). had me GOBSMACKED when it was revealed shino wasnt even a real mom but also Not Surprising in retrospect but ALSO Whose Kid Is This. Where Are Your Parents.

i do love how the movie started with the idea that sasuke Wasnt going to do any more con jobs and was going to be living honestly, yet In An Ironic Twist to ensure japan wouldnt have a Counterfeit Antique problem he ended up having to make so many fakes… a necessary evil me thinks… more importantly i really will never get over yo-chan fucking licking everything like ENOUGH. STOP. but dont it still makes me laugh fuckin weird ass old man (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)♡ it did make me happy to see sasuke's son get a job he really loves tho… that was cute.. AND WHEN HE TRIED THE POTTERY WHEEL That Was Cute :) anyways.. all in all lovely movie Of Course I'd Love It… one day i hope we can find the third movie….

AS FOR DEER KINNGGG ABSOLUTELY LOVELY MOVIE you were right the animation was GORGEOUS and PERFECTLY weighted. i ESPECIALLY loved the scene with the stilt walkers not just atmosphere wise, but the actual weight and heft of the stilts was just so… Immaculate. AND LEST I NEGLECT TO MENTION YUNA'S THE CUTEST LITTLE GIRL EVER i love her so so so much she's so adorable her cheeks are plump like a peach's her pigtails are adorable and i love her tooth gap (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ) van and yuna getting to hang with the villagers was MAD sweet tho… had me deceased at the end when the cure of Mad Wolf Disease was just deer milk tho. NOT A HATER was just a hilariosuly simple solution considering The Horrors caused by the mittsual (i knew i wasnt a sicko for drinking milk...)

As If I Need To Say It Anymore very lovely movies….. thank you much both for going through the effort to find WMA2 and for reccin The Deer King…

#long post #fave #MEGA FAVE. INSPO FAVE EVEN #will certainly read this whenever i doubt myself Thank You So Much.. will def never accuse you of callin my stuff mid again..#a tag i wont even be able to find later....#snap chats #snap sketches #ikumi #I PROB LEFT SOME STUFF OUT BUT YEAYEAYAYA TYTYTYT FOR READING AND ENJOYING AND SUPPORTING MY STUFF !!!!#as some Final Comments... absolutely blame my dad for arakawa being Extra Silly in this fic (and in most of my portrayals tbh)#my dad's the silliest guy i know and he def loved spooking me when i was growing up and being Annoyingly Silly #like he'd love pinching my cheek or trying to tickle me and its like Dad Stop I'm 15 I'm A Grown Up <- thats literally baby age shut up #def try to channel that energy when portraying masato and arakawa together..#just as an Extra Tidbit since i meant to put this in my initial fic link's tags: i origianlly wanted to feature a beach wheelchair #but after triple checking the first beach-accessible wheelchair wasnt patented until 1997 #one was MADE in 1994 but p much exclusively for the inventor's wife #and by the time it'd be 1997 masato would've been 19/20 and that's out of the age range i wanted to write for #onward tho... i still am curious as to what you have to say about my other fics tho...#you HAVE left some thoughts on them I DO KNOW THAT #BUT i'm still curious as to what The Bigger Review is.. if it's anything like this review yk- NO PRESSURE OF COURSE NO RUSH #its only natural i be a lil curious tho (╯x╰ ) forgive me (╯▽╰ )#and especially forgive me if i post another fic soon and prompt you to want to write more commentary (╯▽╰ ;;)#even if you dont tho just gettin the simple notice that you did read and enjoy is plenty enough for me (❁´◡`❁)#but i absolutely do enjoy a review like this WAAH still not over it its so thoughtful #i had as much fun and felt as much joy readin this ask as you might have readin my fic LMAOOOO #i was out walking when i saw the notif and i couldnt go home yet so i just kept rereading this ask and bein happy...#so again thank you... i hope to continue making good things in the future (❁´◡`❁)#it is MOST LATE rn tho.. i should sleep... i do have work i still have to do uh oh ☠️#i feel like i left a lot of commentary out but my brain works.. Never... i think i said A Lot As Is tho so we'll leave it at that #SO I LEAVE YOU WITH ANOTHER THANK YOU🙏

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