Recently Came Back And If Anyone Needs A Beta Reader Please Count Me Iiiin !!! I Love Reading Anything

Recently came back and… if anyone needs a beta reader please count me iiiin !!! I love reading anything and idk i just feel really happy to be back on here so don’t feel shy and reach out in dms if you’re interested ! <333

ੈ♡˳ — 1K CELEBRATION BY BWITCH

: ̗̀➛ navigation ; masterlist

i have my first 1k, yay!!! first of all, thank you guys immensely for this number. never would i have thought that i’d have so many amazing people reading my stuff and just looking at my blog in general. this fandom truly means a lot to me, it makes me comfortable and is a perfect respite for when i need it in my life. i’ve already met some absolutely divine people here and i hope it’s just the beginning <3

what’s this all about? | rules

i came up with this idea pretty randomly, but i hope it makes sense and it will be fun! please welcome…

˗ˏˋ the wheel of aesthetics ´ˎ˗

ೃ⁀➷ you send me a number from 1 to 10 and a character of your choice (you can find characters i write for here). please, include if you’re okay with smut or not!

ೃ⁀➷ i use this wheel of random aesthetics to spin the wheel however many times you sent me

ೃ⁀➷ with the aesthetic that comes up, i have to create a little moodboard for the character, a blurb with this particular aesthetic in mind and a 3-5 songs playlist

ೃ⁀➷ one request per ask, but send as many as you want <3

i will accept requests until the end of the week (september 8th included). i really hope that it’s going to be a fun little thing! thank you so much for your support, love you lots 💞

echoes of loss and love

description: you are haunted by memories of your relationship with fred weasley before his death. you feel like you're stuck in a loop, unable to move on when one day, george tells you fred was going to propose.

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader, platonic!george weasley x fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of the hogwarts war, fred's canon death, survivors guilt.

song rec: all i want by kodaline- "but if you loved me, why did you leave me?"

w.c: 1.8k

an: to whoever wrote that one fic where george dyes his hair blue because he hates that whenever he looks in the mirror he sees fred- count. your. days. thx !!

the morning air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of fresh dew from the burrow. you sat on the edge of the bed, your feet touching the cold wooden floorboards, feeling the weight of the world press down on your shoulders. your eyes scanned the room, lingering on the frayed curtains and the chipped paint on the walls. the familiarity of it all brought a pang of nostalgia and a deep, unshakeable sadness. you had not slept well, as was the norm these days, plagued by dreams that felt more like echoes of a past life than mere nocturnal imaginings.

george lay sprawled across on his own bed on the other side of the room, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. his face was a portrait of peace, untouched by the burdens that you knew he bore in his waking hours. the sight of him there, so much like fred, yet so painfully different, brought a lump to your throat. you remembered the countless nights you had spent in this very room, sharing laughter and secrets with the two of them until the early hours of the morning. the twins had always been inseparable, a unit, a force of nature that could not be divided. but now, fred's side of the room remained cold and untouched aside from your movement, a stark reminder of the gaping hole left in both your heart and the fabric of the weasley family.

you stood up slowly, the floorboards creaking beneath you, and padded over to the window. outside, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a soft, warm light on the dew-kissed garden. the leaves on the trees were tinged with gold and red, whispering of the approaching autumn. it was a beautiful scene, but the beauty felt hollow, as if the vibrancy of color was only a cruel mockery of the emptiness you felt within. you leaned against the windowsill, your eyes tracing the patterns the light made on the floor.

the guilt was a heavy, constant presence, like a shadow that never left your side. you had been there when the wall exploded, when fred's life had been so brutally extinguished. the sound of the blast still reverberated in your ears, a never-ending echo of the moment that had torn your world apart. his laughter, his warmth, his very essence had been wrenched away from you, leaving nothing but cold, empty space. you could still see the look in his eyes, the flash of surprise and pain, the way his hand had reached out for you as if he could somehow pull you into safety.

for a while, george had been cold towards you, his grief a tangible barrier that you couldn't breach. every time you looked at him, you saw the accusation in his gaze, the unspoken question of why it had been fred and not you. you understood his anger, his pain, but it didn't make the silent treatment any easier to bear. the burden of guilt grew heavier with each passing day, each missed opportunity to apologize or explain, to somehow make it right. but what could you say? there were no words to justify the cruel hand of fate that had taken fred from you both.

you decided to make some tea, hoping the warmth would soothe your soul. the kitchen was quiet, the embers of the fireplace glowing dimly. as you filled the kettle with water, the rusty pipes groaned, reminding you of the burrow's age. the weasley's had lived here for generations, and it was a place filled with love and laughter. now, it felt like a museum dedicated to a happiness that no longer existed. you placed the kettle on the stove and watched as the flame grew, the heat slowly spreading through the metal.

staring at the teapot, you waited for the water to boil. it was a simple task, one that had been done countless times before in this very kitchen. but today, it felt like a monumental effort. every second that ticked by was a reminder of the moments you had lost with fred. the teapot began to whistle, a shrill sound that pierced the silence. you jumped, startled, and hastily turned off the stove. the whistle died down, leaving only the soft hiss of the cooling water. you paused, your hand hovering over the teapot, your eyes welling up with unshed tears. fred had always liked his tea with three lumps of sugar and a dash of milk, just like his mother made it. the thought brought a bittersweet smile to your face.

the door to the kitchen creaked open, and you looked up to see george standing there, his hair a wild mess from sleep. his eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air. for a moment, you felt like you were seeing fred in his place, the same look of curiosity and concern mirrored in his twin's gaze. your heart clenched, and you had to look away, focusing instead on the steaming kettle. "can't sleep?" he asked, his voice thick with the grogginess of early morning.

you nodded, your voice a whisper. "same dreams."

george's eyes softened with understanding. he padded over to the table and pulled out a chair, the legs scraping against the floor. "i know," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "it's like he's still here, but every time i turn around, he's gone again."

you filled two cups with tea, the warmth of the porcelain comforting against your cold palms. you slid one across the table to him, and he took it with a nod of thanks. "it's just… i can't shake the feeling that i should have done more," you confessed, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. "i should have been able to save him."

george was silent for a long moment, the only sound the clinking of spoons against the sides of the cups as you both added sugar and stirred. "you can't blame yourself," he said finally, his voice gentle. "none of us could have seen that coming. it was war, and fred knew the risks."

you took a sip of your tea, the warmth spreading through you like a comforting embrace. "i know that," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "but it doesn't make it any easier."

george reached across the table and took your hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring. his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a silent gesture of comfort. his eyes met yours, and for the first time since the battle, you saw something other than pain and anger in them. there was a glimmer of understanding, a bridge built from shared grief. "you know," he began, his voice low and tentative, "after it happened, i kept thinking about all the times we argued, all the little things that didn't seem to matter. i wish i could take them all back, tell him how much he meant to me."

you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. "i do too. i wish i could tell him how much i loved him."

george took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "you know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "fred had plans for after the war."

your heart skipped a beat. plans? what could fred have planned that you didn't know about? "what do you mean?"

george's gaze fell to the table, his thumb still moving in soothing circles on your hand. "he had a ring," he said, his voice barely audible. "he was going to ask you to marry him, after the war. said he couldn't wait any longer to make it official."

a cold shock washed over you. a ring? fred had wanted to marry you? you felt your breath catch in your throat, the reality of what you had lost sinking in even deeper. "what happened to it?" you managed to ask, your voice shaking.

george's eyes searched yours, and then he got up from his chair, leaving his hand on the table. "he hid it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "he didn't want to carry it with him in case…" his voice trailed off, and you could see the pain etched on his face. he disappeared from the room, leaving you sitting there, the cup of tea cooling in your hand, the words echoing in the silence.

a few moments later, he returned, a small, worn box in his hand. he placed it on the table between you, and you could see his hand tremble as he pushed it towards you. you picked it up, your heart racing. the box was old, the leather cracked and faded, the clasp stiff with disuse. you opened it, and there, nestled in the velvet, was the ring. it was a simple band of gold, with an intricate knot design, the kind that fred had always loved. a small diamond glinted in the early morning light, winking at you like a teardrop frozen in time.

you slid the ring onto your finger, and it fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for you. it was a strange sensation, a warmth that seemed to seep into your very soul, a final gift from fred that you hadn't expected. the weight of it felt right, like a piece of him that you could hold onto forever. you looked up at george, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and hope. "he picked it out himself, " he said, his voice thick with emotion. "he wanted you to know that you were it for him."

you didn't know what to say, so you just sat there, staring at the ring, feeling the warmth of fred's love through the metal. the silence stretched between you, filled with a thousand unspoken words. the sun was now fully up, casting a soft glow through the kitchen window, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. it was a moment that felt both surreal and achingly real, a moment that you knew would be etched into your memory forever.

finally, you found your voice. "thank you," you whispered, your eyes still fixed on the ring. "for telling me. for giving me this."

george nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "you were the best thing that ever happened to him," he said, his voice cracking. "i know he'd want you to have it."

you felt a lump form in your throat, unable to find the words to express your gratitude. instead, you leaned across the table and hugged him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his familiar scent, so much like fred's. it was a bittersweet moment, one that brought both solace and pain.

for a while, you sat there in silence, sipping your tea, the ring feeling like a lifeline to a past you could never quite touch again. but it was a lifeline you were grateful for, a tangible piece of fred that you could hold onto. as you sat with george, you realized that while you would never be able to fill the void left by fred's absence, you had each other. two broken halves of a whole, trying to find a new way to live in a world that had changed irrevocably.

Lover, Leader, Liar [Savior, Sinner] - (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.4k words | pining, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, the arklay incident, flashbacks, s.t.a.r.s era | Fic Directory

when wesker makes a promise, he keeps it. even if it hurts.

The clock was quite literally ticking.  Every second wasted was a second closer to the inevitable blast.  But there was a… variable that he hadn’t considered.  A scream, a stumble in the room above just barely loud enough to hear over the sharp bang of each discharged round.  If it were anyone else…

But it isn’t, so he bolts.  Shoves through body after body, practically leaping halfway up the stairs.  His boots fall quick and heavy and the door separating him from you is no match.  He rams into it and breaks it clean off the hinges, and there he finds a sickening scene.

That lumbering beast is upon you, trapping you in the corner of the room while you tremble and shake, clambering back until you’ve nowhere else to go.  The slide of your gun is locked open.  You’d spent your entire magazine on her, surely.  Poor thing.  Of course you wouldn’t know.

Your eyes flicker to him, blown wide with raw terror.  You’d been afraid since the moment Alpha Team touched down in the woods, though you'd tried your best to hide it.  The last time he saw you, Wesker had to rest a hand on your shoulder and reassure you that everything would be okay.  No one else would die.  You wouldn’t die.  Not under his command.  Not if he had anything to say about it.

Such is the promise he’s chosen to keep.

He draws his gun at lightning speed and unloads three rounds into Lisa Trevor’s back.  She stumbles toward you but whirls around to face her assailant.  Damn thing had been stalking him since he rose from the dead, so what was a little more time to tango?  Lisa wails at him, lumbering forward, which gives you enough time to crawl under a desk and run to him.  He’s almost resentful that you can’t quite match the pace of his sprint, but, so long as your hand is in his, you will not perish to that creature.

Your frantic breaths and the warmth of your touch are his purpose as he mows down beast after beast.  Hunters, dogs, zombies… it makes no difference.  The two of you must be out of here before time runs out.  There’s no time for your blubbering about the blood splattered all over his body from the wound that no longer exists.  There’s no time for your sputtering when he shoves another gun in your hands, nor any for your hesitation when Lisa reappears and blocks your exit.

He fights tooth and nail.  When that chandelier comes down, impaling and trapping her, Wesker hoists you onto his back and takes off as fast as he can.  It would not do to have you running after him.  Even hand in hand, you wouldn’t be able to make it far enough with what little time remains.  But now, with his new abilities, you’re no more than a mere feather.  Not even the death grip you hold around his shoulders phases him.

You whimper at the deafening boom.  He lowers you behind a thick tree and huddles close, pressing you against the trunk, taking cover against the shockwave that pulses through the forest.

“C-Captain…”

He finds you staring, tears rimming your eyes.  Could be any number of reasons you were on the brink of crying.  He’d wager it was, well… everything.  From finding Bravo Team’s bodies to your first encounter with the living dead, to nearly having your skull shattered by Lisa’s devastating strength, all the way to outrunning enough explosives to leave a crater in place of the mansion.  Your lower lip trembles.

The sight of you calls him back to the night before this whole debacle began.  You’d brought him coffee and dinner from the beat up diner down the road.  You mentioned how nervous you were to find out who the perpetrators were of the string of murders plaguing the area.  It wasn’t uncommon for you to visit his office.  In fact, your relationship had been inching further and further away from purely professional and more toward… well, whatever it was going to be.  Part of him always wanted to cave to those feelings brewing in his chest, but he knew better.  Or, at least, he thought he did.  Truth be told, your odds of surviving the manor had been slim to none and he was going into the situation nearly certain no one would make it out.  He’d been incredibly tempted to fire you just to keep you alive…  Words could never describe the regret he felt when the day came that it was too late.

But, then again, you could be like this because you knew that he was in on it.

Cold, shaking hands land on his forearms.  “Captain… your eyes…” You whisper shakily.  Not what he was expecting.  A nice right hook would’ve made more sense than the way you pat him down, searching for injuries.  He all but fully flinches when your fingertips graze his exposed abdomen.

“That’s not necessary,” Wesker says, pushing your hands away.  

He grazes your fingers with his.  A big stack of paperwork filled out perfectly, just the way he’d asked. “Thank you,” he hums.  Pink tinges your cheeks and a smile settles right in.  You feel it too, then?

“W-Were you hurt?”

Softness drapes over his shoulders.  He’s barely conscious, far too exhausted from his two-day stint without sleep to open his eyes.  There’s a soft clicking noise and the high pitched, barely-there buzz of the computer monitor ceases.  He knows it’s you.  Only you would do this.  Only you would take care of him this way…

“I was.”  He says, turning, still hand in hand with you, to walk away.  “Best not to waste any more time.”  Every three-letter agency in the world would be finding its way to the scene in no time.  Moreover, with the rest of Alpha-Team knowing of his involvement, said agencies would be beating down the door to his home within the day.  There was little to gather, but he certainly needed to stop there before disappearing.  “Come.”

It took many miles on foot before stumbling upon a residence with a perfectly procurable vehicle, and the drive back to Raccoon City had been tense.  You were still on edge, obviously.  It’s when he leads you to sit on the edge of his bed– he can’t let you out of his sight– as he gathers documents and necessities that you finally lean forward, hand over your eyes, and bite back your weak cries.

“D-Did you really… You knew?”  You sputter.  “You knew, and you just let us walk in there?”

Wesker holds your gaze as he strips away his ruined vest, uniform button-up, and undershirt away.  Can’t sport the S.T.A.R.S logo anymore. Not that he even wanted to. “Yes.” He says, tugging a black sweater over his head.  He expected you to run.  He’s unsure why you haven’t tried.  At first he thought it was shock.  Perhaps you had been too shaken to consider it an option, but you’d calmed significantly during the drive and now…?

“You don’t have to stay late.”  He tells you, standing halfway in the doorway to his office.  Everyone else went home hours ago.  

“I know,” you say, looking up at him from your screen.  “I want to.”

He catches sight of his eyes in the mirror mounted beside his closet door.  Ocular mutations weren’t uncommon, but it would be one that he must hide from time to time.  Suppose, though, that it was simply solved with a new pair of sunglasses.

Wesker snags the duffel bag he’d prepared before the mission.

“– why did you save me?”  He’d been tuning out your sorrowful rantings, but there could be no ignoring the weak sob that preceded such a difficult question.  Why indeed…

His doorbell rings, jarring him from his focused writings. He opens it to find you, tupperware container in hand, with your eyes practically sparkling.  

“Hi– sorry!  I was just coming back from the little birthday lunch we did for Jill and I–”  You hold the container out for him.  “I dunno, I just thought you’d maybe like some cake?”

He regards you with amusement for a moment.  He’s only seen you in normal clothes a handful of times, usually if you were stopping into the precinct on your day off, but it never failed to tickle some small, cold part of his heart.  In turn, he knows this is the first time you’ve seen him out of uniform.  He’s dressed down, sporting a sweater and jeans, signature glasses left elsewhere.  He quite likes the way you try to hide your wandering eyes.

Wesker takes the container and gives you a soft, grateful smile.  Part of him feels that he should invite you in and offer you something– coffee, perhaps.  Engage in the rules of reciprocity drilled into his head with every etiquette class required in his schooling years.

“Would you like to come in?”  The smile on your face is all he needs.  “You’ve brought quite a large piece.  I might need some help with it.”

“You could’ve left me there!”  You’ve got him by the shirt now, wet eyes boring into his.  “You brought us there to die, so why didn’t you leave me!?”

He clamps a palm over your mouth, spins, and presses you to the wall.  

The chime to the flower shop signals his arrival.  He towers over the old woman tending the plants as he explains to her his need.  

“The most elaborate bouquet you can make for a grief-stricken recipient,” he says.  “Price is no object.”

The moment he picked up that phone and you explained your need for time off through poorly suppressed sobs, he was already sure of where he’d be headed on his lunch break.  Your parents, you’d said.  A head on collision with a drunk driver.  It was believed they died on impact, but such a mercy didn’t quell your sobs.  Frankly, nothing could except for time’s power to numb the pain.

Wesker has no family to mourn.  No parents, no siblings.  As an orphaned boy in boarding school, he’d done his crying when the others would leave to spend the holidays with their family.  He can’t quite fathom the grief you feel at losing your only family, but this? He can do this.

“What would you like the card signature to say?”  Asks the old woman as she scribbles her notes.

He contemplates for a moment, weighing his options.  But he knows, deep down, the best and worst possible options are one and the same.

“With love,” he recites. “Albert Wesker.”

“You have two choices,” he tells you.  Wesker shows extra care to ensure the hand covering your mouth does nothing more than silence you.  You need not suffer any more pain.  “The first: I leave you behind.  You answer questions for every agency under the sun and hole up in your apartment while you wake, alone and afraid, every night when your dreams bring you back there. Just to spend every day adrift in a city that, I assure you, is doomed for worse than the mansion.”

Your eyes widen at his prophecy, but it’s the truth.  Birkin would be continuing operations in the area and, frankly, bad things come in threes.  Between the manor and the train, more was bound to happen.  You could choose to stay, or…

“Or you can come with me, where you need not be alone.”  

You hugged him as if your life depended on it when he showed up at your door.  The flowers had arrived earlier, delivered by the seller as instructed.  The crickets sing their song as he holds you, right hand rubbing between your shoulders while you hide your face against his chest.

“Thank you, Captain.” You murmur into his shirt.  You look destroyed.  His heart lurches for you, practically desperate to burst from his chest and engulf you in whatever crevice within it craves you so badly.  

“Albert is fine.  We’re not at work.”

You invited him in.  Showed him where you put the extravagant floral arrangement he’d sent.  Eventually, minutes of conversation turned to hours, and hours turned to the sun tickling at his eyelids, rousing him from the upright position he’d slumbered in upon your couch.  Your head rests on his blanket covered lap while you get your much needed sleep.  All because you asked that he stay.  You didn’t want to be alone.

“After everything we’ve been through, I won’t simply leave you alone.”  Fresh tears brim in your eyes and he removes his palm, letting it trail down and rest against the side of your neck.  “Come with me.” Wesker urges.  “Let me keep you safe. Don’t go down with the others…”

The conflict in your eyes coupled with your lack of response devastates him more than you’d ever know.  He turns, grabs his bag, and makes his way through the humid nighttime air to the car.  He grips the wheel tight enough to crush indentations into it.  He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He should’ve known it was only a pipe dream.  After what he’s done, there would be no going back to the old ways.  No more cake and coffee in his kitchen, no more sheepish smiles as you hand in your work, no more…  no more you.

“You’re afraid?”  He asks, doing all he can to keep the remorse from seeping into his voice.  He should’ve cut you loose last week like he planned.  Now you’ll be walking into hell itself for the sake of data collection and it’s all his fault.

“I just…” You try, pursing your lips as you think of the words.  “Bravo Team went missing out there.  That’s not– S.T.A.R.S members just up and vanishing?  I’m scared something really bad happened up there.”

He reaches across his desk, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He made his choice.

You made yours.

Wesker turns the key in the ignition and the engine sputters to life.  He fiddles with the seat once more to make it less uncomfortable than it had been on the ride back from the mountains.  In the rearview mirror, he can see the way his eyes glow.  Cat-like pupils stare back and accuse him of failure.  The tyrant, the restricted data, and–

The passenger door opens slowly.  His breath catches in his throat.  It’s like the whole world is moving in slow motion while you climb in and he can hardly believe his eyes.  In fact, he rubs them just to make sure.

“If we’re doing this,” you say warily, “I need to pick up a few things from home…”

Wesker can’t control the smile that spreads across his face.  Though he supposes now there’s no need.  Not anymore.  

in my harry potter feels & hyperfixation again and i defo need y'all to recommend me some good fred weasley x reader 😭😭😭

Me when i realize that not finding the exact fic i made up in my head with all the perfect details i imagined means i might have to write it myself