#anyway apologies if this is difficult to decipher

[hoiststowline]

hello! just wanted to say that i really adore your writing. between the ultra magnus fic (winter of our youth) and the hound blurb, you are seriously cooking! thank you so much for your effort and your time!

if it wouldn't be too much to ask, could you possibly write another first kiss scenario with Hot Rod/ Rodimus?

anyway, hope you are doing well! and drinking lots of water! and thank you again <3

[a/n: omg hi!! this has been in my inbox for a hot minute and I owe you my sincerest apologies !! no thank you so so much!! absolutely, of course!! I hope you’re doing great and thank you so much, you are so kind ily 🫶]

rodimus prime x reader

though somewhat of a flirt, it’s difficult to find the line between where friendship ends and a more romantic relationship begins. you mean what you say, but can't quite figure out if he does, always quick to change the subject if he blurts something rather sentimental out loud. he's too far in to try and rationalize anything anymore, yet he's possessive over you and your feelings. he finds himself in the same boat- he can't decipher if the banter is legitimate, so his immediate reflex is to assume it isn't.

but his emotions are all over the place, and falls victim to a viscous cycle of vying for your attention and love, only to convince himself he is going to lose it. your frustrations is your own, you don't quite fathom how to navigate this tangled red string. there's no one to confess this rampaging development to, so instead, you opt to let it go and take it as if it's meant to be, it'll work itself out.

you're partial to falling asleep in Rodimus' room. it's often waiting up for him or just because most of your things have migrated there over the course of your stay. your schedules are staggered at certain points, so some days, it isn't until the evening that you see each other that isn't a quick greeting in passing.

the lights are off when he returns, well past a practical hour to expect you awake. it's a shame, too, because he had about five hours worth of catch-up to do with you, and it'd have to wait until the morning. but he'd hold back, even as much as his patience wanned, just wanting to talk your ear off.

but you're curled up in a ball, fast asleep as he watches your chest rise, then fall in a rhythmic pattern. it's comforting, it not only calms him, but it releases some of the pent up stress that had gathered throughout the day. perhaps this is the first time Rodimus has actually taken a moment to observe how peaceful you are. how beautiful you look, and how easy it appeared to divulge his feelings now, because there was no possibility for you to say no.

there was no chance of rejection here, so it made sense for lots of stifled tenderness and sentimentality to make its way to the surface. carefully, he lowers himself behind you, moving with a gentleness and dexterity to ensure no noise sounded, in fear of waking you up. Rodimus had a million tasks that needed to be completed in the next few hours, but none of them really mattered.

while a goofball, there's a moment of seriousness and clarity in your first kiss, even though you don't realize that it happens. it occurs when he leans over, and leaves the ghost of a kiss just at the crown of your head. it's nothing, negligible at best, and he wouldn't doubt if you were awake, you'd have hardly felt it.

it's not meant to be romantic. it's a greeting, a goodbye, a good night, just so you could know he was there and wasn't going anywhere. while one for dramatics, this was a softer side that only a few were familiar with.

in the morning, he'd confess his true emotions in your regard. but for now, this was good enough for him, and you needed your sleep.

[varpusvaras]

The whole base was already in a wild, celebratory frenzy as they got there.

Fox did prefer it that way. He did not wish to draw too much attention to himself. It would be for the best if he handled any and all reunions in a more private setting, and slipping away from everybody was much easier when everyone were busy celebrating their victory.

That plan did vanish the moment he stepped off the bridge and saw Breha standing there, looking directly at him.

Fox looked back. He had learned to read her quite well over the years, but right now, it was rather difficult to tell what was the leading emotion on her face at the moment. Perhaps it was needless for him to even try to decipher any of them. He was going to have to face her and whatever she had for him anyway.

So Fox walked towards her, never looking away, and Breha stood there, her eyes just as much unflichingly looking at him.

Fox stopped a couple of paces in front of her. She didn't say anything yet, just kept looking at him, and Fox knew that whatever it was she was about to say to him, he still had one thing to do regardless.

So he bowed his head and bend his knee.

"I offer you my deepest apology", he said. "For disobeying your word, and for forcing orders upon you, Your Majesty."

He barely got the words out, when Breha was already dropping on her knees as well, and Fox quickly straightened up, just in time to catch her in his arms.

Breha buried her face against his shoulder, not at all caring about anyone around them seeing it all. She was shaking, and Fox wasn't sure if she was crying, or if everything that had happened during the day had finally caught up on her.

It was all certainly cathing up on Fox. He was tired, like he had been running up and down a mountain for the whole day, and his legs and arms were starting to sting in that exact way that always prefaced them going slightly numb and weak for a while.

Still, he held onto Breha, pressing the side of his face on top of her head, and let her take her time.

"I am so, so angry at you", Breha said into Fox's shoulder. Her voice was definitely a little thick, but it didn't sound like she was yet crying. "Do you understand?"

"Yes", Fox said. He held her a little tighter. "I understand."

---

Bail was talking with Dodonna when they got to the War Room.

Fox looked around a bit. He didn't see Leia there, which he was at the same time a bit disappointed and relieved about. He did want to see her. Breha had told him that she was relatively fine, with few minor surface injuries, and a light headache from a mind probe, but Fox wanted to make sure himself.

But he also owed her an apology as well, and he wasn't sure if he could handle more than one of them at a time.

He didn't wish to interrupt the conversation, but Dodonna noticed him and Breha first, and he quickly tapped Bail on the arm. Bail raised a brow at him.

"What is it?" Fox heard him ask over the noise of the rest of the base, that was very much reaching the Room as well. Bail's head turned around as he followed Dodonna's eyes. "Is something- Fox!"

Fox felt weirdly almost giddy from the way Bail's face lit up as he saw him. Bail rounded the command table and crossed the rest of the room quickly in long strides, and Fox had barely the time to do anything before Bail had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

Yes, Fox was definitely tired. He carefully pulled his arms a little more apart from where they were pressed against Bail's body, and he leaned his head against his chest. His arms were definitely a bit more tingly than they had been a moment ago, but not yet numb. His feet were, for the most part, but he could still stand on them, so Fox ignored them for the time being.

For now, he simply closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

"I was so worried", Bail said.

"I know", Fox said. "I'm sorry."

Bail didn't day anything to that. Fox just felt him breathe in a little deeper as well, and his arms tightened ever so slightly around Fox.

They stayed like that for a while, before someone carefully cleared their throat somewhere behind Bail.

"My apologies, Senator Organa, but we need you in the command center."

"Of course." Bail loosened his hold on Fox and leaned away a bit, and that was the moment Fox's legs decided to not let themselves be ignored anymore, and made very clear the fact that leaning most of his weight onto Bail had been the only thing that had kept him upwards still.

His weight shifted forwards as Bail leaned back, and his knees buckled immediately. Bail was very quick to step back towards him and tighten his hold again, so Fox's didn't go crashing down onto the floor. He probably wouldn't have been able to stop his fall himself, as he couldn't feel currently anything below his knees and elbows.

Breha was quick to step in as well, as her hands came to keep Fox upright from his side, and together they managed to keep him somewhat upright still.

"Are you alright?" Breha asked. Fox felt a little guilty for being relieved over the fact that she didn't sound upset at him anymore.

"Yes", he said. He was a little out of breath now, despite the physical support. "I'm just a little tired."

They both knew what that meant. Bail let out a deep sigh.

"I think you are a bit more than a little tired, my love", he said. "I'll be in the command center in a moment. I'm just going to take my husband to our rooms to rest."

"Yes, Sir." Breha pushed him up a little more, so that Bail could more easily let go of him in order to bend down enough to lift Fox's legs on his arms.

"Watch your back", Fox reminded him.

"You watch your back", Bail shot back at him. He got his other arm properly around Fox's back and hoisted him up.

"Both of you watch it", Breha said. She put her hand on Fox's knee and patted it gently, before turning around. "It's better if we take you to our rooms anyway. Leia will hear sooner than later that you are here as well."

"I don't doubt that", Fox said. He leaned his head back against Bail as they started to make their way down the hall. It wasn't thankfully a long way to the lift from the Room, nor would it be from the lift to their quarters, if Fox had understood the layout of the base correctly. This was the first time he had been there in person, after all, so his only frame of reference were the drawings he had seen of the layout, and what Bail and Leia had told him about it. "I'm a bit surprised that she isn't already here."

"She is a bit busy at the moment", Breha said. "She has become quick friends with the pilot that made the final shot. He was the one who saved her from the battle station as well."

"Really?" Fox had not been able to see who he had communicated with, and General Kenobi that been the one to sign the messages between them, so Fox hadn't known who else exactly was there. "I should extend my gratitude to him as well."

"Yes." Breha hummed, thinking for a moment as they walked towards the lift. "You should meet him. His name is Luke Skywalker."

Fox's heart made a couple of extra beats.

He swallowed.

"I really should, then", he said.

They stepped into the lift.

"We should also warn you", Breha said, as the doors closed. "The moment Leia knows that you are here, everyone else is also going to know."

"Who is this 'everyone else' we are talking about?" Fox asked.

There was a strange sense of foreboding creeping up on him, now.

"There were others, too, going in to save Leia from the Death Star, and to sabotage the station", Breha said. "Some of them are here now, too. Including your brother."

This time, Fox's heart left out a couple of beats.

There was only one brother that Breha could refer to with such gravitas as she did now.

"Cody?" Fox managed to ask around the piece in his throat that had suddenly formed there. "Is Cody here?"

Breha breathed in, and nodded, and Fox realised that the day was far from being over for him.

[frankensaffytaffy]

self-indulgent TMA statement fic<3

CASE: #0180803

Back again, aren’t I? I thought that, with everything that’s been going on around here, I should probably make a statement about the Leitner which got me hired at the institute in the first place.

Statement of Marek, A. Szafran, Head Librarian at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a book belonging to the library of one Jurgen Leitner. Statement recorded by subject, March 8th, 2018.

Statement begins.

I know what you’re probably thinking (though, not in the “all knowing eye" sort of way) “it’s just another cursed book, we have enough of those cases already,” why pile on even more work onto the backs of the research team? To be fair, my own team of assistants at the library usually deal with the categorisation and recognition of Leitners, so the archivists need not worry…too much.

Apologies for the slight tangent, I have been prone to those throughout my life, but they’ve been incessantly more common these days. Anyhow, as you should well know, I was removed from my childhood home at age 17. That led me to seeking solace at my Godfather’s home, here, in London. He cared for me, but remained of the belief that I should earn my keep in some way, despite the fact that I shortly moved into my uni campus anyway.

Finding work is immensely difficult, by the way, far tougher than the stories our grandparents tell of simply walking into a building and receiving honest work from pure will and force. Youth cannot be hired without any sort of previous working experience, but we cannot gain working experience if we’re not hired in the first place…I’ll share my grievances with systemic capitalism another day. What I meant to say is, I couldn’t get any job, apart from a less-than-minimum-wage-paying bookshop position; which meant that whenever I wasn’t studying seminars or writing literature essays, I found myself stocking books, hauling them from delivery vans, and reading.

If you’ve ever worked at a bookshop, you’ll know how deliveries work, and how the amount of copies of any given text is tracked. At some point, I was in charge of the process when I noticed the presence of a particular book that I had not seen stocked in our shop before. I did, however, recognise the cover as that of a book that I had planned on reading the year prior, back when I had more free time. It depicted a doorknob, seemingly covered in circular ridges, as well as the title: “House of Leaves,” by Mark Z. Danielewski. “Polish, then, like me,” was my first thought, after which my eyes shifted to the book's contents. Some pages were visibly written backwards, others had the words printed in spirals, or completely removed from the set structure.

This wasn’t unusual, as I remembered from my previous research, this particular book was meant to be ergodic literature. The story itself sounded like something the Head Archivist would enjoy exploring, actually; an academic satire written in a way that is purposely difficult for the reader to decipher. There was only one copy in that delivery, as well as in the bookshop as a whole, which was odd. I didn’t think much of it, though, because that same night I used my employee discount to take the thing home with me, and thereby started reading immediately.

Another thing that struck me as unusual, which I now view in perfect clarity, was the fact that this copy of House Of Leaves seemed to have been used before, it even contained an embossed stamp on the front page: the all-too-familiar “from the library of Jurgen Leitner.” Had no idea what that meant at the time, of course, so I- well, I kept on reading.

People have said that the book had made them insane before, reviews commented on the immense difficulty of the text as well as the sinister feeling it gave them after months of reading; but my connection to this edition went far deeper than that. I started hearing voices, those of film directors, lecturers, and the deep-voiced “good job” of a supposedly comforting tattoo artist. You could argue that I have some mental disorder or another, but both then and now doctors confirmed my health to be in perfectly valid condition. Mostly.

Eventually, I also began hearing unusual sounds. I had always had issues hearing people’s breathing rather loudly when I was overwhelmed, but now the breathing was heavier, wetter; I felt as though I could hear a person’s organs shifting, lungs inflating, deflating, inflating again, across the room from me. Then I heard the Minotaur.

He was a thing of great strength, the sound of hooves solid on the ground, and the harsh whip of its tail slashed through the air multiple times, as though battering off a swarm of rigid flies. I never saw the Minotaur, but hearing enough proved that it was a mass to be reckoned with, a jagged, meaty build made to chase me. The premonition seemed to be that he wouldn't stop searching until I was no longer within his labyrinth; only issue being that my body was not physically present in said labyrinth. Hence, it began combing through the folds of my brain, each ridge explored like the walls of a corridor, my thoughts could never escape the Minotaur. Evidently, its purpose can only be fulfilled once I'm no longer in this…symbolic? labyrinth. I must either be driven insane, quite literally "out" of my mind, or dead.

It’s been chasing me ever since, in the back of my mind, behind my back, I can almost see it in the mirror when I brush my teeth or curl my hair. I tried to throw the book out, destroy it, burn it, desolate the thing. No use. So I came here; the book is in the archives now.

I feel as though it’s still driving me mad. Because in its place, by the desk where my second bookshelf used to be, I found a new yellow door. I dare not open it, lest the Minotaur decides to end the hunt, my lungs pierced by his twisted horns.

Statement ends.

yeahhhhhh, little statement I wrote up about two years ago, thought tumblr might enjoy it! there's a few more pieces on my ao3 account, dziewczynka_z_chryzantemami :)

[mossgirrrl]

"Stop being so spiky": Childhood, rejection dysphoria, and people pleasing

There are many things that led me to seek an ADHD diagnosis but rejection dysphoria wasn't one of them. It just wasn't something I related to. That was until I heard a girl on TikTok relating her own experience of rejection dysphoria back to the names her family called her when she was being 'difficult' or emotional in childhood. Then it hit me. Mine was "spiky." Fired at me almost daily as a young teenager, you know, when your self-esteem is probably already at an all-time-low; "spiky" was the most common adjective used to describe my general being. When it's occasionally uttered these days, with the same venom as always, it transports me right back into the tight-chested confusion of that lonely child. The loneliness of a child who was unknowingly trapped in a world that routinely misunderstood her facial expressions or tone of voice, and refused to offer kinder social queues. I saw "spiky" flash across my brother's face today when I requested half the slice of cake that he'd cut for me. Something in my tone or on my face must have been 'off' because he silently took offence and, assuming that he hadn't heard me, I requested it again. Unreasonable, of course, to mistake silence for mishearing. Despite these occasions I realise now that, for the most part, I learned to mask. As many girls do; slipping through their safety net only to realise what's happened once they've already dragged themselves a decade or two through adulthood. It wasn't raging hormones or teenage angst that eventually passed, it was the agony of speaking a language no-one else around me did. So I learnt to speak theirs... Kind of. It might be a stretch to say that this masking has led me to putting up with an embarrassing amount of bullshit from romantic interests, but maybe it's not. When faced with apologies or excuses that my gut knows are lies, my brain jumps aboard the gaslighting train and asks, "are you sure you're not spiky for feeling this way?" Sure, it's not normal to lose your grip on reality the second someone changes their tone or rain-checks some plans. But the oxymoron is that, deep down, you know this. And so you bottle it up, time and time again, until you explode into a fit of rage, paranoia, tears, and accusations- seemingly out of the blue. And just for a dollop of extra irony; even if it was originally all in your head, this merry-go-round-from-hell has a way of manifesting your worst fears. My 28th birthday present was an intensified age crisis, and much of that came from mourning 10 years of time wasted, bullets undodged, feelings unexpressed, and marks clawed into closed fists instead of keyed into the paintwork of a certain BMW... All caused by the inability to trust my own emotions. To decipher whether my reactions (or at least the ways that I want to react) are fair or "spiky". So instead; you people please, you say "ok", you walk away quietly rather than advocating for yourself. Or you just don't let yourself get into those situations at all. It's easier to avoid the head-spinning experience of rejection dysphoria by doing just that... Avoiding. The less people you're attached to, the less there are to reject you. Stay busy, keep moving, never let anyone close enough that you'd care if they left or disliked you anyway. It's genius really. Until it happens by accident. And then you push away a chance to shake the loneliness because you never learnt to identify your own emotions- let alone communicate them. Suddenly it all makes sense; the panic attacks because someone hasn't texted you for a while or nights spent sobbing into your pillow because you felt their energy change. Of course, there are other events that probably contributed to the excruciating catch-22 that is a disorganised attachment style. But uncovering the source of my own rejection dysphoria was the last spiky puzzle piece to understanding why even an iota of feeling misunderstood, ignored, or rejected becomes so utterly devastating and isolating. Who knows if I'll ever stop feeling spiky, but I'm one step closer to trying.

[walleeli]

Matchup Exchange with @teardrop-scales

thank you for your patience!! This was super fun to write ahhh <3 (I apologize in advance for the... flowery language. I was possessed.)

I match you with… Argenti

Hear me out! (my reasoning)

I'm going to start with the most obvious, perhaps silly, but nonetheless cute and fun to me piece of reasoning… Argenti is an extremely cool and elegant name… Olympia is an equally cool and elegant name… it's like. Destiny. Argenti and Olympia… like that is gorgeous to me, powerful even (LOL)

Silver jewelry believers unite? a knight and an equestrian? The threads I'm weaving together are perhaps only loosely connected but I am seeing SO CLEAR A TAPESTRY HERE.

BUT this is so much deeper than enchanting names, aesthetic cohesion, and… thematically overlapping interests/ambitions/what have you uniting you.

There are similarities in the way you carry yourselves, your outlooks and approaches to the world, that I think make it easy for you to fall into step with each other. Mutual understanding, mutual respect. There is an element, here, of feeling that through the other, you are seeing yourself from the outside. A mirror of sorts. Imperfect, sure, but serving a truly important purpose:

In seeing pieces of yourself reflected, you are able to love and appreciate those traits and aspects without the framework of the self limiting your capacity for love. There is a lot of peace in that. And hope. You give love and you can receive love. Do you get what I'm saying?

There is a near immediate sense of belonging. An innate, shared understanding between the two of you. Twin stars in a shared sky. Two like roses in bloom in a garden.

ANYWAYS. BACK ON TRACK. The way you carry yourselves! Both giving off a first impression of being polite, kind, and understanding. With a certain gentleness, a sense of calm. The image amuses me so, of people getting beyond that first glance at you both only to discover that you've got a bit of bite to you, that you are quick and quippy and sassy… and that Argenti, besides being a true gentleman, is uh. For lack of a better word. Just like a deeply weird dude (said with a GREAT DEAL OF AFFECTION. I LOVE THAT GUY.) 

You both prioritize open mindedness. Your desires to understand and view the world compassionately are matched. 

Argenti, as we've observed in game, has a tendency to dive headfirst (and unthinkingly) into situations. Your ability to be practical and rational is a great balance to his direct approach.

To be clear, you probably aren't going to be able to talk him out of a reckless choice, but you WILL buy yourself a few moments to think of a way to get you both out of the situation should the need for escape arise. 

His ability to see beauty in things is a natural fit for your curious nature. Your desires to try new things, to learn, and to travel can't help but to grow in his presence. There is so much beauty, so much wonder in this world. You want to see and experience the fullness of it!

I am imagining you, in the context of HSR, as a cosmos traveler not unlike Argenti but for much different purposes. (This is the part where I make up your character's lore lol) You have always been fascinated by ancient histories, it only makes sense that you would explore the history of your own world. As you do, it isn't difficult for you to decipher that a history fictionologist has altered your planet's history. The where and when and how exactly is lost to you, and the desire to know the truth is what sets you sailing through the stars. This is the background on which my other headcanons will be sustained. 

Headcanons - How It Starts

It's exceedingly simple and endlessly complex. You're looking for a horse.

Your travels have led you to believe that there is a particular, rare breed of horse that carries in its memory, lost lore. (a pet project of the Aeon, Nous. Designed with intent to combat the workings of the Enigmata) Having had all other doors to finding your home planet's truth closed to you, you've no choice but to resort to finding the glorified, living history books you've read about and pray they have the answers you seek. 

You find a horse, and with the horse you find a man. He does not hesitate to eloquently, elegantly, elaborately, and immediately explain his own quest for information to you. He seeks Idrila. 

The two of you get to talking, you've always been fascinated by the Aeons, Idrila is a name that is familiar to you. And though you are unable to offer THEIR knight any information he has not himself already studied or unearthed, he appreciates that you are aware of the one he follows and that you are knowledgeable about THEM in addition. 

…In your distraction, trying to kindly assist the man as far as you are able, the horse saunters away. No real loss, you discover, when the man- Argenti informs you that that particular beast only held knowledge of lost varieties of butters and breads.

It is you who suggests the idea of tailing the creature. Horses move in herds. There may be hope in finding what it is the both of you are seeking yet. 

And so, you agree. For the time being, you will travel together. 

It doesn't take you long at all to come to the conclusion that Argenti is… odd. It is an observation made without judgement on your part, willing as ever to leave your perspective open, allowing room for his way of thinking. Though that doesn't mean you won't be coughing to cover the occasional little laugh when you turn to find him waxing poetic about the beauty of some object or another to the object itself. 

You've always had it in you to be respectful, appreciative even, of the world around you. But the extent to which he takes it is new for you. New and deeply fascinating. Argenti is unlike anyone you have ever met, you find yourself drawn to him because of it. 

Argenti finds himself drawn to you in turn. At first, it is only his usual and expected appreciation of the beauty of you. But time in your company is quick to change that. Argenti's life is a river. Flowing forward, set course. His single minded ambition, his pursuit of The Beauty his sole focus. And you… there is a vastness to you, a depth. Your attention is split in many directions but never divided, you give everything you have to everything you do. Your boundless compassion and understanding, your loyalty, your willingness to listen and compromise operating in tandem with your unwillingness to compromise yourself and core beliefs-to be treated poorly or see others treated poorly. 

If Argenti is a river, you are a sea of stars. A million little lights in the night. Illuminating what would otherwise be pitch dark. He will tell you so. 

Your relationship blooms like a flower in the spring. Naturally, easily, under the warmth of the sun.

Headcanons - Assorted

Argenti notices the little things. A facet of his ability to see beauty in most anything is that he is very detail oriented. You are not excluded from this. He is quick to make note of your insecurities but he will never call attention to them. He is quick with compliments, of course, applauding and encouraging you to step beyond your comfort zones. Always making a point to call out any efforts you make to challenge your negative self perceptions. 

Your relationship is fueled by your mutual respect for each other's pursuits and ability to communicate well and freely with each other. You will always feel listened to and heard. 

Argenti is appreciative of all sides of you. Whether that be the more publicly shared display of gentle kindness and the more private sass and snark. He's enamored with your wit and amused by your balancing of rationality and fun loving nature.

He finds himself easily invested in the things you care about, always eager to hear about your interests, the books you've been reading, the music you're listening to, the time you've spent out with friends, the latest developments in your studies. Yours is a life full of beauty he wants nothing more than to bask in. 

Headcanons - How It's Going

Your personal quests will not see you sharing a path for forever. In fact, you find your roads quick to diverge. But the separation is temporary. Somehow, in all the vastness of space, you find yourselves frequently colliding. The meetings are never planned, whether entirely by chance or by act of the divine, you find each other. Ever changing and always the same, falling into easy step with one another, discussing your presents on mission driven walks in the day. And sharing imaginings of a distant future, together, under cover of night. 

After your third intersection, the pair of you agree to exchange letters. Delivered by hand to each other at each of your unplanned meetings, to be read when you once more find you need to part. The ache of distance lessened with each stroke of ink on parchment. 

There is technology, of course, and you do exchange messages over text and tech when you are able, but for one as romantic as Argenti the physical act of writing, the hand delivery of a letter, is infinitely more special. It becomes something of a ritual, a routine, for the both of you. 

Your time together is always marked by tenderness. Gentle touches and soft words exchanged in your breeze fleeting moments in each other's company. Your relationship is a rose, petal delicate-his touch, your care-and thorn sharp-his lance, your wit. 

You would have it no other way.

Playlist - Garden of Gallicas

Diana by Priscilla Ahn

Never Look Away by Vienna Teng

Run For Roses by NMIXX

Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine

Novels by Rusty Clanton

Hopefully this is an enjoyable read!! Thank you so much for sharing and trading with me! <3

[thekingdomofran]

Warehouse 13 appreciation post

(I used halo tags on this post because I mentioned some halo stuff in it, so if this post found you and and you were expecting halo, I apologize for the microscopic amount of halo in it, feel free to read it anyway, you might find something you never knew you needed)

I recently finished watching Warehouse 13 and am now watching The Librarians and I don't think I will ever find this high again. Both shows are on prime if any of you feel like joining me here at the top of the steampunk/magical artifact mountain. (Please join me, it's so lonely up here)

I also have a theory that the library is either a future or alternate universe version of the warehouse. Like, they have the exact same function, same idea, and what's even better (but completely useless info in universe) is the librarians first aired the same year warehouse 13 got over. But, as far as I can tell, they have nothing in common. Except the " hide magical artifacts from the world" thing and maybe some bit parts from the actors, but those details are hard to come by and difficult to decipher.

Future version theory: I think that eventually a future caretaker decided to call it the library instead of a warehouse because

Libraries are more magical.

Warehouses have a reputation of being old, damp, and boring. Which would have worked for Artie's steampunk vision for it and it would also have previously helped remove some of people's curiosity about it. But, maybe it wouldn't work for someone who likes fantasy and and wishes they could live in an Elven castle with a library full of magic.

Alternate universe theory: The caretaker deciding to call it a library happens exactly the same way, but in a branch of the warehouse's timeline where it either happens earlier, or possibly was never called a warehouse in the first place.

I realize there are some problems, one being that I'm pretty sure the warehouse names itself, so I don't actually know how it would be changed to being called the library. But, surely the earliest warehouses weren't called warehouses because they were there in like, the stone age or something. Like warehouse 2 was a pyramid, and the word warehouse was first recorded being used in the 1300s. So, warehouse 2 must have been retroactively named that because it predates the 1300s.

Also, Eve Baird reminds me of Veronica Dare from halo 3: ODST. But, Eve is just a liiittle bit softer and I think she's not AS stuck up though she comes SO close to being a live action Veronica that it keeps tripping me up.

[renthony]

#this for real. 2 things to add.#1: as someone who is autistic about the animation pipeline (and now gets to work in it!) this is a really stupid and disrespectful way to#view the production houses/teams that make 'kids shows'.#like people still labor on this and for the most part theyre making conscious choices and telling the best story they can#within the confines of the network and medium and budget!#like fuck dude! art you dont like is still art. a labor of love you dont love was still a labor. theres skill and time in this#2: i dont watch this shit cause im childish and juvenile. i love media analysis. i know what more complex media is#i watch 'kids shows' because like. on god? its the only form of an art i love that wont reliably trigger me#like even mixed in with all the autism that makes live action difficult for me to decipher and animation so so so intriguing to me....#the list of “adult media” i can watch without a doesthedogdie visit is insanely small.#but theyre not gonna randomly put a suicide joke into Phineas and Ferb now are they#ALSO ALSO: straight up ive seen anim/kids media that really IS that illuminating if you pull your head out of your ass#sry i dont like ops slight implication that the 'kids show watchers' are all just kind of like. disabled/stupid/inexperienced. anyway

This was an off-the-cuff post made in frustration after seeing a take that irritated me, so I apologize if it wasn't clear, but my point is not "people who like kids' shows are disabled/stupid/inexperienced," my point is that if you're trying to encourage people to expand their media horizons, making fun of the things they like is counterproductive.

I think it's important to encourage people to explore new media that challenges them and explores new topics they've never thought about before. My point is that derisively telling people to "watch something for adults" is counterproductive to that goal, in addition to being disrespectful to the art. Children's media is incredibly important and worth analysis in its own right, and I have profound love for the people who create it. I am writing from the perspective of someone who has volunteered in schools and is actively working with someone on lesson plans for a media studies class for kids.

I adore animation. I enjoy a lot of kids' media, which I said in the original post. I am a media analyst. I write essays about media and pop culture and get paid for it. I talk at great length about, and share many articles about, labor rights and the animation industry. I am working toward learning traditional animation techniques. Obviously you wouldn't know this if you don't follow my blog, but I want to be crystal clear that I am not coming from the perspective that "only disabled/stupid/inexperienced people watch cartoons."

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[sniktx3]

[ FORTUNE ] for our muses to get their fortunes told together (Remy LeBeau is forcing him to do this)

Logan doesn’t really know why he’d agreed to this.

Well, in all fairness to the Wolverine, is isn’t as though he’d truly agreed when asked, some hours ago. Yes, he could’ve put his foot down and stayed behind, his near-400 lb bodyweight made him quite difficult to drag, anyway, but he hadn’t, and just let the others push him around and into the car to go, despite it all. Despite his general annoyance and discomfort with circuses and the like. Logan, afterall, had spent some of his time in them— a trait he shared with several other X-Men. But some of the kids had begged and pleaded, and Remy, not all that dissimilar to a kid in Logan’s mind, had backed the argument to go enjoy themselves. So, naturally, he was outvoted. Too bad.

Now arrived, out of the car and already half-blind by the glittering and flashing carnival lights, Logan let himself wander away from the main group once they’d gotten through the gates. His footsteps take him past stations where you pay the big bucks just to swing a hammer at some giant bell, past tents with cotton candy swirling and near-burning, past a stand with candied almonds, where a man makes lewd jokes about how good his nuts are (Logan doesn’t stop walking, but does take a free sample). The lights are still bright and the wind whistles past rickety, hand-collapsable rides and ferris wheels. It’s musical, out here, in a way, but maybe that’s just the slightly out-of-tune jaunty circus melodies that Logan is all too familiar hearing Kurt hum under his breath.

The Wolverine pushes his hat further down on his head, the brim obscuring his face. He likes drinking, hell— he likes socializing. But he’s never been great at a real party or event like this, at least when he’s really sober. Though Logan can’t easily get drunk, a constant stream of alcohol does loosen him up, even if it’s just a psychological effect that’s come with the years of comfort sipping and drinking. He doesn’t care either way— he just needs to find a bar, or something like it, on the grounds. Following his nose, it doesn’t take him long to spot one. The bartender is a twenty-something that asks for his ID while his hat brim obscures half his face— so Logan gives her a look. She doesn’t ask again, and offers their strongest alcohol before he can even request it. He tips her a good twenty-something dollars. Just as Logan turns around, raising his cup to his lips, something slams into him.

The drink sloshes onto the ground, Logan growls, and turns, met face to face by a giddy looking Remy LeBeau. The man gives him a half-assed, unserious apology about the booze before he’s grabbing Logan’s arm and tugging him forward, all babbles of mon ami and couillon and how this is a real fais do-do— all words laced with alcohol that Remy had clearly gotten to before Logan (shit. He wants that drink). A moment or two later, Logan still letting himself be dragged around by the Cajun for whatever reason, and they appear in front of a shabby looking stand with a sign depicting an open hand. The Cajun says something, mostly in French (which Logan is plenty annoyed about being able to decipher— he never wanted to learn French) about how the Wolverine’s got to make up on lost time wandering alone by having some fun with him. And then Remy’s throwing Logan a smirking sort of grin, like he knows something his companion doesn’t.

This is revealed as true once Remy shoves him inside, following behind, where an older man sits, red hair going grey and pale skin splotched with age. Logan thinks briefly about how much older he is than this decrepit looking man. The old man grins and speaks; “you boys want your fortunes read?” Immediately, Logan shoots Remy a look, but it seems too late to back out.

[pompadourpink]

Hello again, options anon here! When you said it was a bit difficult to decipher, I realize how lacking my initial question was—apologies. To whittle it down: Option A (the less reputable, but still categorically reputable) and Option B (number one, just… lesser all around) are in the exact same field. Just different institutions. They’re almost matched tit-for-tat, but Option A gives me much more to my name, and gives me more direct access by nature to those key players. Still, B is worldwide. Its like.. going to John Hopkins, which is number 1 in medicine, or to Harvard or Oxford, which everyone know by name, but isn’t known for medicine and likely doesn’t offer the same benefits. Wouldn’t knowing people and having a strong CV outweigh the name recognition? Or does it still matter more by way of « doing the dance? »

Thank you for the clarification. Good news: if those are your options, you are already dancing!

Connections are stronger than schools - if you aim to be a specialised professional in a technical field, the specialised school is indeed a better fit and a smarter choice.

To befriend Hopkins people, research Nopekins (awards, former alumni, programs) and find a way to sell it as the right move to avoid being seen as mediocre by elitists. A program, a talk at a conference, or another degree (in person or online) can place Hopkins on your CV later anyway.

Especially if you're hoping to create an international career, look up Nopekins professors, email them to ask something smart, thank them in person, go to office hours, attend relevant events to network, and exploit LinkedIn.

Make eye contact, put away your phone, introduce yourself with a smile, your full name and a handshake: be unmissable. Something as simple as wearing intricate jewellery or a red handbag for a while can help you go from "earrings girl, it's the right classroom" to "Sarah, from the symposium" to "Dr. Hopkins, this is Sarah Banana, we were at Nopekins together, she is phenomenal".

Just remember the link about hierarchy: act like a Padawan until you have objectively accomplished enough to become an equal. The last thing you want is for someone to groan when they see you.

Good luck! x

[intuitive-revelations]

You know, for all the past memes of Ceruleans being plant-touchers etc, it's actually really interesting that they're the one chapter that, for most of the timeline, isn't named after a specific ruling chapterhouse but instead with a generic "colour" name. This presumably comes from the whole "Green Party" metaphor idea.

Meanwhile during the War in Heaven, not only is there explicitly a sixth ruling house now that temporarily rose to power in the chapter (I personally guess either Tracolix or Xianthellipse but YMMV - which ever one it isn't is probably Patrex), but now other chapters, in so much as we hear about them, are referred to with similar colour-based names. This comes from A Labyrinth of Histories, where Dvora is mentioned to be part of the "Scarlet Chapterhouse", despite now ruling what used to be the Prydonian chapter.

I assume the latter is due to the new instability of the chapters. Over millions of years of absolute power, Houses Prydon, Scendeles, Arcal, Patrex and Dromei had become synonymous with their chapters until the shakeup of the War. With the chapterhouses suddenly changing constantly, there's no point in referring to the chapters by their ruling house regimes. Instead they are simply referred to by colour, presumably the original constitutional names for the chapters, in the same way as there are Gold and Bronze Ushers.

This would seem to suggest that there is no "House Cerulean", but instead that the chapter has always been like this.

So, what does this imply about the Cerulean Chapter, which seemingly never developed a consistent ruling house?

Originally I thought this might have been due to some sort of internal directly-democratic system where no one House is allowed power over the chapter. This would seem fitting given the chapter's politics. However, the War-time naming of the chapters and the introduction of a sixth ruling house implies there's no special rule to this chapter in particular.

Now however... I think it implies there might have been many ruling houses over the chapter's history, but none were ever able to hold on to power for very long or had any accomplishments that distinguished them from all the other houses that attempted to lead the chapter. This is presuambly part of the reason why the chapter never gained much power, as they were too internally unstable to get anything done long-term.

In other words - the reason why the 'progressive' Cerulean chapter never managed to change much on Gallifrey, leaving its society stagnant and conservative?

Basically comes down to... leftist infighting.

Suddenly that metaphor is a little bit less silly isn't it?

[rayofsunshinc]

Dan dismissed the apology with a smile, and a gentle wave of his hand. ❝It's really okay. I might be able to help you learn more about controlling it ... if you would ever want that.❞ Dan was rather proud of himself for this exchange. Before meeting Abra, he would not have been so open about this, and he really wouldn't have offered to help someone else navigate it.

Even though he was very good at navigating through his mind, some people's thoughts were just too strong. His brows furrowed as he received images from Ben's thoughts. They were difficult to decipher, but he could easily see one person. ❝It's my turn to apologize for prying — but who's Bill?❞

He shook his head a little. ❝It's alright. I've had chances to make my peace with it. As much as I can anyway.❞ Dan offered a sad sort of smile. He felt like talking about it now might be more helpful than anything, so he didn't mind.

❝I've only met a few who really shine and knew it too.❞ He explained with a more genuine smile, remembering his friend Dick and thinking about his niece Abra again. ❝I had a friend who told me about all this when I was just five.❞

"Sorry. I don't really know how to shut it out yet without shutting it all down." Ben felt as though he'd been holding that door closed in his mind all his life. The wind still blew through the cracks, giving him impressions and emotions that he chalked up to imagination or empathy, but it was nothing most people would pick up as unusual. Facing IT again, linking minds with Bill and the Turtle and the others to fight IT, had blown the door wide open. He wasn't even sure it was possible to close it again.

More to the point, he wasn't sure he wanted to. It was terrifying to be that open, but Ben feared shutting himself off from the world more. He'd already spent decades in the dark, forgetting everything that had once been important to him and unable to fully connect with anyone. He'd rather risk… whatever this was than forget it all again, to live with that emptiness he couldn't even name.

It sounded unsettlingly close to the Ironworks Explosion in Derry. "I'm sorry about your dad. That must have been awful." He could sense that grief, more potent than Ben's had ever been about his own father. He'd barely known the man. "I've never talked about any of this," he admitted with a small smile. He'd never dared to admit it even to his friends.

"IT was a real bastard," he agreed with a light chuckle, glad for something to break the heavy mood. That black cloud that had followed him for most of his life seemed to have lifted after he left Derry for the second time, and it was easier to reach for the light now, to lean into that natural optimism he had. "Demons are definitely real. Makes me wonder how many more people like us are out there."

[lapis-lights]

Car Lights [Part 2]

[Leon Kennedy x DSO Archivist!Reader]

Song Title: Car Lights by James Marriott

Content Warnings: Light NSFW in this part (18+ only), Female Reader, Slow Burn, Friends With Tension, Arguments, Angst, Pining, Gun Violence, Experiments, Near Death Experience, Alcohol Use, Smoking, Blood, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 13.2k out of 30.3k

Author's Notes: Part two! What did you guys think of the Capcom spotlight yesterday? I'm very excited!!!! Anyways, hope you guys like this part. I'm working on my next write so ye :D

Part 1 here

Summary: As Leon pinpoints your location and devises a plan to rescue you, you're enlightened to some grave news. Your humanity's time is a ticking clock, and there's no telling what may happen. The possibility that you may never get to tell Leon your feelings weighs precariously on your heart, though it seems that this is the end of the line for you.

As far as endings go, in your opinion, this one couldn't have gone worse.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"You can hold my hand in a crowded place, but just hold me close and hope that they don't see my face..."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Voices ring around you like a distant dream.

They fade in and out of your ears, floating delicately around your head as if determining whether or not they really wanted to be real. Your sight is dark, but you try reaching a hand out to follow the sound of people. You find it’s incredibly difficult to move at all–in fact, you can’t.

It’s alarming with the limited mobility, but it’s something you’ll have to try and work with. 

You strain to zero in on the voices, trying to make out the words and get a clue as to what was exactly happening. However, it’s difficult seeing as every syllable is muffled to the point that you can’t decipher what they say, and it’s frustrating that so many of your senses are limited. 

Was this a dream or were you strung in some sort of limbo in the real world? It’s hard to tell.

What happened? What led up to this moment?

You think hard about it, remembering that you’d woken up before the sun as usual, went to the office, and got a coffee before slipping quietly into the office with Ingrid. Ignoring her looks of sympathy, you’d immediately gotten to work trying not to think about a certain DSO agent who had your emotions in the palm of his hand. At the end of the day when the reports finally slowed down and you had pushed your body to its limit, you went home.

You wrote in your journal, tears drying on your cheeks as you admit your undying love for Leon for the thousandth time. 

That thought makes you pause.

You really do love him, don’t you? Or was it something else?

Where did the line draw itself between love and obsession? Were you just happy that someone you admired for so long finally noticed you back or did you genuinely like what you saw in Leon? 

Leon…

His harsh words had struck a chord in your heart, but for some reason, you still can’t help but be hopelessly drawn to him. You think that if the world was ending, you might still follow him to the ends of the earth. You’d stare into those azure eyes that provided a window to his soul and agree to go with him wherever he wanted to take you. That was what trust was, at least, but what did it entail?

Silently, in your mind, you apologize to Leon.

Silently, you say goodbye.

And you wake up.

The first thing you notice is the texture of the walls, carved out roughly like it was a rock wall and you notice that it's damp, wet stone beneath your palms and the air pumping with humidity. The space you had been lying in was cramped, barely giving you enough height to stand up and wide enough just to fit your form into it. Rusted iron bars keep you trapped with torches providing dim lighting. 

Where were you?

A sense of dread hangs over your shoulders and an uneasy churning begins stirring in your stomach. The more important question to ask was if anybody in the world knew where you were at. The possibility of the answer being no only made you silently panic even more.

"Ah, so she finally awakes!"

The sudden voice causes you to scramble back as far as you can get, which isn't much to be honest. You focus in on the figure who steps into the light, gray skin and unnatural eye color coming into view. It looks like a human man enough, but something about it doesn't seem right, though the scene is all too familiar in the wrong ways.

"Who are you?" Your throat is incredibly dried out and attempting to speak only draws attention to your thirst. Your limbs feel weak, your body exhausted, but from what, you can't tell.

"You should know more than anybody, no?" The stranger smiles and it's all rotting teeth. "After all, you've read the reports. You know the stories. But I supposed you could call me…Lucifer. How about that?"

“Very creative,” you say, unimpressed. “I’m sure Satan is down in Hell shuddering right now. What about you should I know? As far as I know, we’ve never met.”

“Never directly, no,” Lucifer tilts his head. “Think about it.”

It takes a moment of staring before it clicks in your mind. The appearance of a human, but truly nothing more than an overly animated corpse. The rotting, the gray skin. Eyes that were unnaturally yellow in a way nobody's could be unless you were…

"You're a member of Los Illuminados."

"Very quick witted! I'm impressed," he says giddily. "Though, I should expect nothing short of the archivist for the DSO, should I?"

Something isn't right. It isn't adding up. "How do you know who I am?"

"We have some time, I suppose," he muses, checking a watch that isn't there. "You're not going anywhere anytime soon, after all."

You don't answer him on that, but you get up and cross your arms close to your chest. Still, doubt hangs on your mind, untrusting of this guy. Almost all the members of Los Illuminados were wiped out when Leon saved Ashley from them, but only a sparse set of them survived. You didn't expect that they were still in operation, and less so targeting anybody DSO. 

"We had the right idea with Ashley Graham," he begins, pacing across the span of your prison so you can keep an eye on him from the other side of the bars. "But, of course, our plans were rather rudely disrupted by an unwelcome guest...You know him well, don't you?"

Your glare at him.

"Right," Lucifer chuckles as if this were all some joke. "We still intend to implant a mole in the DSO to pass us the information we need. Thankfully, you'll be happy to know that we developed a new branch of Las Plagas, and what better subject to test it on than the most informed member we could think of?"

You purse your lips tightly, finally understanding. "You intend to infect me. I'm supposed to be the mole."

A statement, not a question.

"Close, you're very close." He finally stops his steps, coming closer and wrapping his hands around the bars, leaning forward so that his face is pressed against the spaces in between the rusted metal. "Your humanity is slipping as we speak, for we already implanted the parasite."

Horror. 

Terror wracks your body as his words ring in your ears and your body suddenly gives in so violently, you have to sit down and tuck yourself into the corner of your cell. For some reason, it just doesn't process. "So I'm just ticking down to becoming some mindless flesh bag for your use."

"Not at all," he seems delighted by your response. "I know you're a rather intelligent young woman. Beautiful too. I'm honored that you'll be under my control when the Plagas takes hold of your body, and I'll be sure to let you have your conscience when I'm all done playing with you."

You want to vomit at his feet just to prove a point. "Bold assumption."

"It's not an assumption, my dear," Lucifer smiles wickedly. "It's only a matter of time."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"You wound me with your words," he backs away from the bars, sending you a smile that makes your skin crawl. "But, I'd seriously consider your plans. You could be powerful, you know. This strain of Las Plagas has abilities that go beyond your wildest imaginations."

That's exactly what you're afraid of. "I'll pass."

"A shame," he simpers, shaking his head. "Humanity was a good look for you."

You close your eyes and lean against the wall as the member's footsteps retreat and a door slams somewhere, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

It seems that this is the end of the road. 

In the middle of nowhere, you don't have any form of communication with the agency and definitely no way to contact anybody. It's just been revealed your time is limited since Los Illuminados already infected you with the Plagas, presumably the strain that DSO had centered the meeting around. If that's true, it's likely that you only had a day or so, depending on how long it took for the Plagas to hatch and attach itself to your nerves.

When Leon was in Spain, he was able to stay conscious enough to locate an extraction device, which judging by his report of the incident, targeted the Plagas inside of his body by some form of radiation that killed off the parasite. You sincerely doubt there's something like that around here, and moreover, you doubt you have the ability to sneak out and find it without a problem. 

You know basic defense. You know simple hand-to-hand strategies and you know how to use a gun, but that wasn't enough. 

It's hard not to cry, but you try to think rationally about what might happen. Your conscience might stay, but your will won't be your own. You'll become a weapon for these people, and you won't have a choice in the matter. You'll have to watch the bloodshed be on your hands as you kill without hesitation.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you finally admit it.

The next time you meet Leon, it's very very likely you won't even be yourself at all.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Nothing but the engine could be heard in Leon's ears, but his thoughts are just as equally, if not more, loud. 

He'd been on edge ever since the search in your apartment, and only a few mere hours later, the agency had pinned down your potential location. The abandoned lab, which the squad had been due to anyway, was the prime suspect since that's where they were most likely keeping the new Plagas infection, and by extension, you. 

There was hardly any time to pack. There was barely any need to.

The objective was clear as day–recover you and destroy the lab upon leaving. 

While the government clearly only cared about your return because of the information you have on them regarding their activity, Leon cared about your safety and whether you would be alive or not. He needs to see you with his own eyes, hoping that you weren’t just another life added to the endless list of the dead. 

A hand drifts up and his fingers lightly brush over his lips. 

He needs to bring you home.

It only took two more hours before Leon was gearing up, loading all of his guns with ammo and making sure his knife was sharp enough to slice through any dangers he might encounter. The rest of the soldiers accompanying him were performing similar tasks, readying themselves for the fight ahead. 

One of them glances at Leon and he can feel the weight of their gaze.

“Hey, man.” He sounds incredibly awkward. “We’ll save her, okay? Then we can go back and you guys can finally get together like everybody in the agency has been waiting for you to.”

Leon stops, staring at the soldier. “What?”

“Nobody’s blind.” The guy’s eyes crinkle with a small smile. “We can all tell that you’d give her the world if she asked for it, yeah?”

He would. He just didn’t expect it to be that obvious.

Wordlessly, Leon nodded and resumed his work, organizing his thoughts and taking deep breaths in and out. He can’t screw this up for a second. He may be DSO’s best agent, but he’s also just a man who’s susceptible to emotion just as much as anybody else when it comes to you in particular. 

The comm comes on overhead notifying the agents that the plane was landing near the site. It was only a simple trek to the lab from there.

“Alright, listen up,” Leon says and all the men sit to attention. He looks at them one by one while speaking. “We all know our goal–DSO’s archivist has been kidnapped for information and our top priority is to find and secure her safely back to the rendezvous point. Our second goal is searching for any research regarding the Plagas virus, which means that there’s every possibility that the undead are gonna be roaming around here. Aim for the head. Shoot their legs if you need time. Remember the procedure if one of you gets infected, and do not hesitate. The third goal is to plant the explosives so we can blow this place apart when we're done. One of our own is in that lab right now waiting for us. Are we clear?”

A chorus of, “Yes sir!” goes around.

Leon nods and feels the plane dip lower and lower. He quiets his nerves as the ground comes into view and everybody prepares to move out. You’re so close now, he can almost feel your presence looming in the distance, watching and waiting. 

The moment his shoes hit the dirt, his mind flies into business mode. All of the stress bleeds away and all that’s left is the familiar thoughts of analytic strategizing. 

“Straits and Levy, lead into the left wing. Santos, Novak, go right. Hudson and Reed, center field. The rest of you divide up evenly. I’m going down into the basement. I’ll call for backup if I’m having complications, and you all do the same. Understood?”

Affirmations ring through Leon’s earpiece and he pushes forward. 

The lab is overgrown. Covered in ivy and rusted to the point that the walls themselves looked like they were peeling. It didn’t take long to locate an entrance and break it open. Leon simply shot the lock and the door swung inward. 

A Ganado flees from within as if just waiting to be freed. It hisses, spits saliva, and shouts profanities at the sight of the DSO agents. Some of the rookies shout in alarm before Leon shoots it down easily with a few handgun bullets. He motions the others to follow him inside, and some share quiet words as they step over the limp body and head inside. 

Flashlights on their guns provide just enough light to illuminate the dark space. As the others split up into the groups Leon had instructed them into, he finds the hallway that leads down into the basement just as he had been looking for.

When he opens the door, undead that weren’t of the Ganado type, screech at the intrusion. Leon dodges the first one that lunges for him, ducking a second’s attempt to catch him off guard. They fall down in a tangle of limbs and two bullets to each of their heads take them out. He returns his gun to his holster, sidestepping another that comes up behind him. He latches onto one of its arms and twists it so that he could slit its neck with his knife. It falls down with an anguished moan as he presses forward without a second thought.

Leon finds a labyrinth of prison cells that are hardly more than large holes carved into the rock walls. Some had dried blood streaked on the rocks and others held shackles containing severed arms and limbs that were stripped down to bone. It's obvious that they were doing more than just researching at this lab, though it's not uncommon for Umbrella to be performing unethical human experimentation. 

Actually, it's no surprise at all. 

He pulls his gun out and shoots a zombie that rounds the corner of the corridor he walks in, and the bullets sound louder in the echoey cavern. It's humid down here and Leon can already feel the perspiration on his skin. 

He strains to listen in the following silence and freezes when he hears something very human. It's gone just as quickly as it came and Leon begins to think that he had just imagined it until a violent cough rings out. 

He takes off, following the direction of the noise as one cough had led to two and then broke into a whole fit. It sounds painful, like the person was hacking up an entire lung or something along the lines. Whoever it was, they were lucky to be alive considering all of the presumed deaths judging by the earlier cells. Speaking of which, there were countless more of those tiny jail cells, with broken iron bars and more dried blood. Just how many people were sacrificed down here? 

Finally, Leon approached the source of the coughing, sliding to a stop in front of a cell that had its door locked tightly. 

There, cramped inside of it was you. 

Your skin was streaked with dirt, sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, the last thing you were wearing before you were kidnapped. Your hair was greasy and tangled to the point that it would take hours just to unravel it all. Your eyes were sunken in, dark bags hanging under them like you hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since you got here. To be fair, you probably didn't, and he can't fault you for that.

Worst of all is the blood pooling around your mouth, dribbling to your chin, and staining your shirt. Your veins are colored black, threading through your body and reaching up towards your eyes.

Your gaze finds him, and though he didn't expect an entire celebration, he's alarmed when you have little to no reaction at all. Instead, you tuck your head back into your knees from where your legs fold against your chest.

"Your hallucinogenic gas doesn't work on me anymore, asshole," you mumble brokenly, and Leon's heart manages to fracture more than it already had at your state. "I know he's not really here so fuck off already."

He steps forward, places a hand on the bars gently and frowns. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, unable to stop the nickname from falling from his lips. "What the hell did they do to you?"

Your head shoots up immediately, that old fire returning to your eyes, even if a mere spark. "Leon?"

"Yeah. It's me," he assures, rattling the bars of your cage. "How do we get this open?"

Instead of immediately jumping to your feet to assist him like he hoped you would, your expression turns panicked, shaking your head furiously despite flinching at the pain it causes. "Wait, Leon, no, save yourself." You beg weakly, curling up tighter. "It's not safe. I'm not safe."

Unintentionally, he growls. "What did they do to you?" He demands, ignoring your pleas. 

There's an aching in your bones, tension rippling beneath your skin just waiting to burst through. It's just a matter of time, and it was terrifying. Your internal clock is counting down the minutes, and there's no telling when you might turn.

"They injected me with a variant of Las Plagas," you rush out. "The one that the DSO met us about–it’s already hatched and clearly I don't have much time yet. You need to go!"

"Absolutely not," Leon snaps. "I'm taking you home."

"Listen to me," you plead. "I don't know when this thing is going to take hold of me, but when it does, there's no telling what I'll do. You need to find the Los Illuminados member responsible–he's somewhere in this building–says his name is Lucifer, which is fucking stupid if you ask me-"

"Heard on that, and I'll let the squad know to be on the lookout," he grits his teeth. "But to hell with him, I'm getting you out."

"Why won't you just go already?!" You shout, frustrated with his stubbornness at the moment. "I'm a liability, Leon, you can't-"

"Because I'm not leaving you again, goddamnit!" Leon's voice echoes harshly like a cannon's blast, devastating and deafening. 

You can't immediately form a response to that. The silence hangs tensely in the air as Leon breathes in and out shakily, before looking up at you with pleading ocean eyes. His hands wrap around the bars desperately. 

"I can't lose you again," he says quietly, softly. "I can't–not when you're right here in front of me."

You stared at him only a moment longer, thinking maybe it was time you stopped trying to self-sacrifice in the name of good, even if it was something you didn't agree with. Perhaps it would save you both from a lot of heartaches in the future. 

You finally give in.

"Okay," you finally concede. "Let's get this door open."

Leon perks up at your allowance, immediately scanning to lock to try and find a weak spot in it. "I'd try shooting it, but your space is so small, I could hit you."

"Do you know how to lockpick?" You ask hopefully. 

"I do, but not with anything I have on me right now," Leon admits. 

You blink owlishly at him before suppressing a laugh, earning a confused look from him. "You could use your knife, silly."

He's missed you. God, Leon's missed you.

Even with bloody lips and a virus pumping through your blood as you spoke, he finds that little comfort in knowing you're still the same you even for this moment. 

He pulls out his knife and holds it out to you as you get up and groan, hand on your chest as you gasp for air. Alarmed, Leon startles so harshly that the iron bars clash violently, but you merely give him a strained smile. 

"I'll walk it off," you attempt at humor, accepting the knife and jamming it into the lock. As you feel your way through the mechanisms, you glance up at him. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course," he watches as the lock clicks and his breath hitches. "Even if I wasn't under orders, I'd have torn down this place looking for you."

The door swings open and you look up at him, holding the knife back out to him. The blade flashes and the RPD logo shines in the torchlight. When Leon takes and sheaths it, he hesitates, eyes flicking from the passageway he came to you. You almost want to ask him what's wrong, but before you can speak he cuts you off.

Arms wrap around you and pull you to his chest, but it's not alarming the way it had been when you were kidnapped. This is warm, like finally coming home after a long arduous journey. It was familiar and yet foreign–you almost forgot what being in his arms felt like. It didn't take any time for you to return the embrace, squeezing your arms around his torso just as hard as he held you. 

His nose buries into your hair, not caring about its condition and just caring that you're here and alive. He ensures you are real under his embrace on your waist and back, feeling the heat of your skin beneath his calloused palms, and it soothes him knowing you weren't completely infected yet. He didn't have to gun you down–didn't have to harm you in any way like he had been fearing. 

"I missed you," Leon mumbles, so softly you almost miss it.

The vulnerability in his words catch you off guard, but it makes your chest tingle in that familiar way that he always made you feel. There's something underlying his words that you can read between the lines for. He didn't just miss you now. 

Leon's missed you since your argument. 

The realization makes you soften immediately. Safe to say, the sentiment was mutual. 

"I missed you too," you sigh, pulling away but threading your fingers with his. "We need to figure out a way to get rid of the Plagas in me before I lose my will, and I don't know if there's an extraction device anywhere around here." 

"Right," Leon nods, pressing on his earpiece. "Come in. I've located and recovered Agent (L/n), but she's infected with the new variant of Las Plagas and it's spreading fast. We need to either find an extraction device or get her to one of our labs as soon as possible."

"Copy that," one of the agents replies. "I'm fairly certain that I saw something similar to one in the left wing of the lab, though it looks more complicated than the one you and Graham used."

"It's a more advanced strain, so I'm not surprised," he begins moving down the passageway, pulling you by hand and refusing to let go. "We're heading up now. I need as many men as possible to meet us at the stairs and provide cover."

"She doesn't have any way to defend herself?"

"There's nothing more I would like than to give her a gun, but there's no telling when the Plagas might kick in. It's too high of a stake."

"Heard on that. We're heading to you now."

You and Leon make your way out of the dungeon, and you almost cry out in relief at the feeling of fresh air free of the crushing humidity you'd been forced to endure. However, you don't get too long to dwell on it before Leon tugs you along to a different portion of the lab.

Some of his men join you, bump arms with you and send their relief that you're alright. You thank them with a smile, letting Leon lead you to your next destination. There are countless sections, and they're a lot more modern than the workings of the torture dungeon. Each one contains some kind of advanced equipment that you couldn't even begin to attempt to name. 

Somewhere along the way between labs and quarantine rooms, a stabbing pain floods your chest. It catches you so off guard that you stumble, alerting Leon immediately when he feels your grip almost slip from his.

A wriggling feeling in your head starts up like something was trying to finger its way out. You panic, thinking of the parasite in your body and that it might be breaking out now, and you look to Leon for any guidance. The pain and soreness travel down your body, and you fall to your knees with a cry.

"What's wrong?!" Leon jumps to your aid, kneeling by your side and pressing his fingers to the pulse point on your neck. "(Y/n), you gotta tell me what's happening."

You wheeze, struggling to breathe. "We need to hurry," you manage to whisper. "It's happening-"

A cough tears its way from your throat and it feels like the tissue of your muscles is ripping you apart from the inside out. Tears prick at your eyes as if it feels like something is trying to rip its way from inside your body. Time was running out, the last few minutes hanging precariously in front of your eyes. Your body turns cold to the touch but it feels like you’re burning alive. Your life begins flashing before your eyes and you struggle to hold on.

Leon takes the initiative and scoops you up into his arms, supporting your knees and back. You curl graciously into his chest, but you can’t find the strength to voice it, more blood dribbles down your chin and your conscience begins slipping. 

You can tell Leon’s trying to run as smoothly as he can, but the urgency in his footsteps makes it difficult. The effort is appreciated nonetheless. A door bursts open in your ears and Leon places you rather haphazardly onto a seat that’s vaguely reminiscent of the ones you dread during dentist visits.

As you close your eyes, Leon begins navigating the screen to extract the Plagas and the machine whirs to life, locking your arms down to the chair. He finds the x-ray to be horrific, seeing the parasite had attached itself to your lungs, which explains your difficulty breathing, and has grown to almost cover the whole organ. 

Leon is about to press the option to remove it, ready for this whole damn thing to be over.

His hand hovers over the screen…

…And you grab his arm.

It’s an iron-tight grip with a strength that you’ve never had before, breaking through the iron restraints on the machine. Your eyes open to reveal red pupils, your expression simply blank as your head slowly turns to look at him. Leon opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance to when you get up from the chair with inhuman speed. 

He doesn’t even get the chance to process what was happening before you were at his backside, kicking him down and backing away to stand at the other end of the room.

Leon groans, getting to his knees, looking for you desperately. Behind you, a figure approaches in Los Illuminados robes, and a sinister smile on his dead lips. This must be the guy that was behind it all, Leon realizes. 

Lucifer. It really was a dumb fucking alias.

“You didn’t think I would really make it that easy, did you Mr. Kennedy?” he taunts, tilting his head and you copy the action. “Such an obedient little puppet I have here. Do you want to play with her?”

“You have thirty seconds to let her go,” Leon spits, holding up his hand for his men to be on standby. “You don’t want to know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“Or what?” the man muses. “You’ll kill me? You’ll have to get through her before you get to do that.”

He falters, looking from you to him while slowly formulating a plan. Somehow, he needs to separate you from the cult member controlling you and get you into the chair so his men could handle your extraction while Leon took on taking the fucker’s last breath. He keeps his eyes on the man, pressing on his earpiece and relaying the message to his squad.

Leon removes the gun from his holster, reloading it so that it was at full capacity, and sends a stiff glare to the man. “Thirty seconds are up,” he says. 

The man smiles, too wide and with nothing but yellowed teeth. 

Leon lunges and you copy his movements. You shriek, gurgling like you were drowning in your own lungs as you go to grab him. He dodges your attempts, numbing himself to the feelings as he kicks you roughly in the gut and sends you reeling back with a cough. 

Your red irises lock onto him and you scream incoherently, faking left and going right to tackle him to the ground. Leon grunts, losing the grip on his gun in favor of apprehending your wrists, twisting his head away from where you try to bite him. He struggles before managing to roll onto his side and kicking you away. He just knows there's going to be bruises forming when you get out of here.

Leon gets to his feet and grabs his gun, sprinting toward you and sliding down to crouch by your side. He roughly pins your arms behind your back and motions to his men. 

"Now!" He shouts and they all replace his hands and hoist you up to carry you to the extraction device. Your figure flails wildly as you scream, though it sounds all wrong and too animalistic to really be you.

The guy’s expression is so priceless, Leon almost laughs at it, but even he didn’t deserve that privilege. 

As his men start strapping you down into the chair, the cult member himself screeches angrily, lowering his hood and revealing almost paper-white skin. His own red eyes are filled with rage as he stumbles to the ground and screams.

Leon watches as Lucifer mutates with pained shouts, gruesome in a sort of Las Plagas way he hasn't encountered in a long while. The skin slides off of him in slimy puddles to reveal bone and a wriggling parasite underneath on his chest. It’s grotesque with his ribcage exposed and arms and legs bulging with pus-filled flesh as he grows in size almost to the size of the El Gigantes he’s faced before in Spain. 

The ceiling arches up high enough to fit him, and Leon realizes this must have been the plan all along. Hollowed-out eyes direct themselves to him and the newly mutated cult member roars.

With one worried glance to check that his men were still working on operating the extraction machine, he faces this new version of Lucifer with a grimace.

To be fair Leon’s survived worse.

“Same as it ever was,” he mutters under his breath, pointing the barrel of his gun to the mutant.

Meanwhile, you were thrashing wildly in the chair as the team of men strapped you in and one of them operated around on the screen. There were multiple configuration settings, having to choose which parts of your body to attack and options on what type of parasite they were killing. Your veins grow darker and you screech, struggling violently against your bindings.

“There’s not much time until the bastard can cause her to mutate too,” one of the agents points out. “We need to hurry.”

Leon slides under the incoming blow from Lucifer, rolling to his feet and seeing the ground broken where he had just been. He shoots the exposed parasite that was pulsing in the chest. Yellow pus explodes from where the bullet had hit. A couple more shots have the mutant screaming in rage and frustration, barreling toward Leon with heavy steps that shook the whole room.

He shoots the parasite two more times before dodging the mutant grabbing at him. He dances around Lucifer, peppering him with bullets, and the sound of gunshots from other agents conjoined with his. 

Leon watches as the mutant shrieks, blood running down its body and oozing pus as it grabs a cabinet and rips it off the wall. 

In a display of timing, he manages to dodge it when Lucifer launches it at him. Wood splinters upon its impact on the wall. Leon backs away, covered in body fluids that weren’t his, and aims his gun at the parasite once more. He only had one more bullet before he had to reload, thinking it was time to use the rifle he was equipped with. 

Lucifer lunges unexpectedly, and Leon goes to dodge. Large hands close around his torso and he’s lifted off the ground. He immediately struggles, coming face to face with the ugly fucker and working to remove his right arm. Though, it’s proving difficult when the grip around him is becoming tighter and stronger.

“Fool,” Lucifer grumbles out, his voice octaves deeper and reverberating off the walls. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“That’s a shame,” Leon wheezes out, wriggling his wrist rapidly. “The party was just getting started.”

He frees his hand and grabs his knife from its sheath on his shoulder. Leon plunges the blade into the mutant’s thumb, and it lets out a horrid screech before dropping him to the floor.

He grunts upon impact, lifting himself shakily and looking up at Lucifer with heaving breaths of air. He scrambles for the knife that drops with a clink  to the floor next to him and returns it to his scabbard. A shrill scream draws both of their attention and Leon sees that the men seem to have figured out how to operate this version of the extraction machine. The machinery whirs to life and mechanisms descend downward towards you. 

It seems that the mutant understood what was happening as well.

Lucifer howls, making a beeline for you and the other agents surrounding you. 

“Shoot the parasite!” Leon commands hotly, getting to his feet and loading the rifle from his back as he ran. “The knees!”

He passes the mutant, sliding to a stop on the frontlines and pressing his eye to the scope of his gun. Leon breathes out, aims, and pulls the trigger.

The Las Plagas parasite explodes.

It falls to the ground with a moist thud and Leon watches as the mutation seems to recede and rebuild itself back into Lucifer’s former image, though the bullet holes have left much to be desired. He’s still somewhat of a man, and apparently still alive as he pulls himself to his feet with a pathetic moan.

Leon aims his gun and shoots Lucifer in the knees. As he stumbles back to the ground worthlessly, he reaches for you with a cry. 

"My masterpiece," he wails and the blood only boils hotter in Leon. "You can't take her from me! She's my magnum opus! My life's work!"

Snarling, Leon rips his knife from its sheath and launches it so that it pierces into the cult member's arm and pins him to the ground. The man screams, but Leon has no remorse as he approaches him, ripping the weapon out and almost relishing in the way he started screaming in agony upon the blood that comes gushing from the wound. 

Leon flips him over and glares darkly into his rotting eyes. "Let's get one thing straight, fucker," he spits, grabbing a fistful of the cult member's collar and raising him up off the floor. "She's not your anything–she's mine."

That's the only last words Leon allows him to process before pressing the barrel of his handgun to the cult member’s and pulling the trigger. 

The silence that follows is nothing but the aftermath of a battle. Blood coats Leon’s skin thickly, though a majority of it isn’t his own. Throughout the whole fight, he only suffered minor injuries from scuffing the floor and being thrown around a little. In the bigger picture, he’s fought larger and worse bioweapons than some random guy who didn’t really know what he was getting into playing around with parasites and viruses. 

Not forgetting his top priority, Leon gets to his feet and swivels around, striding in your direction. The agents part like the Red Sea for him as the extraction device works its magic. It’s clear you’re in pain by the way you jerk roughly and whine weakly, though Leon simply bites his cheek and watches your x-ray on the screen. 

The parasite on your lungs wriggles desperately, trying to escape the assault. A few tense seconds of futile struggle pass before it gives up and disintegrates in on itself. As a result, you finally stop resisting and the blackened veins under your skin begin receding. 

Leon breathes out silently in relief. 

He looks at his team and nods.

They managed to have no casualties, and they'd completed all of their goals. All that was left to do was blow this place sky high and go home. 

He turns back to your unconscious body, knowing that you’re probably exhausted by the strain the Plagas had put on you. Leon gently caresses your hair, hoping that his intent reached you even as you were sleeping. 

And finally, he started to feel something similar to peace.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Unlike your dream in the black void of the dungeon, this time, you find yourself completely surrounded by white.

You can see yourself as you look down, find yourself able to move freely and willingly, though it feels floaty and not at all natural. It's not something you'll complain about, though. It's better you can move in a dream rather than not being able to at all.

You glance around, finding nothing but white space. 

This couldn't be real. Did you die during the extraction process? Surely not, though you hate to admit that the parasite had made you incredibly weak. Coughing up blood the first time was bad enough, but after the proceeding fits, you may as well have been throwing the stuff up. Still, you could remember everything during the time you were possessed right up until you had blacked out from the machine. 

You'd fought Leon briefly, yet he still insisted on helping you. 

"You know," a familiar voice yanks you out of your deep thoughts. "You really are in denial."

You swirl around to find the source of the voice, only to furrow your eyebrows in confusion as Leon seems to materialize from an invisible fog. He's the same as he always was with the same handsome features you've spent admiring for an untold amount of hours, but something seems incredibly off. Your gut doesn't like it and neither do you.

"Is that so?" You frown. "I don't suppose you'll tell me who you are?"

"C'mon, (Y/n)," he grins, holding his arms out. "It's just me."

"You're not real, though," you counter. "For all I know you're just a figment of my imagination telling me what I want to hear."

"If that was true, I'd tell you I hate you," Leon shrugs, coming to stand next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

His palm lacks the warmth it should have.

"What?"

"You've really gotta stop trying to be the hero of this whole ordeal," he says, facing you. "You're trying to protect his reputation in the workplace and the last thing you'd want to do is get him in trouble, so realistically you want him to hate you. But he doesn't."

"Bummer," you sigh and sit down. He joins you. 

It's odd, floating with an image of your best friend who is very much not real. For a dream, it's incredibly vivid, though. 

"Why do you insist on refusing to be with him?" Leon asks. "Since you like him so much and obviously he likes you too."

"Does he really, though?"

"That's the whole reason he had that argument with you, yeah? What was it he said? Something about how you were acting like it only affected one of you guys?"

You cringe. "Yeah."

"Well, did you ever consider what he might've really meant by that?"

You look up at Leon confused, drawing your knees to your chest. "What do you mean?"

He leans back lazily. "I mean, instead of him seemingly accusing you that you were only thinking of yourself, perhaps he meant that you were only thinking of him and his reputation? What it might entail for him was always on your mind–you're considerate like that–but did you ever consider yourself?"

You blink dumbly and shake your head. "Y'know you're really bad at impersonating Leon. He'd never try giving me a free therapy session."

"Ouch. I'm trying my best here."

"I know you are."

"I'm just saying," Leon says, "maybe you should start thinking about yourself. It would probably hurt him knowing that you don't think yourself worthy of him."

"That's because I'm not," you sigh. One big circle, this argument was. "He's the best agent DSO has to offer and I'm some coworker who keeps her head in the computers. Tell me how it would ever work out."

"You can maintain an appropriate workplace appearance while dating. It's just a matter if the two parties are mature enough to pull it off. Besides, I'm sure he doesn't care about status–which, you're a part of the DSO as well, so I don't really see the problem there–as long as you make him happy."

That shuts you up.

"You know that he loves you, don't you?" Leon asks after a bout of silence.

Your breath hitches–as much as it can in a dream, anyway.

The question makes you ponder everything that has happened. Everything Leon did, you just wrote it off as something of his flirtatious demeanor who had nothing better to do than hit on any woman he came across. Hunnigan was most notable in this scenario, but really any female coworker was fair game. However, you don't think he necessarily went to their house to have dinner and watch movies and just sit on a cheap couch to talk for hours without getting bored.

You always knew it. You were just scared to admit it. 

You were scared of Leon loving you as much as you loved him.

"Yeah," you answer quietly. "He really does, doesn't he?"

The Leon of your head smiles, familiar even as a facade. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest just like the night you had shared cigarettes together and it's just like you remembered. It lacks the warmth that made the whole hug worth it, but for now, you can deal with cold comfort. 

You close your eyes.

"Do you wanna go back?" Leon asks.

You shrug non-committedly. "Not yet. I kinda just wanna stay here with you for a second."

"Okay," he says.

"You're not real," you whisper, reminding yourself that this safe space is nothing more than temporary. "Leon's out there in the real world, isn't he?"

"Probably worrying his ass off if anything," Not-Leon muses. "Promise you'll make an effort once you get out of here? Not only for his happiness, but for yours as well."

It's a challenge, being told to care for more than just Leon and trying to do what you think is best for him. But…if you being happy made him happy by proxy, then there really was no argument to have, was there?

You love Leon S. Kennedy. 

And he loves you too.

"I promise," you say, and you know it's true.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The night is nothing but rain and stormy weather. While everybody was out celebrating their successful mission, Leon found himself in the confines of his own apartment–the very one he hated. 

Only a yellow light above his dinner table illuminates the space, and he has a glass of hard whiskey that attempts to quiet his nerves like an old companion. It doesn't work very well. After they had returned home, you were taken to a hospital immediately to record your body and search for any traces of the Plagas that might still reside in you. Leon wasn't able to go with you, but he supposes it's fair in a sense. He just hopes you're okay.

Hunnigan had contacted him soon after they had admitted you in, thanking Leon for bringing you home and doing everything he could. It was some semblance of comfort, though it wasn't very strong.

Thunder rolls in the background.

Leon sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose roughly and massaging the spot in hopes of relieving the headache he had gained. Sleep has been far and few in between since stress loves to keep him up often, but can anybody really blame him for being so worried for you? As much as he hates to admit it, you're not capable of keeping yourself safe the way you should. Leon thinks that he should give you personal training sometime to prevent something like this happening again, though he doubts he'll want you to leave his sight for a while.

The thought makes him pause.

Since when has he grown so possessive over you?

Fuck, he really was in too deep, wasn't he? How you had managed to break through the rough exterior he put up was beyond him, looking past his status and persona to see the real Leon, bruised and bloodied and ruinous. You disregarded the murder on his hands, understood him in a way nobody did before, and became a sanctuary that he felt safe enough to thrive in. 

Nobody else has done that before. Not even the likes of Claire or even Ada.

What would he even say when he saw you again? It was clear that you were on better terms than you had been previously, but the wound from your argument in the archives still hurt like it was fresh so the two of you definitely needed to sort it all out. He needs you to know that he fucked up, and it was something that wouldn't happen again.

He needs you to know that-

Three quiet knocks is all it took to pull him from his storm of thoughts.

Leon looks up, confused. He wasn't expecting any visitors tonight and all the likely candidates were already busy and never mentioned making a pit stop to him. Just to be safe, he grabs Matilda and loads it before getting up from the table and making his way to the front door. As he gets closer, he can hear the pounding of the pouring rain. It's heavy tonight.

When Leon opens the door, your figure stands on the other side completely drenched from the weather. Your eyes light up upon seeing him, but the bags beneath your eyes show how tired you really are. All that you have is a duffel bag and a backpack.

For a second, all you do is stare at each other, and the ambience of the pattering rain sounds like rhythmic drum beats.

"I had nobody else to go to," you finally say as a poor explanation. "But I can go somewhere else if you want."

Those words yank Leon out of his stupor and he shakes his head, opening the door wider and ushering you in with gentle sounds. He peeks out, making sure you weren't followed and shuts the door before double locking it and checking it. When he turns around, he finds you watching him anxiously and shifting from foot to foot like you didn't know what to do with yourself. To be fair, you haven't been in his apartment nearly as much as he'd been in yours. 

His whole body laxes as if just the sight of you was enough to put all his worries at rest.

"C'mon," he invites, pressing a hand to the small of your back and guiding you down the hall. "Let's go run you a shower."

Once he sets you up and offers to take your clothes to wash, he leaves you to settle in, telling you that you can pick any of the spare guest rooms (there were many unnecessary ones) and to make yourself at home. In the meantime, he decides that whiskey probably isn't the best thing to be having when the object of his affections just showed up on his doorstep.

Instead, Leon settles for something more mild. 

The coffee just finishes brewing when you walk in shyly, hair wet and an oversized t-shirt hanging loosely on your frame. You find that he's set out two steaming mugs alongside countless flavors of creamers and syrups. Your heart warms at the gesture as you slowly get closer to him. 

"Help yourself," Leon prods gently, nonjudgmentally as he stirs in his own choice of combination. "I don't use everything as much as I should be, to be fair."

"Thank you," you say because you won't forget your manners as you select your flavorings. The underlying tension is deep enough that you can feel it in the air like some bubble waits to burst open, scattering everything into a flurry of a mess. You'd just have to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. "Listen, Leon-"

"Let's go get comfortable on the couch," he interrupts not unkindly. "It'll be less stressful if we're in a familiar setting."

Side by side on a sofa, the place where you two seemed to always find yourselves no matter what scenario. It's your thing, and the sentiment makes you happy, even if only for a little.

"Okay."

As promised, you find yourself sitting across from him, stirring your coffee together and struggling not to lose your nerve. Maybe it was a mistake coming here right after you'd been released from the hospital. Maybe you just ruined his whole night.

"I'm sorry I showed up out of nowhere," you begin, keeping your eyes on the way the liquid swirls in your cup with the spoon. "I know you like to expect people rather than them suddenly invading your space."

Leon shakes his head slightly. "You're not invading. I've told you before that this apartment is here for you just as much as it is for me, yeah?"

He has. Those words ring a distant bell in your head. 

Another silence lapses as you try to gather the courage to just put out the words you've been meaning to say for weeks. There's theoretically nothing to be scared of, no monsters to run from, or any life or death scenario hanging in the balance. It was just Leon–it always has been. You just have to find the strength to show him the deepest parts of yourself and hope that you've molded your heart into something good enough to present to him.

You're not scared.

You're terrified. 

There's nothing to run from.

Leon's reaction will make or break you.

You love him. He loves you.

But does he really?

"I-" your voice cracks already and that's enough to make heat flame to your cheeks in embarrassment. 

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Leon assures, "but we do need to talk at some point."

"I know," you swallow, setting down your drink and twisting your hands nervously in your lap.

"How about we start with why you came here? I know you were being tested for any missed traces of Las Plagas that still might've been in your system."

Bless him–that was an easy enough question to start off with. 

"They dispatched me after giving me the all-clear and giving me doses of pills to take. They're the finalized versions of the suppressants that you took while you were in Spain to prolong the maturing of the parasites," you explain, pressing your lips together and breathing in and out. "They wanted me to stay with somebody, though. My apartment is a dead zone now since Los Illuminados and whoever else knows where I live. I would've asked Hunnigan but…"

You pause, wondering if you were really going through with this. Leon waits patiently, understanding without saying anything. 

"I wanted to go somewhere I knew I'd feel safe," you confess, finally ripping your gaze up to look at him. "I feel safe when I'm with you."

He doesn't answer that, expression blank. Usually, you can read his little telltales, things that people from the outside can't usually see, but right now, you can't make out what he might be thinking. For all you know, he could hate you right now.

Your throat turns tight and the saltwater burns behind your eyelids. The tears are already cascading and you curse yourself for being so weak in the face of confrontation. "I understand if you don't– don't want me here, and I c-can really leave if you want me to-"

"Hey, hey," Leon sets his own cup aside on the coffee table and scoots closer carefully. "You're stressing yourself out–calm down and breathe for a second. I want you here. I always do, okay?"

It's hard to, and it feels like your chest is caving in on itself like it did when the Plagas was attaching itself to your lungs and transforming you into a monster. You certainly felt like one the night you'd-

"I took advantage of you," you gasp, struggling for the air you so desperately need but determined to push on because goddamnit if you weren't going to have this conversation right now after avoiding it for so long. "That night at the bar and I...I didn't even ask. I'm sorry."

"Follow me," Leon takes a hold of your hand and presses it to his chest, exaggerating his breaths. "You're okay."

The words are tumbling out of your mouth, running like a babbling brooke. He caresses your cheek with your free hand and throughout the whole ordeal, the two of you never break eye contact once. His thumb swipes aimlessly at the assault of tears and you think of how ugly and puffy you probably look right now. 

But all you can see are those sapphire eyes watching you.

"I didn't mean it," you cave into his touch, head tilting into the palm of his hand willingly. "I didn't mean it when I accused you of just wanting to get me into your bed. You're so much more than that–you're everything to me and I–I was scared."

Leon frowns, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Scared of what, sweetheart?"

The question is daunting, but you're already too far in to stop now.

"Of you. Of how much you might like me," you whisper, closing your eyes. Your head is spinning and it feels like the couch is tipping from underneath you. "I was scared of what people might say, how it would affect you. I didn't want you to hate me."

"Oh, baby."

The nickname rolls off his tongue like honey and you make a small whimper at how it makes you feel. Even after all this time, Leon knows just how to bring you to your knees with so little words. He sounds like he's in pain just listening to you, and the auditory distress causes you to peek your eyes open just a little, looking past the blur of saltwater to see him 

"How could I ever hate you?" Leon murmurs, expression pinched tightly in the way he did when he was in pain. He moves even closer until you can practically feel his body heat radiating off of him. For so many nights you've dreamed of having him this close, right next to you and hands holding you in such a loving way that almost brings you to tears.

Leon's light breaths fan your face and you close your eyes again, feeling his presence all around you. His lips press warmly against your forehead, then your eyebrow, then your cheeks. Your own skin heats beneath his ministrations, and he chuckles lowly at your adorable reactions. 

His nose bumps against yours.

"I'm no better," he says and you can smell the hints of whiskey on his breath mixing with the aroma of coffee. "I said you ruined everything–if anything, you should hate me."

You shake your head, opening your eyes and looking right up at him. He's so close, so intimate in this tense moment that you fall forward and rest your forehead on the dip of his collarbones. Leon wastes no time readjusting his hold on you until you're fully tucked into his embrace, his chin resting on the crown of your head. 

"Maybe," he whispers on accident, then clears his throat before saying louder, "Maybe you'd like to spend the night in my room instead?"

Butterflies erupt in your stomach like you're a teenage girl with a crush. "I'd like that."

Well…maybe it's not a crush anymore, but you're definitely obsessed. 

Leon gathers you up in his arms like he was carrying you across a threshold for a honeymoon, not even bothering to turn off the kitchen light or grab your coffees that were teetering towards lukewarm. To be fair, if he was on the same page as you, his priority wasn't the cleanliness of the apartment.

He sets you down on your feet once he gets into his room, closing the door and turning to find you looking around the space curiously. You stray towards the nightstand, leaning down to peek into the frame of one of the photos that's set there. It's a city landscape in the sunset, warm tones creating a fiery display across the sky in the background. You tilt your head at it, knowing Leon wasn't one to have an eyeball for photography or artistically deep metaphors. 

It only takes a moment for you to recognize the shape of it and what it meant.

"Raccoon City," you murmur.

Silence as he makes his way next to you, looking at the picture and frowning. "Yeah. I don't know why I still keep that around."

You turn to him as he sits down on his bed. "No, it's understandable, Leon. What happened in Raccoon City was a tragedy–it's a miracle you survived."

"I guess," he looks aimlessly out the window that has its curtains pulled back the way he had left it.

There was no telling what tragedies he had faced inside of that police station during his first day as a rookie cop. You had seen pictures when his face was rounder and his innocent eyes had been a little brighter, though the signs of trauma began setting in even then. Leon's grown into his role now, more mature and right here in front of you.

You watch him for a beat more, admiring the way he seems to glow in the moonlight. Something tugs in your chest, something magnetic, that draws you to him. Without thinking, you say, "You're really pretty, you know."

Leon's head snaps in your direction so quickly, you're surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "What?"

"You're pretty," you say simply. "Or do you prefer a more masculine adjective?"

"No, it's not that," he swivels his body toward you reaching out to take your hand in his. "You said that to me that night–at the bar when you were drunk."

You cringe, lacing your fingers with his. "At least you know I was honest then? I'm sorry, I don't remember much about that night besides kissing you."

To your quiet surprise, he tugs on your hand and pulls you into his lap, hand trailing to your thigh, warm and gentle yet firm. Your stomach seems to twist giddily at the action while your brain struggles to comprehend the sudden situation.

"Leon?" You breathe out.

"You're going to kill me," he murmurs, leaning forward and pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones. "You're killing me and I'm letting you."

"What do you mean? Please, Leon, I don't understand-"

"I can't lose you," he cuts you off, eyes flicking up to your face. "I can't–they took you and all I could think was, 'Not her. Anybody but her.' You–You fucking torment me."

You freeze in his arms, mouth dropping into an 'o' as he pressed his lips to your neck. The way he recites the exact words you wrote in that stupid journal was enough to make your head spin. It was like he was sitting here putting out all his rawest emotions for you to pick through.

Even after all this time of being such a ruined man in the presence of every horror he faced, he watered himself down into something just for you. After everything that had happened between you two in the past weeks, Leon managed to mold and shape his heart into something suitable enough to give you.

"You read it?"

"Of course I did. Every word where you were in pain because of me," Leon pauses, breathing in shakily. His grip turns almost bruising on your thighs. "You weren't taking advantage of me, baby. You were just in love with me like I am with you."

Baby, he keeps calling you. Funny how that simple little word was enough to send you into overdrive, right down to your core. 

His words stole the air from your lungs as you were encapsulated with an intense want for him. You needed him like flowers needed the sun and the earth needed its axis to spin and the day needed the night.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"Kiss me, please."

His mouth was on yours in a second without a thought, your fingers threading through his hair as he pulled on your waist to get you closer. 

It brought you back to that night after the bar, but this was better. You were conscious enough this time to memorize the shape of him and the way he tasted. His tongue ran across your bottom lip and darted into your mouth as soon as you opened up for him. Leon's grip was bruising, caught between shattering you and trying not to hurt you. 

Your lips mold perfectly together and when you part to gain air, nothing but pants and quiet sounds fill the air. Your chest feels like it's expanding with how much you love him and your mind goes dizzy by the way his hands travel upward and hike the shirt up on your torso, exploring the flesh of your stomach. 

Leon pulls you back in, kissing you feverishly as you grind down on him instinctively, drawing out a delicious groan that sounds so beautiful. You want more noises, more of him, so you move your hips again until he stops you, hands halting your movements. 

"If you keep doing that, I won't be able to control myself much longer, sweetheart," he chastises lightly against your lips, pecking the corner of your mouth to let you know that he wasn't angry. 

You feel particularly bold tonight, letting all your passion for him run wild. It's a boost of confidence that you didn't expect to be having, but it's not unappreciated. 

"You don't have to control yourself around me," you lean in until your forehead pressed against his. "I'm yours."

"Fuck, baby," Leon groans, eyes screwing shut as you roll on him again, letting you lick into his mouth. "Do you know what you do to me?"

"I have an idea," you hum against him, fingers getting into those silky locks of his. "But, why don't you tell me just to make sure?"

His hands travel up your body further until they brush right underneath your breasts as you hadn't bothered with a bra after your shower. He makes a noise of delight upon discovering this, fingertips brushing lightly against one of your nipples and you choke on a gasp from the sensation. As revenge, you swivel your hips so that you can feel him through the slutty gray sweatpants he'd adorned before you showed up. 

If you noticed an insistent hardness poking at you–well you weren't one to complain. 

Leon borderline moans and you have to resist begging him to fuck you right there just to hear him more. Instead, you lean into his touch as much as you can to absorb it all, head full of nothing but him. How many times have you thought about this? So many nights you thought about how it might feel to have his hands on your body and his tongue shoving into your mouth in the sinful way it was doing right now. 

If this is what brought you to hell, then you'd look the demons in the eyes and tell them that Leon had shown you heaven without you ever having to step foot into it. 

"You make me so unfocused," he begins, thumb pads running circles around your nipples as he hikes your shirt up even farther. "You distract me from my work and make me say and do things I never usually do."

"Then I suppose we're even," you quip sassily.

You cry out when his teeth suddenly latch sharply on your neck, sucking harshly and tongue swiping over the mark to ease the pain. One glance down shows mischievous blue eyes staring back at you, drinking in your reactions like a fine wine he needed to stay alive. Cheeky bastard.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs in awe. "How did I ever get so lucky to be blessed by you?"

"Blessed is a strong word," you laugh lightly, pulling your hands away to pull off your shirt eagerly. "I'm no angel, Leon."

His tongue darts out to lick those pretty pink lips that have swelled from the pressure of your mouth on his. A feeling of pride wells in your chest, knowing that even just for tonight, he was yours. 

"You're right," he runs a hand up and down your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his touch. "A goddess is a more fitting title. I'd worship you daily on hands and knees."

His sweet words make your head spin wildly and you need him more than anything. You hook your arms around his neck, pulling him down so that he hovers over you as your back hits the mattress. It's some sort of memory foam–probably the best kind one could afford judging by his salary.

"I know you hate your apartment," you whisper and he goes slightly rigid. Assuring him gently, you caress his face in your hand. "Let me make it a home for you. Let me give you a reason to like it."

You want the memory of you to be imprinted here everywhere you could, the same way that he left pieces of himself at your place like invasive little dust bunnies sitting in small corners waiting to be discovered. Everywhere he looks, you want him to see you.

"Make me yours," you beg, hands trailing downward and tracing the v-line through his shirt.

Eagerly, Leon's body covers yours, and you think that even if he kissed you with bloody lips, it would still be the sweetest taste you ever had.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The morning glow wakes him up slowly, kissing his eyelids and rousing him from sleep. Unlike every day he woke up in his apartment, the golden light doesn't seem as intrusive anymore.

Leon's brain lags momentarily, fingers skittering across the mattress next to him instinctively in a way he's never felt the need to before. He brushes against bare skin and latches on, pulling your naked body towards his own. You mumble incoherently but allow him to draw you in, making yourself comfortable against his chest as his arm circles your waist.

You fit together like pieces of a puzzle meant to be together. 

For a moment, all that's left is your quiet breaths as you avoid getting up. Since you were instructed to stay home due to medical concerns and Leon had his grace period after such an intense mission, the two of you were in no hurry to leave the bed. After all, the memory of what occured the night before just made cherishing the present all the more important. 

Moments of your night together flashes through Leon's head and he preens knowing that bruises in the shapes of his hands and love marks stretch along the length of your body. Surely, you'll scold him for placing them in such visible places for when you do inevitably return to work, but right now, he could just call it his masterpiece. 

That possessive monster in his chest is sated for now. 

You move in his arms, making a small noise of contentment before pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. Leon's heart soars.

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart," he laughs and the rich noise vibrates against you. You want to get high off the sound of his gravelly morning voice. "How'd you sleep?"

"Really good," you yawn, opening your eyes in a squint finally and looking up at him. "But, I am pretty sore. You really did a number on me last night, babe."

That shit-eating smirk he grows is enough to make you roll your eyes. You're sure that he considered your activity a light work out while you were exhausted by the end of round one. Nonetheless, you wouldn't have traded your time together for anything.

You trace shapes into his bicep, appreciating his muscle and wishing you could tell him all the things you've wanted to for the longest time. However, one of the biggest questions still lingers on the forefront of your mind that you can't help but ask.

"What does this mean for us?" You ask hesitantly. "We said a lot of things last night."

"We did," he agrees easily and tilts your chin up to face him. You notice that eye contact seems to be a big thing to Leon and you're not one to deny him that small comfort. "What do you want to be?"

“You really want me to say it out loud?” You frown.

“If you want to.”

The silence is almost deafening but it’s not uncomfortable as Leon awaits your answer patiently. There’s so many words left unsaid, so many things you want to pour out to him and beg him for. Instead, you pull a distant memory from your head and divert the heavy question you had asked yourself.

“Did you mean it?" You whisper, eyes fluttering closed when Leon cradles your face gently. His warmth is addicting. "I mean when you told that guy that I was yours."

He blinks in surprise. “You heard that?”

“Barely,” you admit sheepishly. “I was still conscious enough but I heard you.”

Leon doesn’t need to think about the response. "Yes," he replies without hesitation. "If you want to be mine, then I am yours."

"Okay," you smile, turning your face to kiss the palm of his hand lovingly. "We'll be each other's."

He swoons, melts in your presence and lets himself plummet like Icarus when he flew too close to the sun. 

After a period of silence, you finally say it.

“I want us to be lovers.”

Time seems to freeze in place as those words fell from your lips. Leon waits with a baited breath, to see if you might backtrack or regret it. No such denial comes and he buries his nose into your hair. 

“Alright,” he murmurs. “We’ll be lovers.”

“This sounds stupid. Like we’re kids playing house together or some shit.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead and letting himself revel in the feeling of love. This all-encompassing warmth that makes him feel so alive and in the moment–something he hasn’t felt in years–that you somehow reignited. You, a miracle in his life. You, who wanted to be lovers.

“Leon.”

“Hm?”

“I…”

You pull back, look him in the eyes and resist the tears that threaten to roll out of your eyes because this is everything you’ve dreamed of since you met him.

“I love you.”

Leon’s expression shifts, eyes widening like he couldn’t believe his ears before he’s on you in a second, kissing you everywhere he could reach. He steals the breath from your lungs as he tugs your mouth to his and grants you a bruising kiss, all of his emotions knocking over and translating through his actions stronger than any word could describe. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, “I love you, I love you, I love you. I’ll say it every day until we grow old, I swear.”

You have to giggle at his cheesiness, though you don’t complain at all as you kiss him again.

“I’m not leaving you again. Move in with me, I–” He chokes on his words, “–We can make this apartment ours instead of just mine. There’s a high-tech security system installed so you’d be safe, and you won’t want for anything. Whatever you want, you'll have it.”

You can’t help but poke fun at him, even in this tender moment where you’re more than ready to drop everything and move your whole life into his place. “Even if I want kids?”

“Especially if you want kids,” he cooes. “Having a family with you would be a dream, baby.”

“Then I’ll make them come true,” you promise. Then, because you can’t help yourself, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

You love him and he loves you, just as everything was destined to be.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You stumble out of the bar, a wide grin plastered on your face and cheeks alight with a strong blush. The world tips under your feet, though steady hands stabilize you and lead you through the fog of your thoughts.

Still never as much of a drinker as Leon is, you find yourself in a familiar setting as your fingers lace with your lover’s perfectly. This night is less innocent, less questioning as you blindly follow wherever you’re led. Tonight was a celebration, and you intend to cash in your joy entirely to the man who promises you only good things.

You land in a car seat, expensive leather under you as Leon shuts the door and crosses to the driver side. 

For some reason, you can’t stop smiling though you can’t exactly figure out why. Maybe it’s because you’re in love. Maybe it’s because you’re grounded with the knowledge he loves you too.

Lifetimes ago, you would have given anything in the world to hold his hand or be close to him as long as the intrusive watching eyes weren’t around to see it. Back then, you hid and concealed your feelings to save a reputation that wasn’t even yours. It seems so foolish now that you were so desperate to keep him away from you, whereas now, you don’t think you can live without him.

Maybe if you were in the same mindset now, you would be panicking at the blurry car lights that pierce through the windshield and spotlight directly onto your figures.

Two headlights, two watching eyes.

Without thinking, you turn in your seat and pull Leon close, kissing him eagerly as he returns the gesture enthusiastically. Your lips mold perfectly to his and it’s just like your first kiss all over gain, but even better.

Millions of years ago, you would reel back in horror and think about what this entailed for you two. Right now, you don’t really give a damn. 

Many things have changed since that fateful night, and equally, many things have evolved and developed within your relationship. No matter what happened, though, Leon was always there to assure you that he loved you. No matter what, he was there for you even when he was across the country on a mission. 

The Las Plagas incident had left a scar on both of you, and afterward, Leon was terrified to leave you on your own every time he was assigned to a mission. However, you assured him that you can defend yourself well enough now. After all, you never have a handgun too far away from your grasp at all times.

He’s trained you well.

Your shared apartment is more than safe, and you’ve successfully removed the bad taste in Leon’s mouth regarding the place. The walls have pictures of you two together and your plants thrive under the sun they gain from the large windows. Your couches are strewn with unique little pillows and hand-knit blankets and are large enough for both of you to sprawl out on movie nights.

It's warm, no longer cold and empty and bare in the ways that made his disdain for his own existence grow.

The bookshelves are full of novels of all kinds, though the most precious book resides in your nightstand.

A little black journal whose pages weren’t even used up all the way.

Leon had taken the time to read it thoroughly afterward when the minutes weren't counting down to your demise. You had sat right next to him, chin hooked over his shoulder as the tears welled hotly in his eyes at the messy emotions you had leaked onto the pages with your pen. You’d kissed them all away, assured him that things have changed, and promised that it was all in the past.

No regrets, no doubts, no more monsters.

The rational part of your head reminds you that all those reports waiting for you at the office tomorrow would be a pain in the ass. It doesn’t matter, though. Right now, the present matters, and right now, Leon was with you.

He was here with you after a night of drinking sitting in a car with matching dopey grins and flushed cheeks, totally and completely in love.

“I love you,” Leon murmurs affectionately.

"I love you too,” you return, just as enamored.

People could stare through the car lights, watch you, and whisper, but their opinions didn’t matter–not when you had an eternity of a lifetime ahead of you with him.

The matching wedding bands on your and Leon’s ring fingers agree.

[e-dubbc11]

Devil May Cry

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F! Reader

Warnings: Ooh ok, so mentions of domestic abuse, blood, violence, crying

Word Count: 1.8k-ish

Summary: The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen helps a woman being hurt by her boyfriend. He doesn’t expect what happens after and he needs emotional help from you.

A/N: So the song Devil May Cry by the Weeknd was the inspiration for this one (hence the title). I wrote it kinda quickly and I’m a little uneasy just because I haven’t written for Matt in awhile so I’m scared that it sucks. But anyway, I hope you like it.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The late night sky sparkled like a carpet of diamonds up above him, he could tell it was a clear night and the cool air gently kissed his lips as he listened closely for sounds of distress.

The low soft whimpering, it was all he could hear. With a quick head tilt in the direction the cries came from, he tried to decipher exactly where she was. The wind picked up force as he perched on a rooftop nearby which made it difficult to pinpoint her location.

He could feel how scared she was by the rapid beating of her heart and the prayer fleeing from her lips in a muted whisper.

As he jumped to another rooftop, her cries rang a little louder in his ears. He was close. Inching toward the edge of the roof, her sobs and shallow breathing subsided and he quietly climbed down the fire escape to listen more intently.

He sensed her window was open so he stayed back and out of sight. The panic he heard in her voice before finding her, pleading with him not to hurt her but he did anyway. The smell of copper from her bloody lip and the salt from her tears floated by his nose as he heard her say to herself,

“I should have had dinner ready on time. He didn’t mean it.”

The Devil knew her boyfriend had left after hitting her. He heard them arguing blocks away. It wasn’t her fault he had a bad day at work, yet she apologized for it anyway. Dinner wasn’t ready when he wanted it to be which only made him angrier and that’s when it happened.

The kitchen chair fell over as he grabbed his jacket and walked out, leaving her to clean up the mess. The dinner she worked so hard on, hoping he would like it, now lay scattered across the floor as she carefully picked up the broken pieces of the plate and ignoring the dried tears that stained her cheeks. She had to clean this up before he came back.

There wasn’t anything he could do after the fact. But if he hurt her once, he’d definitely try to do it again.

“I’ll come back…” He said in a low growl toward the open window but too quiet for her to hear.

The next night, the Devil waited patiently on her rooftop. With a slight tilt of his head, he listened carefully for the familiar footsteps he remembered hearing leaving the apartment. She was cooking him dinner again. He inhaled the strong scents of garlic, onion, and Italian seasoning, and the marinara sauce simmering in the pot on the stove smelled heavenly.

And then he heard them, the heavy footsteps of her boyfriend coming home from work so he once again climbed down the fire escape and waited outside her window. The Devil could tell dinner wasn’t quite ready yet because she was scrambling to finish before he walked through the door but it was too late.

Again, he asked why it wasn’t ready on time and he said again, he had a bad day at work. The Devil could feel her heart beating out of her chest, even her body temperature had risen but he wasn’t going to hurt her tonight, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen would make sure of that.

The hooded figure stepped out into the light of the dimly lit apartment, taking both of them by surprise and warning him not to touch her again. He took a swing at the Devil but ended up flat on his back and a hand around his throat, again with another warning to just stay down and if he doesn’t want him to come back, he will do what the Devil says. Terrified, the boyfriend agrees and her rescuer is pleased…for now.

He made sure she was ok, reminded her that she doesn’t have to stay and it would actually be safer for her if she didn’t but he couldn’t make her and so she thanked him and he disappeared into the night.

After a long night of patrolling, he found his way back to your apartment, and feeling like he made a difference tonight. He saved her from being hurt again and he was able to come home to you.

A slight smirk played across his lips as he cleaned himself up as best he could without your help, he hated to wake you when you were sleeping so soundly. Your steady heartbeat was music to his ears as he climbed into bed next to you, pulling your body close to his, a low hum escaping your lips but he knew he didn’t disturb your sleep.

His lips ghosted over your bare shoulder before placing a soft kiss on your warm skin. He inhaled the scent of your shampoo as he buried his nose in your hair, a familiar scent of home that calmed him and helped him tune out all of the late night car alarms, the neon lights that emitted the slightest of sounds, and the sound of glass being broken on the sidewalk below. All of those late night city sounds were muted as soon as he spooned up behind you.

That’s when his name fell from your lips in a quiet moan.

“Mmmm…Matty.”

His lips turned up into a slight smile at the sound of his name as you slept, the most important person to him in Hell’s Kitchen was safely asleep next to him.

His last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of her, hoping she was alright, hoping that she left him…maybe she will sleep soundly at least for tonight.

He would check on her again tomorrow.

**********

He heard sirens echoing in between buildings on his walk home from work, they were coming from her building and he panicked.

After asking a police officer what happened, they told him a woman was being taken to the hospital…They didn’t even have to say it, Matt just knew the boyfriend had hurt her again.

He listened as the wheels of the stretcher rolled down the long hallway and out the door where the ambulance was waiting to take her away. He heard them talking inside the ambulance, she was going to be alright.

He was still angry though, his fist clenched tightly around the top of his cane and the line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. His cheeks flared with anger for the rest of his walk home and tears burned the back of his eyes behind his red tinted glasses that he aggressively pushed up the bridge of his nose.

He needed you.

As he got closer to home, he heard music coming from the apartment so you were either cleaning or cooking. Given the time, it was probably the latter and he listened closely to the lyrics.

… It won't be in vain

To swallow all your pain

And learn to love what burns

And gather courage to return

… Faces in the crowd

Faces in the crowd will smile again

And the devil may cry

The devil may cry at the end of the night

You called out to him when you heard him unlock the door.

“Hi Matty, you hungry? I made din—“

You stopped when you saw the look on his face, the anger and the frustration. His knuckles were white from clenching his fists as he walked toward you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“Hey, hey handsome. What’s wrong?” You asked, stroking his soft brown hair.

He removed his glasses and the sadness behind his beautiful amber eyes broke your heart.

“Sweetheart…he hurt her again. She went to the hospital this time and I couldn’t stop it.” He said in almost a whisper.

“Who?” You asked. “Someone on your route?”

“I saved her from her boyfriend last night. I told her she should leave, that she would be safer that way if he didn’t know where she was.” He said in his low gravelly voice, licking his lips as he went in to hug you again.

“Matty…I know you want to but you can’t make them leave. They have to want to—as much as you want to, you can’t save everyone, baby.”

… The light will shine through the rain

And heaven will hear them call your name

And home will feel like home again

Corruption will fill your brain

All you could do is stand there, holding him and reassuring him he was doing good things, making his streets safer. Squeezing his body against yours, you felt the muscles in his shoulders start to relax a little, his shallow breaths slowing down, and his heart beating up against yours.

“That’s it, Matty. It’s ok.” You said. “Is she going to be ok?”

Matt trusted you with his secret, all you had asked from him was that he was careful, to value his own life and remember that there are people in his life that do care whether he lives or dies. You knew he was making a difference but that he had to take the bad as well as the good and this time he had to take the bad.

He pulled away from the crook in your neck.

“Uh, yeah—yeah I heard them talking inside the ambulance. They said she would be ok. But I could smell the blood, a lot of blood. It was bad, sweetheart.” He said with a hitch in his voice.

You wiped away the tear that slid down his cheek. Matt was fearless and strong yet sensitive, he just wanted her and everyone else he tried to protect to be alright.

… Faces in the crowd

Faces in the crowd will smile again

And the devil may cry

The devil may cry at the end of the night

You leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, brushed the stubble on his face with your thumbs, and a little smile spread across your face.

The man in front of you fought hard every night to protect the weak, to try and make it safer for people to walk down the streets at night, but he never actually thought about if anyone was going to be there for him when he was too late to save them.

As much as his city needed him, Matt needed saving too. He needed to be saved from the guilt he carried especially from “what if?” situations.

What if he had forced her to leave? Would it have saved her from the monster that put his hands on her? Maybe, maybe not. You don’t know, and he didn’t either.

“You did what you could, Matthew. Remember, some things are just out of your control and they’re in someone else’s hands.” You reminded him.

Matt nodded, he knew you were right. “What would I do without you, sweetheart?”

Trying to make him smile, you came back with a sarcastic answer. “Not be able to find things in the back of the cupboard?” You giggled.

A sly smirk stretched across his lips and he let out a little chuckle.

“Very true.” He said, inched his face closer, and gently pressed his lips against yours “I love you.”

“I love you too, Matty.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @munsonownsmyass @saintmurd0ck @elgrandeavocados @freshabogados @gijos @chezagnes @matt-erialgirl

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @pedrito-friskito @mattmurdocksscars @albatrossandivys

Thank you for reading, I appreciate it! I’ve only tagged a handful of people, just because there seems to be lack of interaction here especially on my Matt fics. If you liked it, you can tell me, I don’t bite

[simply-hyacinth]

This might be too much to ask but could you do an L fanfiction where he finds out the reader has body issues (specifically a shy, female reader) . I have stretch marks, faded s.h. Scars, and on top of that, a face I’m not very proud of. I’ve never had anyone like me in return and i think my appearance might be a reason along with my mental problems so it makes me very insecure 🤣. I just want to know what it’s like to have someone care about me regardless of my insecurities. I probably am not making any sense though

I might revisit this and rewrite it again another time. I was trying to think of how L would react to such a thing, and he seems to be the type to simply dismiss it with a "Well I'm not even dating you for your looks", but that's obviously not the kindest thing to hear, so I tried to rethink it a bit. I apologize if it's messy and not quite what you wanted. Again, I'm not the most wonderful at these, but I do try my best.

You had decided to take the day off to spend it with L. He was so rarely in town that you felt it was best if you were able to make the most of your time with him when he was. Despite your conscious efforts to restrain yourself from asking him about his work and what was causing those awful dark circles underneath his eyes, your facial expressions gave away your silent questions anyways.

“It is nothing to worry about,” He stated simply. “Just a particularly difficult month.”

“Do you need anything?” You asked him quietly.

He shook his head softly. “I would much rather just enjoy my time with you while I can. I should thank you for taking me here, before I forget.”

You had thought it would be nice to have a little picnic with him in the park. The trees were a plethora of vibrant reds and oranges, and you and L were both dressed in hand-knitted sweaters that you may or may not have forced him to wear.

The sleeves of your sweater were long enough to cover up the scars that you feared he would see, and you were careful not to roll them up around him.

After the picnic and a little walk around the park, the two of you headed back to your apartment. The chilly fall air stung your cheeks as you walked, and despite your hand being tucked into L’s, it was still beginning to freeze over.

The warmth from your apartment was a welcome feeling, but one you quickly realized was overbearing in your thicker sweater. L had already taken his off, leaving him in nothing but the plain white shirt he had been wearing when he arrived.

“That’s new.”

“Hmm?” You asked, looking towards where he was pointing. A little framed picture of the two of you - the only picture you had of the both of you - sat on your bookshelf, centered amongst several other little objects. Your face burned with embarrassment. “Oh, sorry.”

“For what?” He mused, walking over to it. “Oh, I remember this day. You tried jelly-filled donuts for the first time.”

That was not how you remembered the day. You recalled staring into the mirror for over an hour, picking at every miniscule detail about yourself, so worried that he would notice all the flaws that you saw in yourself every day.

But, it was the only picture you had with him, so regardless of the memories, it got framed.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I remember every interaction with you.” He responded softly before looking over. “It’s quite warm in here. Is the sweater not making you too hot?”

“I don’t mind.” You lied, very much burning up underneath the heavy material. You shuffled towards the kitchen and tried to change the subject. “Do you want dinner?”

He nodded, regarding you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

Throughout the rest of the night, you weren’t quite able to disguise your discomfort as well as you thought you could, even after turning the heat down. You didn’t have any clean long sleeve shirts to change into, so you were stuck with the sweater.

And L - oh, lovely and observable L, had quickly noticed your anxiety, although he did not speak on it until later into the evening.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”

You turned around swiftly, eyes wide. “No! No, not at all! Why would you think that?”

“You seem terribly nervous, much more than when we were out earlier. I wasn’t sure if I had done something to cause it. I would not have said anything had you not lectured me previously about my lack of communication.” He pressed his thumb to his lips, not quite meeting your eyes as he spoke.

A warm flush bloomed in your cheeks and you couldn’t look at him. “It’s not that. It’s something else.”

“Elaborate?”

“It’s dumb, really.” You said quickly, half waving it away with your hand.

“I can be the judge of that.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, despite the growing heat. “I just…uh, I’m not the biggest fan of how I look I suppose. I wear a lot of sweaters and jackets to cover up what I’m not comfortable with, and I didn’t want you to see anything. Which is stupid, I know,” You cut him off before he can speak. “But you just tend to notice everything, and this was one thing I didn’t want you to.”

L was quiet for a minute, and then he let out a low chuckle, much to your surprise. You stared at him in shock. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Not at all.” He straightened up,something he didn’t do often. “I was not aware that you thought this was something I would care about.”

Your face was burning now, your moment of vulnerability cut through by his reaction. “Well, I mean - wait what?”

He shrugged. “I have had similar thoughts, if I am honest with you. I am certainly not physically appealing - “

“That’s not true at all.” You retorted.

“In that case, would you believe me if I said you were the most beautiful person to me?” His words were casual, so casual that you wondered what kind of conversation you were even having. “To continue to be honest, I never gave much consideration to the way you looked.”

“Wow, okay.”

“Oh? So you like me purely for my body then?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“No!” You said with such force that it sounded more like an insult than you realized. “I mean, no, I liked you for your personality.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “The same holds true for me about you. Which is why you are the most beautiful person to me. I have never met anyone quite like you.”

“You haven’t properly met many women at all.” You muttered. “Wait, go back to that beautiful thing?”

He looked you in the eye now. “Would you believe me if I said that I love you regardless of whatever flaws you may think you have?”

You try not to stutter over your words as you respond. “I - I guess. If you believe the same for me - that I love you despite how you look as well.”

He gave you a delicate little smile. “Thank you.”

You sighed with relief. You knew he wouldn’t have left you for your looks, but hearing him tell you that he loved you no matter what you looked like was a reassurance regardless. 

It also meant that you could take this awfully hot sweater off without worry.

[aquaticsoul]

The not-human's pronunciation of his name is uncertain and accented but correct enough for him to nod a response even admist the unexpected apology.

He's not used to those yet. Used to giving them, certainly, but receiving them... it still feels strange.

So does sitting in a chair.

Even the most mundane actions feel completely foreign to him. His instincts are constantly fighting against years of conditioning and the effects of an ongoing storm he still has yet to decipher the forecast of. It's often difficult to tell which side is which and it tends to make him feel more heavy-headed than anything when he has to ask Aamunkoitto about it, but he's starting to see for himself that maybe it isn't stupidity.

Being grounded and out of a nest for a decade is enough to make any Misterican lose their mind, is it not?

A soft hum of affirmation leaves him as he takes the seat offered.

He can't help but notice that Cid's eyes are almost the same color as his father's. Indigo, but just a little lighter.

It helps him feel a little more at ease, somehow. Any shade of purple always has.

Maybe, in some sort of odd cosmic irony, everything is exactly as it should be. Perhaps there's something more there to think about later.

"I don't hold it against you. I'd rather know he has people who care for him," he replies. "I'd always worried about that when he was small. The only people he spoke to were those in the palace, and only Usva - his brother - was anywhere near his age. He wasn't allowed out to play with other children in the kingdom... granted, I was barely an adult myself when our bind was cast. I'd just turned twenty-five. The others here had already been there."

It's been so long since he's done this. Just spoken to speak for no other reason.

He hasn't gotten to go strike up any conversation with the other binds yet. It's not that he doesn't want to, of course, it's just...

There's no way to make himself stop being scared of their reactions. He's not sure he can handle dismissiveness again, even if it wasn't intentional. He isn't angry at them, but he certainly finds it difficult to approach them with anything more than silence when everything in his nervous system tells him they like him a lot more when he's quiet and submissive.

Still, he does want to talk. Still, he's almost unbearably lonely. He takes his time to get anywhere with his concerns, choosing instead to continue on this little side path of a subject.

"... He was five. And he loved to tell everyone. He'd hold up his hand and it'd be almost the first thing you'd get to know about him. It's hard to believe he's... thirty-three now. I honestly expected him to be twenty-five or so, but there wasn't... there was no way for me to know how much time was passing..."

He pauses, forcing himself to fight off any sign of discomfort before it gets worse. Can he not just stay on a good subject?

"Um - anyway... why I came in here... I wanted to -"

Deep breaths. His head finally drops.

"I wanted to ask if I could get out of that room I'm in so maybe I could be somewhere closer to the others... but... I don't want to impose more than I have already."

( @aquaticsoul ) ->

🛠️ + Is it strange to be wrapped up in a blanket while he wanders the halls? Maybe. But the blanket smells like Revon. It makes him feel safer, almost like armor in its own right. Safer and confident enough to peer into the open door of Cid's office. He'd found it by asking the bird, so hopefully it's not too weird to show up. He floats in as quietly as he can manage, eyeing the various incomplete projects and papers scattered around the place. He still isn't used to human customs, so he's not sure what's rude and what's not, but... something primal in him says that Cid is far from human anyway. There's no way to understand the pull, but perhaps he doesn't need to. He has far more pressing questions now that he's got his voice back. "... Hello," he starts, forcing himself to look up instead of at the floor. "Um... Do... Do you have a moment to spare?"

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ He's not a expecting a visitor in his office beyond Kain or Kumo but he won't say they aren't welcome. A voice he can't say he recognizes as indigo eyes look up from their current project - graphs and paperwork spread out before him. At least now has a general idea why Kumo is so tired all the time but he wishes he knew what the cause of the damage is.

People don't shatter but apparently Kumo does. There has to be a way to fix this.

So he's combing through every medical file and document he's amassed on the Misterican to see if he can find the dip or the crack or the place that everything went wrong but as far as he knows those scars have always been there - just never that big before.

Somehow they're getting bigger and somehow that means there is probably some crazy Chaos involved magic happening that is killing his friend on a cosmic level and he can't say he very much likes the idea. It makes it something he can't solve and he doesn't like it when problems show up that he can't fix with his hands.

What kind of doctor can't help his patient?

He doesn't like this - he doesn't like it one bit... But speaking of patients one of Kumo's family members has come wandering into his office with a voice that sounds as good as new. As if healed overnight by more magic he can't begin to understand. Mistericans really are mysterious creatures.

"Oh uh - of course." The inventor sounds as he sets up a little straighter in his seat and motions to the other one just to the side of his desk. "You can set down if you like. It's ... Sielu, right? Hey listen, sorry about what I said earlier. I was mad and I get really protective of Kumo... But I'm sure you do. I never should have ragged on your family. I know you all mean the world to him, so... I just wanted to apologize. What did you need?"

[edgyandoverzealous]

Characters that remind me of me S/O pt 2

Electric boogaloo because it's me. Duh. And give me the opportunity and I will not hesitate to compare them because my partner is hella neat and I love them. Informal analysis you know the drill. A bit more annoying this time because I'm a brat I 'spose. @moltenatlas I love youuu.

The Narrator - The Stanley Parable

• no one should be surprised. No one.

• With the amount of bullshit puns, pickup lines, pouting, and overall annoyances I dish out on the regular?

• They don't get paid enough tm for my chaos but they love me anyways.

• note: payment does not exist unless you count the compiled monster energies, presents, and affection I as a simp and clingy boyfriend have so graciously provided. *many tiny bows*

• A witty, sarcastic, dry/situationally humored chatterbox??

• I'll take them! *Slams money on the table* Please! I'm a good listener, or I at least try, I promise. Oh I got them around ten months ago? Fuck yeah, concrete!

• made me choke from laughter on three different occasions. A particular goose bit robbed my breathing privileges for two blocks. </3

• much like the Stanley Parable closet ending/ the jumping of the moving platform interaction.

• Also you know the look that we know the narrator is doing behind his voice... I've seen it and I've apologized through nervous giggles every. single. time.

• nice voice nice voice nice voice. <3

• don't know about you, but I could listen to the narrator for hours, you know who else I could listen to for hours? YUP. You guessed it.

• this is here almost purely because I compared them to the narrator verbally before and it seemed to be taken /neg. Listen here, Love, the narrator from tsp is legitimately the best. Shhhh.

Brady - teen beach movie

• okay so hear me out. It's their favorite movie okay and it's legitimately good so stfu sheesh.

• This blonde has rottmnt Leo vibes. Low key.

• But also slightly oblivious in everyday expressions such as analogies or turn of phrases rather but overly competent in romantic settings and can sing well?

•hmm wonder who that's like, oh wait *staresatthemstaresatthemstaresatthem*

• Selkirk Rex cat vibes the both of them sweet and soft.

•additionally loud sunshine blonde trope anyone? *holds up my relationship* because I found it. Actually no, actually this one's mine.

• You know what else? They're both good at deciphering poorly communicating messes. *coughs me and Mack coughs*

• Blerg day where speaking and verbalizing needs and wants is hard, it's cool. Because apparently somewhere down the line of knowing me, my partner figured out what my noises of acknowledgement, stuttering or otherwise, means. They know me like the back of their hand apparently. Show offish if you ask me. But it genuinely is really sweet and highly appreciated. I'm sorry I'm difficult. ; H ;

• have you ever seen eyes so pretty when they light up over something?

• A sweetheart. The biggest actually.

• He's just so understanding and caring like someone else I know.

Stella - Lemonade Mouth

• my rebel *swoons* <3

• Both are likely to encourage arson and someone would fucking do it.

• Whether that 'someone' is me or not depends entirely on outside factors. Such as time of day, location, and----

• Starting with the obvious

• plays guitar

• Who else relates to all of this? The love of my life, exactly.

• Stella uses what I call "with cherries on top tactics" which is essentially asking really nicely with a few whistles and bells. A sweeter tone. Ect. to convince her fellow bandmates into things. The love of my life also is prone to doing this. Ie: the amount of times I've complied to something because a couple pet names or a softly toned "please" were thrown in. I am a very weak man.

• sarcasmmmmm

• the lookssss. She's so prettyyy, like someone else I love very much.

• she thinks she's funny and she's right because she commits to the bit.

• you know who else thinks they're funny and are right? yeah. exactly.

• Rightfully so, but also convincing cocky bastard. You may say that confidence is feigned but I would still follow you to the ends of the earth so it's at the very least believable and earned.

Wednesday - Netflix's Wednesday

• Shout out to my little sister who made me provide in depth reasoning to why I think Wednesday Addams From Netflix's Wednesday is neat therefore giving me the analysis work done already.

• Also as spoiler-free as possible because my partner wants to watch Wednesday and hasn't yet. Aka nothing major to the plot mentioned.

• She has on multiple occasions threatened bodily harm or murder to those who have wronged those she cares about though a select few. Hmm I wonder who else has done that? My partner mayhaps towards my abusers.

• She's dorky and passionate about her interests, of which are obscure, and is nonjudgmental of others' interests. My partner also has what one may call obscure taste but mine are too. We just kinda ping-pong each other's interests and it's wonderful.

• She has a competitive streak and is a good musician. You know who else does this? Yeah. Exactly.

• She also has good dry humor and sarcasm aka the love of my life.

• what can I say, I like competitive musician oddballs. They are charming.

Willow - The owl house

• This entire thing is projecting but this one reflects more of myself bc call me Hunter I am traumatized and in love.

• Aka they're stuck with a sad-blonde trope if dirty blondes count because that's what's under the years worth of hair dye.

• Strong strong strong.

• Appears fearless. Even when she's not she stands tall and takes a lead. Awfully familiar if you ask me.

• bad vision. wait wait wait I'm sorry.

• Likes plants and flowers. Knows a lot about them too. It's neat and impressive. Dare I say cute? I do I dare.

• Witch???? Withc?? Counterclockwise stirred tea motherfuckers.

• Good at comforting people even if she doesn't quite think she is. IE: When Willow first meets Gus, he's having a panic attack in the same room Willow actively hides in to get away from it all. She tries to comfort him by waving a horrifying abomination at him but she then teaches him a breathing technique once she's assessed the situation. This can apply to my partner as well because they aren't super confident in their comforting ability yet during any given one of my meltdowns they have consistently offer things of comfort such as a hug and then have done a check in for basic needs such as if I've eaten.

Annabeth Chase - Pjo hoo

• Not gonna lie this one right here legitimately scares me. Because I am an og pjo fan and since I was in 3rd grade I've wanted what Percabeth has and as a Percy kin from the very beginning I now finally have that and I am terrified of losing it.

• Legitimately going to cry over this as I write it. Also the reason this took so don't tell anyone shhh.

• *cough cough* anyways so...

• Smarts. Even though she still struggles with learning Annabeth is incredibly bright in practical knowledge as well excelling in certain subjects due to an interest in said subjects. A lot like someone near and dear to me. In their case Language Arts and any science but especially chemistry.

• Tense and complex family situations. If you've read the books, you know and the situations have strong parallels as I remember. I'm sorry to point it out but it's been fairly on topic recently and I worry about it and you.

• The love of my life loves reading. They are more proficient in reading than anyone I've ever met. Whether it's comprehension or just the speed of reading it never fails to be impressive. If you hand Annabeth anything written in Greek she's the same way.

• The following few may just be headcannons/subtext but hear me out.

• When Annabeth hyperfixates on something she then immediately starts branching out hypotheticals. Aka, in my partners case, AUs and headcannons.

• I'm willing to bet almost anything that Annabeth prefers her coffee less sweet than most allowing the caffeine to be a part of the flavor profile and to feel a fuller affect of said caffeine. Though she prefers tea over all. Aka, just like my partner.

• Honest af. No beating around the bush and is quite logically sound. A lot like someone else I know.

• As Annabeth is to Percy and vice versa I view my partner as my lifeline. It's no speculation that Percy and Annabeth have been through a lot from familial issues, near death experiences, and literally going to hell and back with each othervfor each other, the fact that they are each other's lifeline is a definite. I can't speak fully for the other person, obviously, but I'm 65-70% sure it's mutual. Idk though so don't quote me. But personally my partner has helped me through some dark times and a good share of breakdowns. From being my first long term friend after the incident leading me to this point to becoming the first truly positive interaction I've had romantically I can confidently say they've made a major impact on my path to recovery and words cannot describe how thankful I am for that nor how much they mean to me.