#but ashley has no intentions she's just there alone. so so alone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hheaven-sentt · 1 year ago

Text

heaven is not fit

summary: what does it take to be loved? | bodyguard!leon x f!reader

word count: ~8.5k

warnings: mentions of violence, leon is kinda mean for like two seconds, strong language, mild trauma bonding (i guess??), not beta'd, incredibly mild angst (like fr you have to squint)

notes: this is sort of old and has already been posted to ao3 if you'd rather have a look there

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“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” you hiss. Your father’s face scrunches up.

“Language,” he mends, holding a hand up. “It’s just a precaution. He’ll be responsible for public spaces, taking you places, the like,”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Dad, I’m an adult. I’m pretty sure I can take care of myself. The last thing I need is some stranger on my detail,”

Your father runs a hand over his worn features. He’s tired, you can tell. “I’m not making the same mistake twice,”

Ashley. She lives with her friends now, rather than alone, so there’s no real need to supervise her. Your heart twists with a twinge of guilt, but you hold your ground. “I’m not happy about this,”

“I didn’t expect you to be,” he says. “But, you’ll play by the rules, at least for me. For my sake, dove,”

You frown. “Fine,”

You meet him in a random conference room. He’s tall, with sharp features and blue eyes. He doesn’t seem friendly, which makes your mouth sour. He doesn’t speak through the introduction, just sort of stares straight ahead, like he’d rather be anywhere else. You don’t blame him. It’s not exactly a promotion he’s getting. You barely catch his name when he says it.

Leon.

It suits him, you think. You want to ask what his middle name is, if it’s as fitting as his first, but you don’t. Instead, you toe the carpet, listening to your father drone on about rules.

“Dovie, I’m serious,” he says, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t go anywhere alone, got it?”

“Got it,”

Despite your sickly sweet voice and feigned sincerity, you have no intention of keeping that promise. The ride to your apartment is silent. You notice that Leon drives with one hand, the other perched on the gear shift. When he stops outside your building, you hesitate for a moment before reaching for the handle, just in case he has something to say. As you shoulder the door, he grabs your elbow.

“Call if there’s an emergency,” he says. His voice is low timbred and honey sweetened, coating your nerves in warmth. You can only nod in response. He releases your arm, the tension from the area slipping away.

You hurry into your building, and you notice he waits until you’re through the door to drive off. It comforts you in a way. You make your way into your apartment. There’s a distinct heat on your neck when you enter, one that you hope disappears with a long shower. When it doesn’t, you find yourself staring at the phone. What would happen if you did call him? There wasn’t an emergency, unless you count this sudden bout of loneliness as an emergency. Would he show up? How is it any different than calling the police?

Six hours have passed since being demoted to babysat. You’ve been shuffled between rooms to meet with people, answer questions you don’t understand, and fight with your father. You find that being surrounded by people all day has made you exhausted. You take a breath, but jump when your phone vibrates.

“Hey, Ashley,” you say, sighing.

“Did you meet him?” she asks. You almost laugh.

“Yeah,” you say. “He doesn’t talk much,”

“No, he doesn’t,” she says. You can hear her friends laughing somewhere in the background. “You gotta get him to open up before he starts talking,”

“I can’t imagine that’ll be easy to do,” you huff. Ashley laughs. “He seems kinda stuck in his ways,”

“He is,” she agrees. “He’s…been through a lot. But, he’s a good guy. I think you’ll like him,”

You glance out the window at the rain. You wonder if it ever rained like this in Spain. “Well, if you trust him, so do I,”

…

You don’t see Leon for a week. You almost think he’s quit, but you know he doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. You consider calling him, just to see if he’d really show up, but you decide not to test it.

Instead, you go about your life normally. You go to work, you see friends, you buy groceries. You pretend you don’t have a babysitter.

On Monday, when you return home from work, you spot Leon’s car outside your building. Rolling your eyes, you prepare for the worst, and work your way into the building. Sure enough, he’s sitting on your couch when you enter your apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, closing the door behind you. He doesn’t look at you.

“You haven’t called,” he says. You roll your eyes again.

“You said to call if there was an emergency,” you explain, cocking a brow. “There hasn’t been one,”

“You shouldn’t walk to work alone,” he continues. He turns his head finally, staring at you with the same stoic expression you first saw on him. You blink at him.

“How do you know I walk alone?” you ask. “Have you been following me?”

He nods. “It’s my job,”

You sigh, turning away. “Definitely not creepy,”

“Have you noticed anything weird?” he asks, standing to follow you into your kitchen.

“Other than you? No, I haven’t,” you say. He doesn’t laugh, not that you expected him to. “Seriously, I haven’t noticed anything amiss,”

He nods. “Good,”

He turns to leave, and you raise your eyebrows, surprised at the quickness of the interaction. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter. “That’s it,”

“You don’t want to, like, scope out the area?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Make sure no weirdos are lurking behind my curtains?”

“Do you think there are?” he asks, looking at you. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I mean, no,” you say.

“Then I won’t waste your time,” he says. “You’re an adult. I trust that you can take care of yourself,”

With that, he leaves. You’re taken aback at his cut and dry attitude. You would’ve thought he would be more hands on, given what you know about his time with Ashley. You choose to ignore it; you should be grateful he’s not up your ass. He said it himself, you’re an adult. You can take care of yourself. It’s not his fault–or yours–that no one else seemed to agree. He has plenty of other things he can spend his time doing besides watching your every move.

Which is why, the following morning, you’re surprised to see Leon waiting outside beside his car. You look around before crossing the street to him. Without a word, he opens the passenger door.

“I take it I’m not allowed to walk alone anymore?” you say, ignoring his gesture. He stares at you.

“Rules are rules,” he says. You roll your eyes, filing into the vehicle.

He joins you a moment later. You ignore the heat on your neck when he brushes his hand against your knee to reach for something in the glovebox.

“I’ve been walking this way for years,” you protest. “I don’t need a ride,”

“You don’t have a choice,” he says, cutting a glance at you. He almost makes a wrong turn before you correct him. “I make the rules, you follow them,”

“And rule number one is: don’t walk to work by myself?” you ask, annoyance lacing your tone.

“Well, rule number one is actually to call me if something’s wrong,” he corrects. “But, this is rule number two,”

The rest of the ride is silent. Leon doesn’t so much as glance at you, which almost upsets you. He pulls up to the curb outside of your workplace, and throws the car into park.

“What time do you get off?” he asks, finally looking at you. There’s a gentle tone to his voice, one that throws you off guard.

“Four,” you say. “I’ll be off at four,”

“I’ll be outside,” he says. At this, you exit the car, rounding it before entering the building. He waits for you to get inside before driving off. You wonder what he’ll be doing for the next eight hours. If his job is to follow you around, that means he doesn’t have another job to get to, so what does he do? You wonder what he does when he’s at home.

“Since when did you have a chauffeur?” Marnie asks, jabbing your shoulder.

“Since now,” you say, still looking out the window.

Four o’clock rolls around sooner than you expect. You find yourself a little excited to sit in the car; it’s a nice change of pace. As expected, Leon’s waiting outside the building when you walk out. Again, he’s leaning against the car, waiting for you. When he sees you, you think he’s going to smile. Your shoulders deflate when he doesn’t. Instead, he jerks his head in a gesture to hurry up. You cross the street, and he rounds the car to the passenger side.

“I can open the door myself,” you say. He looks at you.

“I do it for show,” he bites. You swallow, stunned by the harshness of his tone. You allow him to open the door for you.

The ride is silent. Again, he doesn’t look at you. You can feel the tension about him, the way his shoulders are square and strong. His knuckles are almost white from the way he’s holding the steering wheel. You ignore the guilt that brews in your stomach.

“Call me if there’s an emergency,” he says. You nod, hurrying out of the car to avoid any further conversation. Again, he waits until you’re in the building to leave. You wonder if that’s a gentlemanly habit or a job habit.

…

It’s Friday night, and you’re going out with friends. You stare in the mirror, like you have for the last half hour, analyzing the intricacies of your outfit. You can’t decide if you like it or not. You tug at the shirt again, wondering if you should change. There’s a knock at the door. You huff, deciding that the outfit will have to do.

You’re not sure who you expect to be at the door, but it’s not Leon. He looks collected, jacket slung over his shoulders, hair framing his face. He looks normal, not like a man constantly working. He blinks at you.

“Where’re you going?” he asks. You sigh.

“Hello to you, too, Leon,” you say. “I’m going out with a few friends,”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to ask permission for things,”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You can practically feel the anger radiating off of him. “You kind of do, actually. So I can be where I need to be,”

“Well, I don’t need you to be anywhere,” you bite. He frowns. “I can take care of myself,”

At this, you go to shut the door, but he stops it with his foot. He pushes his way into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Look,” he says, voice low and gentle. “I get it. But I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let your stubborn independence get in the way, alright?”

You stare at him. “Stop being such an asshole, and I’ll think about it,”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of playfulness to it. “Sure, deal,”

Leon doesn’t follow you into the bar, and if he actually does, he makes it so that you can’t see him. You spend the evening laughing and enjoying yourself, which is relieving. You needed a break from everything. Your friends ask about the fact that you got a ride here, rather than walking.

“My feet have been killing me lately,” you lie. “And have you seen these shoes? I’d probably die ten feet from my building,”

When you’re sufficiently drunk, you call Leon. It’s the first time that you’ve actually called him, rather than just expecting him to show up. He’s kind enough to act like he’s not in the vicinity, and you pretend that he’s not. Instead, you lie to yourself and say that he drives very fast. He’s standing outside the bar, waiting for you again.

“My hero,” you say, voice flighty and gentle. “I shouldn’t have worn these shoes,”

He doesn’t answer, just helps you into the car. You ramble about your night on the drive home, not giving him the room to answer because you know he won’t.

“Did you learn to drive on a manual?” you mumble, whirring your head away from the window to look at him. He glances at you.

“What?”

“A manual,” you say again. “Manual transmission. You drive with your hand on the shift, like you’ll need to use it at any given moment. In an automatic, you don’t need to do that, but in a manual you do. So, if you learned to drive on a manual, you would’ve picked up that habit,”

He doesn’t respond for a long while. His eyes are focused on the road ahead of him. Finally, he says, “Yeah, I did,”

You feel satisfied with yourself, surprised that you were able to figure that out. “You have a lot of habits like that,”

“Name some,” he says, cutting a glance at you.

You take in a breath. “You wait outside before leaving so you can make sure I get into my building safely. You bite the inside of your cheek when you’re thinking about something. You square your shoulders in public, like you’re prepared to shoot,”

“You’re observant,” he says. You grin.

“Gotta know who I’m spending time with,” you reply, grinning wildly and returning your focus to the window.

You almost ask him to keep driving when your apartment building comes into view. There’s an air of understanding and comfort in the car, and you’re worried you’ll never see it again once you leave. You hope he doesn’t notice your disappointment when he pulls over.

“Do you need help getting in?” he asks. The gentle tone is back, and you pretend, for a moment, that he genuinely cares. You shake your head.

He watches you almost fall out of the car, stumbling on your tall heels and drunken legs. You right yourself, flashing him a smile. He returns it, then follows you out of the car.

“I can make it,” you say, balancing against his car. When you almost fall again, he’s there to catch you. His hands fall against your waist with ease, like they’re meant to be there. You feel heat flush your cheeks, and you almost move away. He steadies you, giving you a look to make sure you’re alright.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, still smiling faintly.

“I’ve never seen you smile before,” you say. “You should do it more, it’s nice,”

Leon looks beautiful in pink, cheeks reddened and round. When he releases you, you consider falling again just so he’ll return. Instead, you gesture for him to follow you into the building, which he does. Although the stairs are a tough bet, you manage to stumble up them. You swear you hear Leon huff a laugh behind you when you stagger.

At your door, you pat your pockets in order to find your key. Sensing your loss, Leon holds out the key he has. You accept it gratefully, turning the knob to make sure it’s actually locked.

Your heart sinks to find it unlocked.

“Did you forget to lock it?” he asks, voice hushed. You turn to him, fear evident on your face, and shake your head. He steps between you and the door, and holds a hand out to tell you to stay put. You find yourself willing to listen.

He enters the apartment slowly, quietly. You pretend there isn’t a gun in his hand. He rounds the corner into the kitchen, and you catch his frame again when he crosses the room to the bedroom. He returns in a few minutes.

“It’s clear,” he says. He pushes the door open more to allow you to enter. You feel uneasy, suddenly sober.

“I never forget to lock my door,” you promise. “Ever. Is…is the window open or something?”

He shakes his head. “You must’ve forgotten this time,”

“No, no I don’t do that,” you say. You wander to the window, finding it closed. Your head hurts. You feel on edge, like there’s someone watching you.

With a sigh, you sit on the couch.

“There’s no one here,” Leon promises, sitting beside you. You look at him. “Trust me, I checked,”

“But what if someone was here?” you say, looking at him. “I don’t…I don’t want them to come back,”

He reaches out for a moment, then decides to return his hand to his side. “No one’s coming back. I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

You can feel your hands shaking. “Will you stay?”

He softens when he looks at you. He can see the fear in your eyes. You think of your sister, stolen from somewhere she felt safe. You feel safe in your home, as anyone might. You don’t want to face the same fate. You know Leon knows that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Go change, I’ll be out here,”

You nod, rising to your feet. You wander past the window again, double checking that it’s closed. You find your clothes in the dark, not caring too much about what you put on. A shower sounds nice. You’re afraid to be alone for that long, though. Instead, you wash your face in the sink, then throw on your clothes, a loose t-shirt from a far off ex-boyfriend and sweatpants. You feel vaguely comforted by the thought of Leon sitting right outside the door.

“I’m going to try to sleep,” you call from the door. You want nothing more than to curl up in your bed.

“I’ll be right here,” Leon returns. “I’ll keep watch,”

You shuffle into bed easily. You feel safer knowing he’s outside, waiting for any potential threats. You feel especially safe knowing his reputation precedes him. There’s no doubt in your mind that he would protect you. It makes it easier to sleep.

You wake sometime later to a creak beside your bed. Your eyes shoot open to find a figure looming over you. You move to scream, but your eye catches the glint of moonlight against the barrel of a gun. You swallow whatever scream you had left, and rise to your feet. You’re moving without much thought, just doing whatever instinct tells you to. The figure says nothing, just motions to the window. You run through your options. If you shout, you’ll be dead before Leon even makes it into the room. You can’t fight him off, you’re definitely not strong enough. If you leave with him, you’ll be dead before Leon notices you’re gone.

You turn to face your attacker, who seems to grow frustrated with you. He, again, gestures to the open window. You take a breath.

Follow your gut.

In a fluid motion that surprises you, your fingers wrap around the barrel of the gun, shoving it towards the ceiling. You feel lucky; just as it’s pointed away from you, it’s fired. You knee the attacker in the stomach, and you’re out the door before he rises from the ground.

“What’s going on?” Leon shouts, assessing you for injuries quickly before entering the room.

You’re crying now, fat tears rolling down your cheeks before you can stop them. Your hand screams with pain, seared flesh crying out angry and red. You feel stupid, weak, small. You collapse onto the couch while Leon takes care of things.

The next two hours are a blur of police and your father. You answer questions vacantly, absent from the situation. Leon sits beside you, dressing the wound on your hand.

“Dovie,” your father says, holding your face in his hands. You begin to cry again. He pulls you into a hug, holding you as close as he can. You grip the back of his shirt, and sob into his shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you say. It’s true. You’re alive, breathing, hugging him. “I’m okay,”

When the crowd shuffles out, they take you and Leon with them. You vaguely hear them discussing where you’re supposed to stay, Lord knows you can’t stay here. You feel sick.

“She can stay with me,” Leon volunteers. You somehow feel worse. “Makes sense,”

You follow him to the car. You stare out the window. The sun is coming up on the horizon, a new day. You can’t help but think about how just 24 hours ago, you were in this passenger seat, on your way to work. Now, though, you’re swollen and hurting and scared. Your hand feels like it might just burn away.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you say by way of explanation. Leon doesn’t respond, so you continue. “I just grabbed it. I didn’t know it would burn me,”

“You’re lucky nothing is broken,” he says calmly. “Your fingers’ll be stiff for the next few days,”

You look down at them. They’re swollen for sure, round and angry red around the knuckles. There’s a strip of gauze against the burn on your palm now, courtesy of Leon’s deft and gentle hands. You graze it with your opposite hand. It aches beneath the dressing, a painful reminder of your night.

“I’m just up here,” Leon says quietly. You nod absently.

He lives in an apartment, same as you. He resides on the third floor, which is much nicer a walk than your seventh story apartment. His apartment is small, quaint, but you aren’t surprised by the lack of decoration. Blank white walls wrap the room. There’s a few pieces of furniture, but only the necessities like a couch, a few tables, a dining area, and a coat rack. He doesn’t even have a TV, which surprises you. He ushers you into the space, gently pushing against your back to get you to move.

“Go lie down,” he says. You turn to look at him. His gaze is softer now, full of sympathy. “You deserve peaceful, uninterrupted sleep,”

You don’t move. “You saved me,” you say. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there,”

“You handled yourself pretty well,” he says, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. You can feel tears resting in your eyes, begging to spill over. “I was there, and now you’re here. Nothing else to it. You’re safe with me,”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know,”

Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him. His embrace is comforting. His arms encircle your waist, holding you in an almost practiced way. He’s strong, holds you up where you can’t stand on your own. You can feel yourself beginning to cry again, relief washing over you as you recognize that you’re truly safe. You’re mostly uninjured, save for the burn on your hand, and you’re alive. You sob gently into Leon’s shoulder, and he holds you. He lets you cry. You half expect him to mock you, or to reject your plea for comfort, but he doesn’t. He holds you, gently and carefully, cradling you as you fall apart. And you know, in that moment, that he won’t hold it against you later.

…

You spend the next week off work, curled away in the safety of Leon’s apartment. He goes out, although rarely, for groceries and other things to entertain you. He even buys a TV. He claims that he’s been meaning to get one, but you know that he did that so you didn’t die of boredom. Initially, you were concerned about the sleeping arrangements. However, Leon is generous and lets you sleep in his bed while he shacks up on the couch.

“When can I go home?” you ask over Chinese takeout and an episode of Wheel of Fortune. Leon smiles at you.

“Getting tired of me already?” he teases.

Spending actual time with Leon has made you realize that he’s funny and playful. He’s not always stoic and unforgiving. He teases, he jokes, he smiles. You didn’t think the latter was possible. You just assumed that he was always unhappy.

“No,” you say honestly. “I just don’t want you to sleep on the couch anymore,”

He waves a hand at you. “It’s pretty comfortable,” he says, reaching down to pat the cushions. “I’ve slept in worse places,”

“This is your home, though,” you say. He wordlessly passes you an eggroll. “You should sleep in your own bed in your own home,”

He shrugs, which makes you frown. “As long as you’re safe and comfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to,”

“Damn it, Leon,” you laugh. He grins wider. “For the love of God, sleep in your own bed tonight,”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, but you don’t get to sleep on the couch either, just so you know,”

Heat creeps up your neck, blushing against your cheeks and nose. You’re still smiling, but it’s more flustered now, shy and sweet.

Leon notices, and begins to flush himself. “That’s…that’s not what I meant,”

“I mean,” you begin, turning your eyes back to your food. “We can both sleep comfortably and not worry. I trust you,”

He lets out a barely audible breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can,”

That night, as you’re getting ready for bed, you notice Leon shifting nervously. You try to ignore it, pretend like nothing’s wrong. It’s easier to pretend. He keeps a decent distance between you on the bed; another person could easily fit between you. You’re suddenly self conscious, aware of each and every movement, how much blanket you take up, where your feet are laying.

“You never answered my question,” you say when he flips the lamp off. The room is flooded in darkness. You feel a little more confident now that you can’t see his face.

“What question?”

“About when I can go home,” you answer. He shifts beside you, almost like he’s about to get up.

“Not for a little while,” he says. You sigh. “It’s not safe for you at the apartment. Your dad doesn’t even want you going to work, but I worked something out so that you can. You can…you can stay here as long as you want,”

“Okay,” is all you say. You feel a little far away, removed from the world. In just under a month, you’ve lost all sense of independence, something you valued greatly, and have been reduced to someone that needs to be looked after like a child. You hate it.

“We can find a temporary apartment, too, if you think that’d be better,” Leon amends. “I just thought…you might be more comfortable here,”

You smile at that. You can hear the insecurity in his voice, something you find sweet. “I’d like to stay here,”

“Okay,” he says. You can almost hear the smile. It makes your heart flutter.

You turn onto your side, facing him. He’s still lying on his back, watching the ceiling as if it’s going to collapse. He glances at you. “If we’re going to be living together, we should get to know each other,”

He laughs. It’s a real laugh, not just a huff of air through the nose. “And what do you want to know?”

You think for a moment, tongue poking between your lips. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Don’t have one,” he replies easily. You snort.

“Everyone has a favorite color,” you say. He looks at you with a smile resting on his cheeks. It’s not compulsory; it’s genuine.

“What’s yours then?” he asks, voice low and gentle. You feel like you might melt away under his gaze.

“Blue,” you say. You almost tell him that his eyes have become your favorite shade of it, but you refrain. “Like the ocean,”

His smile widens. “Then that’s mine, too,” he says. You roll your eyes.

“No way,” you tease. “What is Leon Kennedy’s favorite color? And give me a real answer,”

He laughs. “Green,”

“Like, Kermit the Frog green or forest green?” you ask. He shrugs.

“Just…green,”

“So if I were to paint the apartment bright green you wouldn’t have a problem with it?” you ask. His expression sours. “So you don’t like every green, then,”

“I like dark greens,” he says finally, still smiling. “Like pine trees,”

“I never thought I would get an honest answer out of you,” you joke, but there’s truth to it. You don’t imagine him as someone who likes to share.

“To be fair,” he says. “It wasn’t like I was withholding information, I’ve just never thought about my favorite color,”

“Well, now you have,” you say. He grins at you, and you feel like the entire city lights up a little more.

He’s quiet for a moment. The moonlight casts over his face in a way that somehow makes him prettier. “If you could only bring one thing to a deserted island, what would it be?”

“God, your questions are so lame,” you tease. He rolls his eyes.

“Just answer it,” he says.

“I’d bring you,” you say honestly. “Knowing you, we wouldn’t get stuck there, and I’d be home in a few days,”

“I wouldn’t get stuck in the first place,” he says. You shake your head. “Honestly, I’d probably bring something to listen to music on,”

“Then you better hope it doesn’t die,” you say. “Good to know the sentiment is equally held, by the way,”

“Would you be able to get us off the island?” he asks, poking your shoulder. You shake your head. “Exactly,”

“I’d keep you company while you got us off the island,” you say. He laughs. Your heart seizes for a moment at the sound.

“What would I do without your terrible jokes?”

“My jokes aren’t terrible!”

“Totally terrible,” he promises, turning over to his other side, facing away from you. “Some of the worst I’ve ever heard,”

You laugh. “Yeah, well, yours are pretty bad, too, y’know?”

“You wound me,”

You fall asleep easily beside Leon. The safety his presence brings is immeasurable, and you’re coaxed into sleep without a second thought. When you wake, your head is on his shoulder, arms wrapped around one of his own. You cling to him like he’s keeping you alive. His breathing is slow, giving away the fact that he’s still sleeping, so you steal a glance at him. His other arm is slung over his face to block out the sunlight peering through the window. Feeling strange, you roll onto your other side. Almost as if he senses you moving, he follows you, caging you into his arms. You feel like your heart stops when he pulls you in, sighing into your hair. His breath wafts down your neck, pulling up goosebumps in its wake. Your heart hammers against your chest.

…

It becomes routine. Until your father deems it safe to return to your own apartment, you shack up with Leon, spending your nights watching television and lying beside him. If he ever notices that you cling to each other, he doesn’t mention it, which you silently thank him for. He goes about life as normal, as if he hasn’t changed the way you look at him.

There’s menial touches exchanged. The grab of a hand during a movie, a palm to your lower back as he passes, the brush of hands when you pass him something. And although you welcome these bits of contact, they often leave you a blushing mess that struggles to even get words out.

He drives you to work still, which you’re becoming accustomed to. He’s there when you finish up. He’s the person you split groceries with–which he only let you start doing after you argued with him for days about it. He’s slowly consumed every part of your life. It’s nice, you think. He looks so domesticated in these instances, like he’s your friend rather than someone to look after you. You like it. You like that he sometimes steals your shampoo when he runs out. You like that he learned what foods you like. You like that he made you a key.

You like him. And that is a scary thought.

It makes you freeze up around him, stumbling between words until you find something to say. It makes you stare at him in awe because you can’t believe you get to be around him all the time. It makes you blush any time he meets your eyes. You feel childish because it makes you that way.

“Gonna tell me what’s up with you, or do I have to interrogate you?” he asks one night over pizza. You’ve been sitting with the plate in your lap for ten minutes.

“Nothing’s up,” you say, lying through your teeth. You’re a bad liar, and he knows it. When you look at him, he’s watching you, analyzing your body language. You know you’re on edge, but you can’t help it. It feels like a sin to want him.

He looks pretty like this, you think. He looks comfortable, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, no weapons stuck to him. Your hand twitches with the desire to reach out to him.

“So you’ve been acting weird the last few days for fun?” he asks. You nod. “You’re such a shitty liar, sweet girl,”

His voice is gentle; it warms you up. “Really, Leon, I’m alright,”

He holds his hands up in defense. “Okay, I won’t pry. But, I’m here to listen,”

You force yourself to eat, to be normal. You can’t even look at him because you’re afraid of what you might say if you do. He wouldn’t mock you for it, and that’s somehow worse. You almost want him to belittle you, to call you stupid, because that would make pushing him away much easier. If he doesn’t, then who are you to cut him off?

“I can practically hear the gears turning, doll,” Leon calls from the kitchen. You sigh. “If you’re not going to share, don’t be so loud about it, huh?”

You know it’s meant to be a joke, but it makes your mouth sour. He can’t help the curiosity, you know that, but you wish he would back off. It would make your life so much easier if he pretended that you didn’t exist.

“I don’t have to tell you everything about me,” you say. It comes out harsh even though it wasn’t supposed to. “I’m entitled to my own thoughts. Or is that another thing you’re paid to infiltrate?”

He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at you. “I don’t think I’m infiltrating anything,” he says. His voice is even, but you can hear the hurt in the words.

“Then keep it that way,” you say. He inhales deeply, beginning to gnaw on his cheek. You feel guilt wrapping around your throat. You turn your gaze back to the television, feigning interest in the commercial that clogs the speakers. He disappears back into the kitchen.

You’re almost thankful when your phone rings. You don’t get many calls, so when you see it’s your father, you’re less than surprised.

“Hey, Dad,” you say breathily.

“Hey, Dovie,” he returns. “Getting all packed?”

You pause, glancing toward the archway into the kitchen. “Packed?”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?” you ask, sitting up on the couch. You can hear Leon shuffle in the other room. “What do I need to be told?”

“We’re moving you,” your father says, plain as day. “We’ll be finding someone else to watch over you, too,”

“Huh,” is all you say. There’s less guilt around your shoulders now, replaced by anger and humiliation. “Well, if that’s how it goes,”

“I’ll get back to you later, okay, Dovie?” he says. “Get to packing, I’ll tell you more when I can,”

You bid your father goodbye, staring back at the phone screen long after it goes black. You feel your shoulders deflate, allowing the melancholy to consume you a little bit further. You stand, return to Leon’s room, and pull open the dresser drawers where your clothes have resided for the last few weeks. Slowly, almost on autopilot, you begin pulling them out one by one. A shirt, pants, sweatpants, a lone sock; they fall onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. You go until the drawer is empty, the contents piled up on the floor beside your feet.

“I was going to tell you,” comes from the bedroom door. You take a breath. “I didn’t know how,”

“I assume it would’ve been pretty easy,” you say, turning to look him in the eye. He stiffens at the cruelty lacing your tone. “All you had to do was let me know you were done with me. Not like you were in all that deep anyway,”

He doesn’t say anything. You cross the room to the small closet that holds your suitcase. You begin to haphazardly stuff it with your clothes.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you, sweet girl,” Leon says softly, taking a step forward.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty fucking disappointed right now,” you spit, glancing at him. “Would’ve liked to have known my life was getting upended days ago. Would’ve liked to have known that I was wasting my fucking time,”

“Wasting your time?” he asks, catching your wrist as you push down the top of the suitcase.

“I tried so hard to get to know you, Leon,” you say. He winces. “And to think, that for a fraction of a second, I thought you liked me? I feel stupid. You never cared. It’s not in your nature. You go in, do the job, and get out. When’s the last time you talked to Ashley, huh? Or is that something else you like to keep boxed away?”

He releases your wrist. You continue packing your things, and he leaves the room. He returns a moment later with your nearly empty bottle of shampoo.

“Don’t forget this when you leave,” he says coldly. You ignore the ache it leaves in your bones.

“Might as well keep it,” you say. “You’ve used most of it anyway,”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Isn’t that one hell of a metaphor?” you say before you can stop yourself. “I gave and gave, and you just took. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. And what do I know about you? Your favorite color is green. And even then, it was like pulling fucking teeth to get it out of you. Just keep it. I don’t want it anyway. Can’t put the shampoo back in the bottle, right?”

“I get that you’re angry,” he mumbles. “I understand,”

“No, you don’t,” you say, turning to him finally. He’s staring at you. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t place. “You have no idea what I’m feeling right now,”

“You’re right,” he says. You falter for a moment. “I never once said that I did. I just…understand. I can follow the logic between you and your emotion,”

You roll your eyes, choosing not to respond. Your suitcase finally zips closed, and you haul it off the bed, nearly knocking yourself down. He drives you back to your apartment. He doesn’t say anything the entire ride, not even when you finally get out of the car. You leave the key to his place on the center console.

…

His smell permeates everything around you. Even in your new apartment with new furniture, you can’t wash away his cologne. Everything smells of cedar and smoke with a hint of citrus. You washed your clothes three times when you moved in, a feeble attempt at ridding yourself of him. You bought new shampoo.

You feel ridiculous. Your heart aches, and for what? A man who never showed interest? You ignore the acrid taste in your mouth that seems to never go away. You ignore the yearning in your bones. You ignore the burning in your chest. It’s easier that way.

He tries calling. You ignore those, too. You pretend he’s a telemarketer, or a prank calling kid, or an old man with the wrong number. You pretend you don’t recognize the number, and that the messages he leaves on your machine are empty. You find that pretending makes the hurting stop for a while, even if it creeps back up when you’re staring at the ceiling at night because you can’t sleep alone anymore.

You cook breakfast more often now, finding that it takes up the empty time in the morning before you go to work. The new guy is nice. He talks about his wife a lot, which you find sweet. You like that there’s no unresolved tension when you get into his car. You just wish you could remember his name.

“Do you know him?” he asks, pointing across the parking lot. Leon leans against his car, watching you pull in. You sigh.

“Yeah,” you say. “He’s friendly,”

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Well,” you say. “He’s not actually friendly. But he’s not a threat,”

He lets you leave. You can almost see the way Leon stretches back up when you approach. You set your jaw.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” he says. You raise your brows at him.

“I don’t have to,” you say. “You lost that privilege.”

He shakes his head. “I’d still like to know if you’re okay,”

“I’m fine, Leon,” you say. He nods. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,”

You feel like a fool the second you invite him upstairs. You can’t help it. You want to be around him. You feel safe around him, regardless of the anger. You know he’d protect you regardless.

You feel insecure about the state of your new apartment. You haven’t gotten around to breaking it in, so to speak, so the walls are bleak and empty, there’s a loveseat and nothing else, and a single lamp lights up the room. You wring your hands together.

“Missing a few things,” he says. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“Haven’t gotten around to putting it up,” you lie. It’s more like you haven’t wanted to put anything up. You don’t want this place to feel like a home because it isn’t. This is temporary—as long as you keep telling yourself that, it feels true.

“I’ll get you a rug,” he says, meeting your eyes. It almost feels like a peace offering.

“I don’t need a rug,” you say. You see his shoulders slump. “I prefer socks anyway,”

“Right, yeah,”

He’s silent for a while, just watches you as you set up for the night. He sits rigid against the cushions of your couch, hands clasped in his lap. You grab a frozen pizza from the freezer for dinner. His eyes don’t leave you. You don’t feel uncomfortable under his gaze, it’s almost comforting.

“I owe you an explanation,” he says finally. You almost laugh.

“I don’t need an explanation, Leon,” you say. “I get it. Your job makes you move around a lot. You were never intended to be permanent,”

“I resigned,” he says. At this, you turn to face him. He’s searching your features for a reaction, and you fight to keep them neutral, but you know he can see the discomposure. Heat creeps up your neck, threatens to swallow you whole.

“You resigned?” you repeat, far quieter in order to conceal the stutter in your breath.

He nods. “I did what I thought I was supposed to,”

“And that was leaving me?” you say. He averts his eyes. “How on Earth is that what you were supposed to do? You were being paid to be around me, and you thought you were supposed to leave?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, returning his gaze to you. “You have to know that that’s not what I meant,”

“Leon,” you say, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know a thing about you. I don’t know if what you’ve told me about is even fucking true!”

“My middle name is Scott,” he says. You blink at him. “My favorite color is green, that was true. I slept with a baby blanket until I was thirteen years old. I lost my parents when I was young. I used to be a cop,”

He unloads. For the first time since you met him, he lets you into his head a little bit. You take in a breath.

“I don’t…” he begins, then shuts his mouth again. He gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment. “I don’t know how to be…like this anymore. Vulnerable,”

You join him on the couch. He watches you carefully. “That’s okay,”

“It’s something I’m working on,” he says, smiling slightly. You can’t fight one of your own. “I think you make it easier,”

“I’ll be here to listen,” you say quietly. “You know you’re always welcome,”

He grins then. “Whether you want me here or not, right?”

You laugh. “I always want you here,”

There’s something left unsaid between you, but he’s looking at you and laughing at your jokes, and you feel like the world begins to spin again. You feel like the sun shines a little brighter outside, and the colors are clearer, and songs sound like music.

…

You find out that his name is Ryan. He’s more like a personal chauffeur than his intended job, but you like him well enough. Leon spends most of his time on your couch. Things are normal again. He offers to cook dinner most nights, which you appreciate. He does end up buying you a rug–he claims it’s because his feet get too cold without it.

“If you do that one more time, I’m kicking you out,” you scold, swatting Leon’s hand away for the millionth time. He laughs loudly, widely, and it breathes a new air into your lungs.

“I swear to God, sweet girl,” he says between laughter. “There’s something on your face,”

“Then just get it!” you say, wiping your hand aggressively against your cheek. “It doesn’t take a thousand pokes to get something off my face,”

“Hey, I keep missing because you keep moving,” he says, shrugging his shoulders dramatically. You roll your eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean in a bit more, and he swipes his hand against your cheek. For a moment too long, it remains, delicately holding you as if you might break under increased pressure. He clears his throat and retracts his hand. You feel heat creep up in its place.

“You staying tonight?” you ask. He shrugs. “You know the couch will miss you if you don’t,”

He laughs at this. Your heart swells at the sound. “You just like using me as your personal alarm clock,”

“Not true,” you gasp, clutching your heart in feigned offense. “My couch grows increasingly lonely at night,”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure,”

It occurs to you, in that moment, just how much you want him to kiss you. It would certainly make things a lot easier if he did. You’re almost desperate for him to kiss you. The feeling you have for him is akin to idolatry, an offshoot of worship. He’s magnetic, pulls you in in a way you can’t describe. You can see the entire world in his eyes. He is divinity in its most basic form. Whatever religion he’s created, you would gladly follow it until your last breath.

Want consumes you. An insurmountable degree of yearning swallows you, floods your senses, makes you unstable.

“Why did you resign?” you ask. His expression falters for a moment. “You never explained it to me,”

He doesn’t answer, just swallows thickly. You take in a breath like it might be your last.

You wring your hands. “I’m owed at least that,”

“I thought it would make things easier,” he says. The answer is vague, like you’d expected. It doesn’t answer your questions.

“That’s not an answer, Leon,” you say, frowning. “Can you give me a straight answer, just this once? I don’t care if you lie to me for the rest of my life, but, please, just give me this,”

He stares at you, as if he’s trying to get one last look at you. “I wanted to start over,”

Your brows knit together as you watch him. He’s stiff against the arm of the couch he leans on. His shoulders are square, jaw set, eyes forward. It’s been a while since he’s gotten a haircut, you notice.

“Start over?” you repeat.

“With you,” he says, staring into the wall behind you. “I wanted you to know me…differently,”

Your heart hammers against your chest. You hope you’re reading this the right way, because if you’re not, you might just die where you sit. “How did you want me to know you?”

“As a person,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “I wanted you to…like me. Not just see me as a guy that follows you around,”

You smile. “I liked you anyway, Leon,” you say. He flushes.

“I mean,” he stutters. “I mean that…I wanted to be right,”

You don’t know when, but he’s leaned in. You can feel his breath on your lips, floating back against your ears. He’s looking at you through his lashes, all starry eyed and vulnerable. His cheeks are pink, rosy and soft. You want him to kiss you. You wonder, for a moment, what it would be like if he did. Goosebumps surface across your skin at the thought, shivering against the flesh like you’d stepped into the cold. You want him to kiss you.

With a shaking breath, you ask, “Right about what?”

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face with a trembling hand. It slots against the curve of your jaw, just below your ear. You notice that his hands are freezing, but it’s a welcome change in temperature given the heat that resides in your cheeks. You wonder if he can feel the beat of your pulse, hammer strong and rapid against the muscle. You wonder if his would feel the same.

“Leon?” you breathe. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you going to kiss me?”

His breath is shaky. “Do you want me to?”

“Please,”

He indulges. He’s soft against you, sugary sweet and easygoing. He breathes you in like he’ll never get the chance to again. Your hands wind into the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, an attempt to fuse into one. It’s a crescendo at the end of a symphony, harmonies and melodies colliding into one final note. Your ears are ringing. It’s a soft collision of warmth and intimacy, lips and hums that finally get to meet.

A cold hand slips beneath your shirt, soft and delicate against the red hot skin of your waist. You shiver against it. Devotion makes you dizzy as you pull away, breathing like you’ve nearly drowned. You steel yourself against his shoulders. He looks pretty like this, you think, lips kiss swollen and pulling in a grin around his teeth, face reddened with flush and excitement, hair falling into his eyes.

“I resigned,” he says, panting. “So I could do that,”

You laugh. “You could’ve done that anyway,” you say. He grins.

“Felt wrong,” he says. “I wanted to do it right,”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #x reader #my fics #m writes

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foggydismay · 10 months ago

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My FAVORITE resident evil duo

‼️Not written with the intent of a ship BUT can be taken as either a ship or not, whatever you see fit! ‼️

In the originals, he sadly got taken out VERY early but I still find their very short dynamic to be nothing short from amazing.

Even as Ada calls him a runt and complains how much she has to do for him, in the chapter change sequence, she mentions how she’s the one who personally brought it to the organization’s attention on his value and that as how she puts it, he is a brilliant scientist.

And I especially love her line,

“I did it because I like him. His history betrays an enthusiasm I once shared”

Even with their limited time, their story was done wonderfully for what it is!

Their one meeting 😭

And now, my absolute favorite, the remake!!!

Firstly, with Luis’s increased screen time, it really gives them more time to showcase their bond!

I feel as if in the remakes, she actually cares more for Luis than Leon outside of mission purposes.

Luis helped her understand a lot more about the work she does in general! (By being an idiot) But she gained more value to trust and that she doesn’t ALWAYS have to work alone for what she wants. Luis showed her she can still benefit even with trusting others for a bit.

It is shown very obviously that Ada does not care for things unless it concerns her in any shape, way, or form. (Shown by how she does not care about Leon nor Ashley being infected and does not pay any mind to the idea of medicine until she is informed she’s infected too)

She only starts to gain sympathy for the situation when Luis is distraught about the loss of his medicine, which Ada goes OUT OF HER WAY to help get the ingredients even though the only thing she ever promised to Luis for the Amber was to get him out of there and have him under protection.

Sure, she needed the medicine herself, but she didn’t even protest the idea of getting off course and even came up with the solution to make more! Since Luis was so focused on the idea that what was left was destroyed. (Def far fetched…)

But also Luis’s pure concern for her in the scene where he gives her the sedative! :( And especially since that’s the last time they were ever able to see each other face to face.

But my main reason? How she honored his wish! She paid little to no mind into helping Leon AT ALL. (Shown in how she sees him fight Salazar, but since it didn’t concern her, she didn’t lift a finger to help him. Contrary to when she shot Mendez, she NEEDED to be in there to Investigate) but she switches off the bombs to the island to honor the fact Luis wanted them to make it since he did everything he could to save them and to “set things right”.

She had no reason to switch it off for her own benefit, she didn’t do anything to directly save Leon just because she “wants” to and she literally told Leon to leave Ashley behind! She did it to honor Luis ☹️ And since she’s a woman who doesn’t let emotion ever get in the way of her mission, I find this really sweet 🫶

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!! Luis didn’t deserve to die 😔💔

(Picture credit to people on pinterestttt 😋😗)

#resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #ada wong #luis serra #fyp #tumblr fyp #fypage #rant post

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108garys · 3 months ago

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Em=Hannah

Consider this an unofficial part two of my previous writing on Emily's character, a certain thought that has been in the back of my mind for a while(seriously, I wanted to write this out before the remake came out and just did not have the time over the past few months)

At anyrate there's a few things to be clear about first, the prank will be discussed in a manner that speaks of intent, outcome and intended outcome sepreately, I have zero intention of downplaying the severity when I talk about Hannah in this and I hope we can at least see this as an everyone sucks type of situation.

So to spell out the actual premise of this analysis, I believe Em=Hannah socially in the fallout of the prologues events and is bearing the social consequences Hannah would have received if things went to plan.

For this we must understand that completely apart from the terribleness of the prank, the disappearance and Hannah immediately removing her shirt were not considered factors and the prank of course relies on Hannah's willingness to go for someone already taken(again there is a grey area between making her an innocent victim and putting all the blame on her, okay? I won't disclaimer it again).

So I asked myself how was this supposed to go? Would it get to barely kissing and everyone jumps out and shames her? Perhaps, but after that what would the friend group situation look like? Obviously Sam and Hannah's siblings would stand by her but this would be a massive stain on her reputation with the group but that's not how it went and in my opinion that stain is borne by Emily, as it was ostensibly done "for her" even though if you honestly look at it Emily is no more involved than Ashley and infact did nothing other than be present, the fact that it was done "for her" over inflateS her sense of responsibility in the minds of both characters and players alike.

Firstly I wanted to reference how Jess speaks of Hannah in the prologue is relatively similar to how she speaks of Em in the main game, as the intruding party, and that the fallout of their friendship is brutal and I'm sure if Hannah had been around in the to plan version that fallout would have been equally brutal for Hannah.

Another thing to consider is that the prom photo has Hannah/Sam/Mike/Emily which places these four as particularly close outside of Emily's friendship with Jess and Hannah's crush on Mike so I do believe that Emily was much more enmeshed in a perceived core part of the broader friend group before everything.

Continuing on with old photos, the twins wear black and white interchangeably in photos but obviously in the prologue Hannah is wearing black but Emily on the other hand was wearing blue both in the prologue and in her old photos, so this means that her main colour changes from blue to black and she's the only other character than Hannah to wear (almost) all black on screen, through this lens this is symbolism of Emily's position in the group shifting to fill Hannah's social role in wake of the twins disappearance.

She is often judged more harshly both by the other characters and by the player despite how other characters are acting in the same situation, like her reaction to Mike jumping out at her and Matt on the path was entirely reasonable but it's still implied that she is being a certain way which is the first taste of her being framed as a villain despite the fact that she hadn't done anything to earn it.

Beyond this Emily's time alone in the mines is most similar to Hannah's experience, she even has a leg injury at the time much like Hannah broke her leg in the fall. Hannah's continued anger at Emily post transformation is an interesting parallel to Emily and Jess's rivalry, Hannah's jealously is twisted into a deep seated hatred for her perceived main obstacle to everything she wanted(likely with a large side of her monstrous self blaming her as the reason she ended up like that because if she wasn't dating Mike then the prank wouldn't have happened) and Emily is on the other side of this very same happiness and similarly lashes out at the people who ruined her good thing, not only her relationship to Mike but her place in the group.

A point that's been stuck in my mind that further emphasizes the Em=Hannah lens is that Emily can be betrayed by everyone else involved in the prank to some degree: Jess betrays her friendship, Mike can kill her, Ash non determinantly encourages him, Matt can leave her to die. She constructs part of herself just as much as Hannah(or Jess) did to be liked but because she's already been burnt it comes off differently and is a defensive measure rather than an appealing front. She is jaded and desperately wants to be proven wrong, she was at the center of the prologue's prank, every single person involved supposedly doing this "for her", so when the object of their ire is not present, when guilt and blame sets in, a new object needs to receive that ire because otherwise it was all for nothing and it was of course done for her.

So that concludes my Em=Hannah analysis and I will again note that this was conceptualized and written without influence of the remake and is entirely based in the original release. Beyond that anything said negatively about the rest of the cast is more so through this lens and not a general reflection on them all together.

Tags?

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @eframschweigersskincells

@conra @tinynightmarewoman @qusok @kindheartedgummybears I hope this all makes sense as its months of scattered thoughts written down after a recent replay to refresh my memory 😅

#Until dawn #until dawn emily #Until dawn Hannah #emily davis #hannah washington #supermassive games #Ramblings #character analysis

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stellasfictionalworld · 10 months ago

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part 3.

part 4

a/n: this picture of maddie phillips has me in a chokehold btw. just setting the mood of how things are gonna in the future... also hello andre's jacket??

reader x andre anderson

cw: (i mean you’ve watched the show so) blood, hints of self harm, hurt comfort

word count: 1,243

You came back to your dorm with damp hair and your outfit of the day. You’d just put on sweats and grunt when Ashley said something. You fell onto your bed and she was looming over you.

“You look like shit,” she giggled.

“M’ tired,” you grumbled and pulled the sheet over your face. It was dragged away from you, making you groan dramatically. Your body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Not even remembering a single second after falling on your ass with Jordan.

“Don’t you wanna know who brought you home?” she smirked. That got your attention, your eyes flicked to the jacket you’d hung up. It was not much bigger on you, not too much by length but by width. It smelled of weed and there was a hint of some earthy, no maybe more woody, cologne, you wondered if it was Andre’s.

“Fine,” you sat up, pillow to chest as if that would help your massive hangover.

“Andre fucking Anderson,” she sat on the edge of your bed. “He was shit-faced, holy fuck you should have seen it. Well, you did, just don’t remember probably,” she nudged your shoulder.

Your ears and face went hot, remembering his hand on your hip last night. That was embarrassing to get so… excited about. You sighed, dragging a hand over your face.

“He was alone, made sure I was even your roommate. I’m pretty sure he bumped into a wall on the way out too,” she was trying to hold in her laughter. You snorted, imagining Andre so shit-faced, but managing to bring you back to your room. Your heart swelled, and you picked up your phone.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, seeing missed phone calls from your mom. You huffed, finding new messages, from new numbers. Luke, Cate, and even Jordan had exchanged numbers with you (or just took it). You felt Ashley hovering and looked up at her.

“Now let’s talk about you and Jen,” you grinned widely.

Ashley’s face got red, she opened her mouth to say something. Then her phone buzzed, and she immediately picked it up. You looked over her shoulder, and you rolled your eyes.

“Jesus Ashley,” you flopped back onto the bed.

“What?” she snapped her head to you, her shoulders raised.

You glared at her, you two had this conversation every time this happened. Ashley hung out with fucking the fakest bitches to exist. Seriously, these girls lived like they were the shit. Everything was handed down to them, and not an ounce of empathy for those not as fortunate as them. Ashley became friends with them recently, considering she had the same classes with them.

“Be careful,” you said.

She shrugged and looked back at her phone again. The worst part about this? It was changing your friend, for the worse.

…

Your knuckle collided with the leather and you took a step back. Your face was hot, blood pumping throughout your body. Your movement didn’t stop until your fist was washed over with grains. Heaving you pulled yourself away from the punching bag. Eyes fleeting to Cate who had stopped hitting her punching bag. Her brows scrunched up and her lips parted.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said this was therapeutic for you,” she laughed. Your tired face flipped, as you smiled brightly. Enjoying the fact Cate had got into the groove of punching bags. She seemed hesitant to join you at first on a random Wednesday. Ever since Saturday, you’d noticed the way she carried herself. Confidently but something always seemed to trouble her.

“Are you bleeding?” she gasped and you looked at your fists. The bandages were soaked in red, but you didn’t feel a thing.

“Yeah,” you said as Cate took off her boxing gloves. She immediately came to your side. One hand on your forearm while the other pulled the bandages. You watched with great intent, wondering if you'd need stitches again. The final layer peeled off your skin, revealing your lower layers of skin in red.

“Holy shit, we’ve gotta get you to the nurse,” Cate gushed.

“Yeah,” you frowned. The blonde froze and her eyes went wide. Immediately she pulled her hand back like you’d burned her.

“Sorry,” she said, and this time you were confused.

“For what?” you asked.

“For touching you, I,” Cate took a step back from you. You laughed softly and shook your head. Wrapping up your open wound.

“It’s okay Cate, usually people love to put their hands on me anyway,” you wiggled your eyebrows. It made her laugh, either out of shock or the fact you were funny.

“Can you help me to nurse?” you asked.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said.

Thankfully you didn’t need stitches, but the nurse made you fill out far too much paperwork. You were pretty sure it was payback for the times you’d come in here bloodied and bruised (far too many times). Your healing factor was kinda shit, it took a lot longer than most. When you turn off your pain receptors and put your all in every punch, you’ll eventually collapse.

Anyhow, Cate had left halfway through when she saw you were okay. You finished writing down your last signature when the door whipped open. You and the nurse both looked over to see Andre slightly out of breath. He cleared his throat, eyes on you.

“Hey,” he said, “you okay? Cate sent me a text,” he had his phone in his hand.

Your chest squeezed, and your heart was about to explode. “I’m okay,” you smiled. “Are you here for me?” you asked.

“I mean,” he put a hand to the back of his neck, looking around the empty room, “yeah,” he said. He shot you a smile (which you thought was so hot and cute at the same time) and you bit your lower lip. The nurse cleared her throat, tapping the paper you had yet to sign. You quickly signed the papers. You got your tote bag, swinging it over your shoulder before walking out of the room with Andre.

“Where are you headed?” you asked.

He hummed, eyes on your face, clearly Cate didn’t say what type of damage was done. Then he saw your knuckles wrapped in fresh gauze. He stopped abruptly, pulling your elbow to make you stop.

“Hey, did you do this by yourself?” his voice was soft, as he picked up one of your hands. You let him examine it, liking the feeling of his fingertips around yours. It sent a buzz up your spine and made a cage of butterflies flutter.

“Yeah, it’s no biggie though. It’ll be healed by tomorrow or the next,” you said.

“That slow?” he still held your hand, but his gaze was on you.

You clicked your tongue and looked away. Your face was getting hot again.

“My healing factor is fucking slow,” you dragged out the last word. His thumb circled your palm as he thought. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and when you met his eyes. You knew he wanted to ask. The eye-rolling questions. Why would you do this? Doesn’t it hurt? Blah blah blah.

“I’ll be okay,” you winked at him. You hooked your arm around his. “But could you walk me to my dorm? Since I’m so wounded, I might not make it,” you said dramatically. He laughed, it was like music to your ears.

#andre anderson x reader #andre anderson #gen v #gen v x reader #cate dunlap

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gioiaalbanoart · 5 months ago

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Hello my talented friend! Ashley is stealing my heart. When can I read about her adventures? Also: can you tell me more about her? Where did she come from (in your brain) and why is she so cool?

Hello @fortunatetragedy !!!

Tons of kudos are flying to you, catch them 💗💗💗

(catch something to drink too is gonna be long 🍻 🍻🍻...)

****

Right now Ashley is arching a brow at me , arms crossed and foot tapping (even more than usual) to hurry up and get to work at her story. She's actually being patient (yes, she can be!) .

Because she knows I HAVE to close another writing fanfic first, which hopefully I'll do in the next couple of days 🤞 🤞

This is just how it has to be because I have to close a circle. We made a pact about it and I have no intention to piss her off more than I already did 😅

****

Right now I have approximately four draft/chapters and a lot of scattered material such as scene/dialogues/bits-of-plot-outlined-sort-of..... (big LOL on the last one , I might start to use post-it on the door too).

All of it basically on my computer or in snippets here on tumblr Which is why I was wondering on a section/post to keep updated until I'm ready to start sharing more....

Because (drums rattling) : The scarred angel is, in my brain for now, the first one of a trilogy.

It gives you an idea of how much urgent is for me to start working on it seriously and, most of all, continuously.

I'd like publish (on AO3, I suppose) once I complete and edit the first draft/book.....(I'm already sweating)

This while I'll work on the second book and so on (kind of like you're doing for DMLS).

This is the idea.....

NOW : We both know how wide is that fucking gap between an idea and real life, don't we?

****

Ashley Knox pointed her face in my brain exactly one year ago, just like that : that name, curly blonde hair, arctic eyes, scars, bad temper and all.

With a possible quest/investigation somehow linked to drug cartels (Thank you Ashley!)

I was just back to writing then, I already had others ideas but she just wouldn't leave me alone until my best on line friend pointed out she was so persistent because I HAD to write her story and there was no way around it.

I'm sure you're familiar with the situation....

So I started to write bits here and there while a kind of world/plot was taking his weird shape (the shape is still quite weird btw).

It includes violence because the story evolves mainly on the mexican border and will be somehow linked to drug cartels and, here too, there is no way around it.

But I want it also to be about healing and magic despite the plot/investigation and the background of the two MC (Ashley Knox and Amy Salinas, journalist, friend and...we'll see).

The magic part might be "subtle vibes, kind of, but consistent" and I know it will be a huge pain in the ass (More sweating here)

****

Ashley has been scarred when she was sixteen (in the story she's about 23), can't say who did it because it's part of the plot ��

She has a raw temper and is a lone (red) wolf.

She always rubbed shoulders with taking care of herself, growing alone, dealing with random stray like her , cartels, violence, guns and so on. She also will seek for revenge.

I'm thinking at her revenge as parallel with the main investigation.

Despite the world she evolved in she has her own strict moral code, a lot of sarcasm and lot of strenght.

She could use some love too ....but she's really selective about it.

The "love" part would be ,idealistically, part of her healing path.

Of course it never goes from point A straight to point B.....

Amy is around same age, suffers from ptsd after being raped and "casually" meets Ashley and decides to stick around against ALL ODDS....

Part of it because she's thunderstruck /love first sight kind of 😂 , BUT nothing will be obvious about it. ...

Part is because she will be claiming her life back (healing again). Amy is strong too, in a different way, and that's not her world.....

I see Ashley/Amy relationship as a kind of love story/slooooooooooooooooow burn....I'll try to make it weird as possible and probably fail but we'll see 😉

The line relationship/love line will totally evolve with the flow.

****

I'll stop here because I' could probably go on and brag about Ashley even longer (You have my endless gratitude for giving me the opportunity btw 💗💗 )

****

Weird bonus facts

There is a "Jaime" in Ashley's background story that has been important to her, in a weird kind of way.... The guy is already dead but he' ha's been there with that exact name since the beginning. And now I know you 😉

Ashley has three scars : a long one on her right cheek, another on her forehead and a smaller like a sick joke of a smile on her left cheekbone....One year after she's born in my brain I have now a 25 stitches scar too (the recent surgery) . Lucky me on my smaller back not face but I can't help to think about some kind of parallel. For me casual/random don't exist. I just hope that it stops there....😅😅😅

Her favorite line is : "I don't care what you think" and goes around in my brain multiple times a day. Again, nothing casual.

"The end" for now 🙏💗💗🙏

#wip The scarred angel #OC Ashley Knox #OC Amy Salinas #authors supporting authors #fortunatetragedy earned my endless gratitude and is a terrific writer #go read Doom Metal Love Story on AO3 #do it now!#writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #ao3 community #writers on ao3 #archive of our own #I have a big work ahead...

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urnoflilliesandroses · 6 months ago

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Light lies

[ Notice: this isn't conon to the Tcoaal game at all. I plan to write more of these cause why not. ]

Angel turned a page in her book. She was reading a book she managed to pawn off a man in robes. Her interest in Demonology had grown sense Mors came into her life making her feelings twist in a pleasant knot she didn't want to end. With Ashley and Andrew being codependent on each other gave her ample time to read.

Silence would make this all better. Unfortunately, her siblings won't give her this time to completely unwind. It was normal for arguments, fights, and dysfunction. Today Angel had it and went out to a place where she could be at peace for a minute. Only a minute.

She found Mors's form following her. He can sense her emotions. Her intentions; ever sense he chose her, they became more than Mors could had intended.

"Oleander? May I ask what's gotten to you so deep?"

"Ashley and Andrew are fighting over some shit. I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted silence. I need silence to calm down or else I'll fucking loose it!"

"Now now," a hand rubbed Angel's back, "there's no need to have violent impulsive thoughts. Remember, we have to wait until your older. For now, we can runaway from them. All of them."

"I'm still questioning if I should. I got everything I need and then some. I just-"

"Want to bring them." Mors finished Angle's sentence. Killing her thoughts, "they wouldn't listen to you. Ashley would just use Andrew to get to you. Andrew would be picking at every decision you make. Why would you want to uproot them when they've only came to you to take? Would it be worth dealing with Ashley's fits? You wouldn't be able to reclaim what was yours."

"Percy...."

Her cat friend was killed. Ashley's dismissal echoed through her head. 'It was just a cat. Why are you so sensitive?' Ashley has always been cruel though Angel chalked it up from how she's been treated by their parents, specifically their mom.

"She didn't mean for it to hurt me. She didn't ever get love from mother or father. I just got ignored."

"Oleander. You've turned out different than her. What's her excuse?"

"mother and father don't love her. I at least have outside people. She has no one. Andrew is complicated in this. I'm not saying I don't love her but..," Angel curled into a ball, "I don't know how much I can take. I can't take care of them. I try so Andrew isn't doing everything."

"What do you choose?"

Angel thought in silence, "I choose me, Oleander."

"Very well then, let's go to our foundation. They'll be willing to help you. You're too young to be alone."

"Right!"

Angel didn't leave without a trace. A green for Andrew and pink rabbit for Ashley where left behind.

#the coffin of andy and leyley oc #tcoaal oc #the tome of a fallen angel

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hrthrob · 1 year ago

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ʙᴇꜱᴛꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

SYNOPSIS: You’re bestfriend Eunchae would never allow you to date her brother Sunghoon, you’ve never understood why, you thought you were the only one with the crush. Turns out Sunghoon also feels the same way. ♡

THIS STORY IS MADE BY ASHLEY (owner 1)

(IM A NEW WRITER! not really new but I’m mid, so if you see any misspellings, please tell me!!) ♡

Fem!reader, non-!idol, Sunghoonxreaderʚ☆ɞ

9.5k words

Warnings;;cursing, mentions of kissing. Lmk if there are any more!! READER IS BI!

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY (@)

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

You were at your bestfriends house hanging out like you usually are with her. You’re bestfriend is Eunchae, whos been you’re bestfriend since 5. You’d hate to admit her brother Sunghoon is someone who’s your type. And you can’t get him off you’re mind. You’re bestfriend would probably smack the shit out of you if she knew you were having wild fantasies about Sunghoon. The way he looks at you is something you wish it could stay forever. He has brown hair and big eyes that twinkles and his lips have a shape that makes your heart skip a beat, his skin is soft.

But you don’t want to think about that right now. You’re bestfriend is sitting next to you on her bed, talking about what was on tv earlier. It seems she’s obsessed with “The Office” as she calls it. You know what? Fuck it. You can’t focus on the conversation if your best friend keeps asking stupid questions, so you turn your head to see Sunghoon walking down the hall toward his room. You smile at him. You know better than to do that. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him, let alone smiling in his direction. His gaze lands on you and your bestfriend, and your grin immediately falls from your face. You look away from him quickly, trying to calm yourself, but you can’t stop yourself from watching him walk past. You feel like there’s an invisible force pulling you towards his figure. Your chest feels tight and when he turns around to glance at you, the feeling gets stronger. When did this start happening? You didn’t feel this way when you had a crush on a girl. What the hell? Why does it feel like you should just go up to him and grab his hand to hold or kiss him? Why does it feel like you should ask him why he stopped coming over to play video games with us? Why does it make you so uncomfortable to be around him? You try to shake the thoughts and feelings out of your head. Maybe it’s the fact that his stare is making you uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because he’s older than you (and really attractive too). Whatever the reason, you can’t stand being in the presence of Sunghoon. You don’t understand it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that you have to get away from here before he sees your feelings. You need space. Just a little bit more space. You push yourself up from the bed, “I’m gonna head home. I’ve got some homework and stuff to do.” You smile at your bestfriend as she nods and stands up, “I’ll come by later after school. Let me know how it goes! Cya y/n!” She waves to you with a bright smile before leaving her bedroom. You turn and exit the house quietly. This isn’t new to you, you just need a moment to yourself to clear your head. So you walk into the dark woods behind your house. As you’re walking you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around to see Sunghoon walking towards you. You give him a quick glance and continue walking, keeping your pace slow as you lead him away. He follows suit with you, walking silently beside you. You can tell he wants to say something. You try to listen intently, maybe he can explain himself. But all that comes out of his mouth is, “Oh you left your phone Eunchae told me to bring it to you.” You nod and reach for your phone, taking it from his grasp. Then silence once again envelopes the two of you. You turn and keep walking, not sure where you’re going exactly, but you just know you don’t want to talk to Sunghoon right now. Especially when you’re red as fuck. That was embarrassing. You weren’t even looking at Sunghoon. You should have just turned around and faced him, but nooo. You couldn’t handle seeing him after you were so rudely interrupted in your thoughts. And when he started talking, you felt a shiver go up your spine. Not only was your body reacting physically, your brain was telling your subconscious body that you liked that boy very much. You groan and put your hand to your forehead in frustration.

This day hasn’t gone any better than it did yesterday. After a few moments of contemplation, you decide to take the chance and turn around. But Sunghoon grabbed your wrist. “What’s going on with you lately?” he asks, and for some reason you’re not expecting the question. “What do you mean?” You’re trying to sound nonchalant, but it sounds weak even to your own ears. You sigh loudly and turn back around to look up at him. He’s still holding onto your arm. “Something’s off with you.” Oh god. Here we go. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” You’re shaking your head no, you just want to hide under a rock until the end of time. “Please Y/N, just tell me what’s wrong, I mean we never talk but I know that you don’t act like this.” You try to pull away from him again but he grips your wrist tighter. You feel like you’re going to cry. You hate crying. You can’t show weakness like that. Not in front of him. “Just stop talking to me.” You manage to spit out through gritted teeth. You’re so angry that you almost laugh. Almost. “Fine,” Sunghoon mutters softly. His grip loosens and lets go. He gives you one last glance before turning around and walking away, leaving you standing alone in the dark. You just watch him leave with tears falling down your face. No. Don’t cry, you won’t let him see you cry. God damnit.

You sniffle and wipe away the stray tears as you walk inside your house since it was only a few blocks away, closing the door quietly. You lock it and sit down at the dining table. What a waste. Your bestfriend will probably tease you for days over this. It’s not fair, he’s not even here. You can’t help but feel bad about hurting his feelings though. You know you shouldn’t. It wasn’t like you wanted to hurt his feelings. It’s just that...he made you feel things you’ ve never felt before. He makes you feel things you haven’t ever felt before. You want to cry more, but you’ve already cried enough today. You’ll just have to ignore the feelings and hope they go away eventually. You don’t want to think about them anymore. You don’t want to feel anything else other than the overwhelming sense of loneliness that fills your whole body and soul.

You wake up the next morning feeling drained and emotionally exhausted. You’re tired as hell. You feel like you barely slept at all, but you know that sleep will probably not happen for a while. A sigh leaves your lips and you rub your eyes, trying your hardest to keep them open. Everything hurts. You feel like you haven't slept in weeks. Even if you try you can’t fall asleep easily. You don’t know why you even bother. You roll over on your bed and close your eyes, hoping to drift off. You lie there for a minute before finally giving up. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you must have passed out. The sun was shining through your window and the birds chirping outside woke you up a little less than fifteen minutes ago. You slowly open your eyes and take in a deep breath, realizing you were still lying on your stomach. You stretch your limbs out and then turn to check the time.

There are only five minutes left till class starts you didn’t wanna go anyways. You groan, you were supposed to be sleeping, but you know you aren’t going to get anymore rest without getting out of bed. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and take a few steps forward. You’re surprised when you trip on air and land flat on your back. With a groan, you sit up and run your fingers through your hair. You lean against the wall next to your bed and slide down it until your butt meets the cold floor. You wrap your arms around your knees and bury your face in them.

A few minutes pass before someone enters the room. You lift your head up and look towards the direction of the voice. It was Sunghoon. You look at him and smile, but he’s frowning, looking quite concerned. “How are you feeling Y/n?” His voice is soft and calm. “Oh by the way before you think I’m a creep, Eunchae told me to check up on you..” You raise an eyebrow confused. Why is he checking up on you? “Why would she want to check up on me?” you ask, genuinely curious. Sunghoon looks to the side uncomfortably before continuing to speak.

“She said that you looked kind of sad and upset when you walked out of your house yesterday. Is everything alright?” He sits on your bed and places his elbows on his thighs and leans forwards, looking straight at you. The corners of your lips twitches upward as you giggle. “So you came back huh? Good thing you did or else I really don’t know how I would’ve survived yesterday.” You grin at him and cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with your sparkling eyes. “You seem happy to see me.” Sunghoon raises an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk playing across his lips. You bite your lip and chuckle lightly, nodding your head. it was silent, but not awkward it was comforting silence. Sunghoon couldn’t help but look at your lips. They had slightly pouted out. His eyes flutter shut and he feels a warm sensation fill his entire body. He was so caught up in watching you that he didn’t notice you leaning forward. When he opens his eyes again, he realizes he’s only inches away from yours. You’re so close that he could count every single individual eyelash that covered your beautiful orbs. It wasn’t long until you closed your eyes too and leaned in to close the gap between the two of you. It took only seconds for the both of you to connect your lips together. A few moments later, you both break the kiss. He can feel your breath against his skin and hear your heartbeat.

“Eunchae will definitely kill us.”

@hrtthrob

#enhypen #readerxsunghoon #enhypen icons #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #Spotify

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4fter-hours-archive · 7 months ago

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━━ ✦ ( @inhumanhacker ) cont from here

As her leg pressed up against his, he felt a small jolt of electricity through him. They had all worked together once before but it was a group effort, he hadn't spent time alone with Ashley as they would be doing now. The thought made him nervous and excited at the same time.

Opening the link she had sent over, he listened intently as he looked at the information. This was new to him and he'd honestly listen to her recite the phone book happily if that was what she wanted to do. This was all much more intricate, he needed to make sure that he was leading the team to the right place. This wasn't just another artifact to retrieve for the highest bidder, this was the damned Book of the Dead. If he gave Elizabeth the wrong information, he'd never forgive himself.

❝ Okay, ley lines,❞ he repeated as his took it all in. Looking over at her laptop, he felt his eyes begin to cross. There were so many. ❝ How are we going to make sure any of these are the right one? Hamunaptra isn't something that has a for sure location. Nor can we prove exists, all I've been able to find on it is old legends, tales handed down. It's almost like its invisible. ❞ He hadn't meant ot sound so defeatist, but AJ was the kind of person who relied on logic, facts, things that could be seen, witnessed and proved. This new relic was going to be a tough one for him. ❝ I'll take your lead on this one, just let me know what you are looking for and I'll find it. ❞

#queue i chose you #inhumanhacker | Ashely & AJ #( and now the separate threads begin lol )

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yukimeyume · 1 year ago

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The story takes place from season 5x05. Rosalind is dead, John and Bailey have become engaged and are planning their wedding. Almost simultaneously, Ashley has broken up with Tim in hospital. Lucy comes to visit her good friend to check on him, unaware of her "good fortune".

Please excuse my bad English, I am from Germany.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1 Hospital

"What are you doing here?" asked Tim, his face contorted in pain as he tried to straighten up a little. He hated being so restricted. But most of all, he didn't want Lucy to see him so miserable. Ashley had just broken up with him, but since the undercover mission with Lucy in Las Vegas, all he could think about was her. Even the 'practice kiss' in Lucy's flat had triggered feelings in him that he would never have thought possible, let alone right. If Tamara, Lucy's puppy hadn't walked in the door, they certainly wouldn't have stopped. Even if it was wrong, he wished they hadn't stopped.

Even their kiss on the plane, which was just to keep from blowing his cover, triggered something in him. And then only the situation in their hotel room. Lucy was so strong and independent and overpowered the criminals easily. Even if he would have hoped that they wouldn't have shown up in the first place.

And then there was the situation outside Lucy's flat after they had returned to LA. If Chris hadn't been lying there, would they have...? He had already thrown his reason overboard and it would not have been unlikely.

There was something between them. A strange chemistry he couldn't explain. They were first instructor and rookie, then Sargent and officer, rather partners and friends and now? Was it just a skip act in the context of the mission? No this relationship had developed over a longer period of time and the undercover mission had only brought out what he felt.

Now he was kind of glad Ashley had left him, even though he knew it wouldn't work out with Lucy because she was with Chris. But even so, it wasn't going to work out with Ashley anymore. That wouldn't have been fair to her.

"Well I've come to check on you," Lucy said and sat down by Tim's bed with a small smile. She stroked her hair and surveyed Tim. He looked done in. The surgery seemed to have left its scars - literally - the hospital clothes made him look very pale.

"That's nice, but you don't have to stay." "I know I don't have to. But I want to. After all, I'm making myself so-called. Where's Ashley anyway?" "Yeah that's a funny story," Tim said, trying to avoid Lucy's gaze. "Funny then? What happened? You're not usually this sarcastic. And don't try lying to me. I know when you're lying." Tim sighed. She was right he couldn't fool her at least not when it was so unprepared. "She left me. She didn't want to relive that thing with her dad." Lucy didn't answer. But Tim could see she couldn't decide between joy and pity. "And how is Chris?" so he tried to change the subject. "Good, I think. I don't know. We broke up." "Why's that? I thought things were going well between you." Tim had to be careful not to grin over both ears. Because now that Lucy was single, they might have a chance. "After the Rosalind thing, I've been thinking. He really is a dream man but he's not my dream man."

At the last part she looked intently at Tim, before she quickly averted her eyes again. She wanted to kiss him so much right now. She didn't understand when it had gone from friendly feelings to romantic ones but she accepted it. She liked Tim.

Tim noticed the intimate eye contact and tried to return it as lovingly as possible, but the pain took over and he winced briefly. When he opened his eyes again, she had already applied her gaze. "So where do we go from here?" he asked out of nowhere after they had just stared holes in the air for a while. "What do you mean?" she asked and Tim could clearly detect uncertainty in her voice. What was so bad about that question? "Don't you want to go home? You don't have to stay here." "What, oh that's what you meant. No it's fine, if you don't mind I'll stay." Tim looked at Lucy in confusion. What had she meant that he meant? "No stay but I'm afraid I can't offer you anything," he tried to say jokingly and Lucy smiled. "I'm not even sure about that."

#chenford #tim bradford #the rookie #fanfic #lucy chen #lucy x tim #Chen #Bradford

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spoilertv · 8 months ago

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#SpoilerTV

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donnabroadway · 1 year ago

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RHOP Season 8 Ep. 2 thoughts

I wish they would let the new ladies organically form their own relationships and connections with the group. It seems like every season, they bring in a new lady with the intention of her being a foil to whoever the target is that season. They brought in Mia to go against Candiace, Charrisse, even though she isn't new, to go against Karen, Deborah to bring baseless allegations against Chris and Eddie, and now it seems like they're bringing in Nneka to go against Wendy, and it's tired. I know it's a show and they don't have time for slow burn or lukewarm friendships but at least get to know the group. It is unnatural to come into a situation already having an enemy. None of these ladies knew each other, even Karen and Charrisse were just acquainted, so it's unnatural.

Nneka, take you, your husband, and your generational wealth and get off this show. Make this your last season. I don't see how this show will benefit you, except by getting famous but if you don't succeed in tearing Wendy down, then you will be the next target of the Green Eyed Bandits. Even if you do succeed and stay in the clique, you're already getting calls about what you're saying and doing on this show and it was only your first group scene, it won't end well for you. Mia's marriage and life was upended, Juan can no longer cheat in peace, Ashley is divorced, Monique is divorced, Michael's reputation and business has probably suffered, Charrise chose this show over her marriage, Katie has had her personal struggles, and Wendy is next, if she doesn't get off this show. Nothing positive can come to you and your family by being on this show. You're happily married, young, beautiful, and successful, all the things Gizelle hates. I know Gizelle is already chomping at the bit to ruin your life and spread rumors about your husband looking oogly eyed to some random woman in his club. Run, don't walk away from this group.

Robyn is not leaving Juan and Juan is not leaving Robyn. They're comfortably, uncomfortable in the situation they're in, leave them alone.

Gizelle is trying to save Robyn and Robyn is trying to save Juan and neither want to be saved. Gizelle, as annoying as she may be as an unofficial producer, does know what the show needs and she knows people need Robyn to cry and show some emotion, even Juan knows it to, as I'm sure he, Gizelle, and Robyn have had some conversations about the show, public perception and how to save her job but Juan has been cheating on Robyn since they were teenagers and obviously she's okay with it. It affects her but not enough to leave. Juan can dribble a ball but not much else. If Juan was smarter with how he moved on the show and his assistant coach, then he'd still be employed. Coppin, though a good school, is not a top school and no one but alumni goes to watch Coppin play anything, so this was the most attention they've gotten ever. If Juan wants another job, he needs to either get off this show or tighten up. No school wants this type of attention.

I want Juan and Robyn to find another way to make money because clearly they are private people and don't want to be on this show. I think Gizelle fights so hard for Robyn is because Robyn is a buffer and an ally between her and the other ladies and if Robyn left, then Gizelle wouldn't have any protection and true friends on the cast.

Ashley gets away with the mess because she is an equal opportunity offender. She may be messy, spread rumors, and hit below the line but she knows when too far is too far and she will say that. Ashley is equally messy but I wish she stayed away from the Osu talk. As a black American, it's above her paygrade and she needs to find something else. Even if Wendy was Osu, what would Ashley, a biracial woman raised in a black household in the whitest county in the Baltimore region do with that information?

I don't like Karen's wig. It looks half done. It's blonde in the front, half brown/half blonde everywhere else. If they wanted to do blonde in the front and brown with highlights it would be cute but I'm not seeing the vision.

I think Gizelle is the only person who has truly benefited from this show. I noticed her new car and she has a stylist. This week was the first time I truly liked any of Gizelle's fashions. I am looking for that dress. I just wish she would finish her house. I know it takes time and money, and since this is her job, she probably schedules it around filming or when she gets paid but she's been working on her house for about four years. I get the house is an investment but a $1 million can get you any house you want in any zip code and that house was a scam because she can get a decent house for cheaper than that but she wants what she wants.

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delphi-shield · 4 months ago

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i was gonna comment on this when I got home but I couldn't stop rotating this fic in my mind after rereading it again so im doing this on my lunch break instead lmao.

It was sweet. Ashley had kissed boys before, but never a girl. Jill’s lips were softer, not just in their composition or the way they sat on her face, but the way she kissed. It was nicer. Ashley was so engrossed in the kiss that she almost didn’t notice Jill’s hand on her cheek. The kiss probably would’ve lasted longer if they weren’t being gawked at by two men, and maybe ten more if you included the agents patrolling the area.

sorry im on mobile this might look wonky-- anyway!! love this fic so much.

She hadn’t heard of other sexualities before. It was 2004. It wasn’t like people talked about those things openly, not even on popular parts of the internet. Where was she supposed to read about bisexuality, pansexuality, asexuality, and the like? The gay newspaper? Ashley didn’t read the news. She barely had time for her own life, let alone anyone else’s.

this is really important to me and it's one of the things i like about this fic (and most of your fics tbh) the most. while i understand the appeal of fics where characters are gay and no one bats an eye, where everyone is secure in their sexuality and it's not a source of stress and i think those are valuable and important, i really prefer when authors grapple with the reality of being queer, especially in the early-mid aughts. i think the end result winds up being much more engaging and its got more stick-with-you. even without getting super deep into it, without delving into angst about it, i really feel like this bit of realism & stepping back to look at the time period and the characters logically adds a lot to this fic.

This holiday season she would not be followed around by reporters because the Secret Service was ordered to keep them away from her. Yeah, it’d suck to be surrounded by a group of men with a grouchy disposition, but at least they didn’t talk. They were practically allergic to conversation.

there was a lot to unpack in here but I bolded my favorite lines so as not to fill this comment with me just going "AHHH". love love love how much characterization you're able to pack in here for ashley. your writing here is very efficient - which i mean in a positive way, im a big fan of economical prose.

also oh my goddd I could go on about your use of the secret service in this fic. i don't know if it was intentional or not but they make a fantastic metaphor for comphet. i really enjoyed the occasional reminder that theyre still there, still watching, even as ashley is exploring her identity.

L: “You’re in luck :)”

A: “XD”

Ashley then had to go on to explain to Leon the concept of XD and XP. They didn’t cover that in all the paramilitary training he’d gone through.

canon to me tbh. ashley really is an xD enjoyer. idk i want to introduce her to kaomojis, i think she'd die.

“Hey Ashley. You look great tonight.”

“Thanks. It’s Versace.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I take it it’s expensive.”

honestly I don't have anything intelligent to say about this exchange i just wanted to point out that i liked it. Ashley's def the kind of person to get a compliment and go 'omg thanksss it's [brand]' and Chris has got big 'ok 💛 yay 💛' energy here.

The moment Leon turned away to retrieve her refill, Ashley said, “You’re really pretty, Jill. I mean, your dress, it’s really pretty. I like it.”

this is suuuch a cute little moment to me, i like how you've written Ashley's fluster and i love her using her status to show Jill around and kind of show off. Idk ashley really feels like she would try to like flex her status when she's flirting if that makes sense?? so offering to show jill around and being like "I can get us in >:3" felt very her.

And I also love what's essentially your case for Jill/Ashley! ashley doesn't have a ton of people to talk to about her experience, certainly not people who get it, and tbh, yeah, leon's pretty tight-lipped about it whereas i don't think jill has anywhere near that level of reticence to talk. idk jill's very action-oriented, and leon's prone to sitting and stewing in all the bad shit so while i think jill's eager to offer a shoulder she's also prone to withholding on her own end -- anyway. this ain't about them. what i'm saying is i really enjoyed the case you made for jill/ashley lmfao.

this is THE paragraph in the entire fic to me. she's that girl. idk I think there's something special about your first kiss with a woman, especially when you're coming into your own identity and accepting your feelings. I think this really captures it succinctly and beautifully.

and omg theres my besties the secret service mentioned again, hiiii. i really love the persistent reminders that they're being monitored as well. again, i don't know if it's what you intended but it really does add a lot to this portrayal to me.

there's a lot of little details about this fic that I love tbh, but especially jill's hesitance to chat ashley up at the beginning. idk the fear of seeming predatory is so real and like you didn't have to spell it out, it just kind of clicked. I would devour any wlw fic from you tbh.

make the yuletide gay

pairings: ashley graham/jill valentine, leon kennedy/chris redfield

cw: everyone is gay :), fluff!

summary: jill is ashley's gay awakening

ao3 link

The first time Ashley met Jill was at one of those galas that posed itself as something celebratory but was really intended for diplomacy and networking. As the president’s daughter, her presence was often requested by her father at such events. She wasn’t a part of any government agency, so it wasn’t like anyone would find her attendance beneficial in any meaningful capacity, but it was good for her father’s image. It made him look like a family man. Not that he wasn’t a family man. He was just busy. Ashley made an attempt to attend these things for the most part in the hopes of gaining her father’s respect or at least, his attention. She knew there were only a few routes to her parents’ praise and this was one of them.

On top of that, Leon was going to be there, and she hadn’t seen him since Spain. When she’d thanked him on Ada’s jetski while they watched the island go up in flames, he’d said “don’t mention it”, but she was definitely going to mention it every time she saw him for as long as it took her to properly express her gratitude. Her infinite gratitude. Ashley assumed that Leon didn’t like her based on his standoffishness, but when she’d approached him about it soon after they’d made it stateside, he told her that he just wasn’t really an affectionate person. He learned to accept her hugs slowly, but surely over the years.

As it turned out, the brooding air he carried was typical of most anti-bioterrorism agents. That late-2004 night Ashley met other agents from the DSO and the soon-to-be BSAA, not that she knew much about either organization. Most of the agents were male - the strong, hardened type. People that could realistically kill her in one punch. She was constantly watching her back after Spain, so she felt safer knowing that she had dozens of Leons in the room.

There was one agent that would put all others to shame: Jill Valentine. The coolest of cool. All of the men around her were either infatuated with or terrified by her, sometimes both. Ashley personally just admired her. Her confidence, her power, her beauty.

Ashley went for a stylish little number that night, wearing a designer dress that cost more than most people’s rent for the month, but still, she was not on Jill’s level. It was nothing to do with money or prestige because Ashley, as the president’s daughter, had more wealth and status than she knew what to do with. It was about coolness - an intangible, ineffable quality.

Leon introduced the pair with the typical “Ashley this is Jill, Jill this is Ashley”, and Jill went in for the handshake, not a hug like most of the women in the room. Most of the women weren’t Jill, though, they were all somebody’s wife or somebody’s daughter, but Jill was somebody. She bridged the seemingly impossible gap between woman and operative with a feminine chivalry in her handshake.

“Jill seems so cool,” Ashley remarked to Leon once they were alone again.

“Yeah,” Leon said, not quite as fixated.

Leon knew the look in Ashley’s eyes way before she did.

“Looks like someone has a crush,” he teased.

“What?”

“You’re staring at her, Ash. I wouldn’t be surprised if cartoon hearts replaced your eyes.”

“Shut up!”

Yeah, Ashley was blushing, but it wasn’t because Leon had actually clocked her. It was just an embarrassing thing for him to point out even if it was false. Which it was.

Then again, when she mulled over the night in her mind that night, Leon’s comment refused to leave Ashley’s head.

I’m not a lesbian. I like guys, so I don’t have a crush on her, she thought, I can’t have a crush on her.

It wasn’t that Ashley was homophobic. In fact, many of her friends from school were gay and she’d gone to the pride parade in DC that past June. She wouldn’t have a problem accepting herself if she were a lesbian. But she was pretty confident that she wasn’t.

The holidays were coming up, and if you know anything about America, you know that Christmas at the White House is a big deal. December is basically a month-long party. When she’s not being held up by the press or forced into a photo-op, the parties can actually be kind of fun. Ashley’s the kind of girl who communicates only by Christmas carol beginning December 1st. Initially, it seemed like the 2004 holiday season was not going to be so cheery. Every news outlet needed their fix of “post-Spain president’s daughter is A-OK” content. But since she’d gotten home, Ashley’s father had become more protective of her, maybe out of guilt, or maybe out of love. This holiday season she would not be followed around by reporters because the Secret Service was ordered to keep them away from her. Yeah, it’d suck to be surrounded by a group of men with a grouchy disposition, but at least they didn’t talk. They were practically allergic to conversation.

Leon texted Ashley to let her know that he’d be coming to one of the many, many celebrations planned for that December, to which she replied without thinking, “Do you know if Jill’s coming?”

L: “I don’t know. Do you want me to ask her?”

She could hear Leon’s teasing tone through the words on her screen.

A: “No!”

L: “Okay.”

A: “I mean, you can if you want, but don’t tell her I asked.”

A few minutes went by before she received another message from Leon.

L: “You’re in luck :)”

A: “XD”

Ashley then had to go on to explain to Leon the concept of XD and XP. They didn’t cover that in all the paramilitary training he’d gone through.

As soon as Leon made it to the party, Ashley was gushing to him about Jill, not that she’d admit it was “gushing”. Ashley went on and on while Leon sipped his champagne in relative silence. Free champagne was always the best tasting. It might have been the alcohol giving him a buzz, but he did start to feel a little bit warm inside listening to Ashley’s ramblings.

Little did either of them know, Jill was having a similar discussion with Chris across the room.

“She’s totally into you,” Chris insisted.

“Really? You think?” Jill tried not to stare, but it was hard not to when Ashley was twirling around the room with tinsel lighting up her hair.

“Everyone’s into you. You’re like the most badass woman ever.”

“I think you might be projecting your thoughts onto ‘everyone’, but thanks for calling me a badass, I guess.”

Jill patted Chris, her personal cheerleader, on the back.

When Ashley left Leon’s side for a moment to talk to whoever had just arrived - Leon was exhausted and not really paying much attention to names - Chris approached him with a conspiratorial look on his face.

Chris looked around the room to see if anyone was listening to their conversation before leaning closer to Leon casually to whisper, “Ashley’s totally into Jill, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Leon confirmed, “but she won’t admit it.”

“Jill’s convinced that Ashley’s straight, so she won’t go, you know, chat her up.”

“Even Ashley herself is convinced that she’s straight.”

From afar they probably looked like they were chatting about women they wished they were man enough to hit on, whispering and pointing vaguely at the two girls. No one would know that they were matchmakers in the making.

Ashley returned to Leon’s side, forcing the two men to put their conversation on hold.

“Hi Chris,” Ashley said with a smile.

“Hey Ashley. You look great tonight.”

“Thanks. It’s Versace.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I take it it’s expensive.”

“Very.”

Jill, who’d gotten caught up at the bar ‘mingling’ with some government officials, rejoined the group. Chris took her by the shoulder, pulling her into the conversation.

“Leon and I are going to go get another round. Do you ladies want anything?” Chris asked.

“Just got a brand new one myself, so I’m good, thanks,” Jill responded, holding up her full champagne flute.

“Ooh. Can you get me another one of these?” Ashley asked, thrusting her glass at Leon.

“What is it?” He looked at the pinkish remnants of liquid contemplating its contents.

“Just tell the bartender ‘it’s for Ashley Graham’ and he’ll know.”

Ashley, herself, wasn’t quite sure of the exact recipe, though it tasted like it had more than a hint of grenadine in it.

The moment Leon turned away to retrieve her refill, Ashley said, “You’re really pretty, Jill. I mean, your dress, it’s really pretty. I like it.”

Ashley’s cheeks were pink, realizing that she’d said something a bit more flirtatious than she’d intended. The drink must’ve had more alcohol than she’d thought because she was already making a complete fool out of herself, or so it seemed. It was true, though, that Jill’s dress was really pretty, a subtle blue, that complemented her blue-gray eyes, eyes which Ashley was trying not to get lost in.

“Thanks. I wanted to wear a pantsuit originally, but I was told a dress would be more ‘festive’.”

“You could totally rock a suit.”

“You seem to have a good handle on what’s fashionable these days, so I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

“I just read a lot of Cosmo and Elle, you know.”

Jill nodded, pretending to know about fashion magazines.

“Have you seen the Blue Room yet?” Ashley asked, hoping an exclusive White House tour would be enough to impress her.

“No, I haven’t. Are we allowed back there?” Jill didn’t care much about Christmas decorations, but if she got to spend time with Ashley, then she could pretend to be interested in whatever Ashley liked for a little while.

“I am,” Ashley said proudly.

“Is this an offer for a behind-the-scenes tour of the White House?”

“Yeah, I can even show you the Oval Office if you want.”

Ashley looked back at one of the Secret Service members behind her who only glared back.

“Okay. Maybe not the Oval Office,” Ashley said. Then, leaning over, in a whisper, “They’re a little on edge tonight.”

“Who?”

“Secret service. Otherwise, I could probably convince them.”

“Are they following you around?”

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want any reporters hounding me about Spain, and neither do I.”

“That makes sense. People don’t really take into account how traumatic an experience like that can be and don’t even realize how insensitive it is to constantly be asking questions.”

Jill followed Ashley out of the ballroom, completely forgetting about the men they’d left at the bar. Who needs men when you’re getting a tour of the White House from the president’s daughter who is almost impossibly beautiful. Along with her designer dress, Ashley was also wearing tinsel in her hair and a necklace of battery-powered string lights. It was actually quite fitting that she’d put a flashing rainbow on around her neck. If her actions didn’t say ‘I’m gay’, her accessories sure did. Jill would’ve thought the ensemble looked tacky on anyone else, but Ashley managed to make it look festive, maybe even avant-garde. Though, fashion terms weren’t her area of expertise.

In the corridor, Ashley turned to face Jill, “They put all these articles in the news saying how happy they are that the president’s daughter is home safe, but they don’t even treat me like a human being when they talk about me.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. After Raccoon City, I remember constantly being asked questions about everything that happened, and I couldn’t even remember most of it. I passed out for days,” Jill said, trying to be sympathetic without raining on everyone’s parade.

Ashley’s holiday spirit surprised, yet delighted Jill. Knowing what Ashley went through, she would’ve expected her to be bitter or closed-off, but she retained this vibrance and sweetness that was charming.

“Wow. I don’t know that much about Raccoon City. Leon brought it up once, but he didn’t say much, and I didn’t want to ask him.”

“Yeah. There's solidarity between all of us who went through stuff like this. A silent solidarity, but it’s there. Especially silent on Leon’s end.”

Ashley had gotten to know Leon well over the course of those past few months, and yet, he was still a mystery in many ways.

“He’s definitely the quiet type. Sometimes I wanna open up to him about the whole thing, you know, Spain, but I’m sure he’s the last person that wants to talk about it.”

“If you ever feel like you need someone to talk to, I’m always here for you.”

“Really? That’s so sweet of you.”

“Of course. I’ll give you my number.”

Ashley couldn’t help but notice how the hundreds of lights strung around the blue rooms’ Christmas tree reflected off Jill’s face, how she glowed, how she was far more beautiful than the angel that took its place on the top branch of the tree. There was a moment of peaceful silence where she stretched out her pinky finger, not even realizing what she was doing until she felt the tip of Jill’s pinky touch her own. Similar to the moment before someone kisses you, where it becomes inevitable, the slow rush of butterflies to the stomach, but with an added tenderness, a sense of sweet innocence.

Leon and Chris appeared near the entrance to the room, but were stopped by a Secret Service member. Ashley had to step in with a, “they’re with me”, before the two men were allowed to be within 100 feet of her.

Chris, ever the opportunist, spotted an ornament on one of the many Christmas trees in the room, and swiped it. It was mistletoe shaped. He dangled it above Ashley and Jill, causing Ashley to blush and leaving Jill to be the one to initiate the kiss.

Jill deftly snatched the mistletoe from Chris’ hand and dangled it over him and Leon. Chris seemed surprisingly receptive to the idea, but Leon, on the other hand, looked a bit nervous. He cleared his throat and tried to hide the pink rising in his cheeks.

Hey, at least the blood wasn’t going anywhere else in his body, right?

Ashley held in her giggles while she watched the event unfold. Jill continued to hang it over them both, letting them know there was no way out.

“C’mon Leon,” Chris said.

Leon rolled his eyes, but he seemed to enjoy the kiss he and Chris shared.

Jill and Ashley were caught in their own little world, barely paying attention to either of the men, when they rejoined the conversation. They both slowly retreated once they realized they weren’t going to receive the attention of either of the women.

“Do you think they’re offended that we were ignoring them?” Ashley asked.

“No,” Jill said, “I think they get it.”

Get what? Ashley thought.

Jill’s lips were on hers again and she understood ‘what’.

At some point, the two noticed guests beginning to file out at a more rapid rate - people always came and went, but now the party was wrapping up. Jill looked at the clock and realized how late it was.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

“Right. I should get going, but I hope I get the chance to see you again soon.”

It sounded like a question that Ashley didn’t know how to respond to except with a ‘yes, absolutely, please and thank you”.

She said, “Yes, I have your number, so I’ll call you, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

Pulling away from their goodbye hug, Ashley kissed Jill on the cheek without really thinking about it. Luckily, before she had the chance to be embarrassed, Jill kissed her back.

Jill was leaving the room when she turned back to Ashley and said, “If you see Chris, tell him I left. He follows me around like a lost dog sometimes, so I don’t want him to get confused and end up roaming the halls for the next few hours.”

“Will do,” Ashley said with a smile.

She did start to wonder where Chris and Leon were. She hadn’t seen them in quite a while. Since most people had left, her security loosened her leash a bit, and let her wander off on her own to some extent. She eventually found Leon and Chris making out in an otherwise empty room. As much as she thought Jill might like that story, she was sworn to secrecy.

#fic recs #jill valentine x ashley graham

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