#color blindness is not always entirely physical

[3liza]

me after narrowly avoiding another Tumblr thread where 60% of this website claims to have <1% incidence neurological phenomena because theyve never thought about what if the blue *i* see isn't the same color as the blue *you* see, man

[hxney-lemcn]

True Beauty — Vil Schoenheit x gn! reader

summary: a simple sleepover had Vil questioning how you made him feel.

tw: none (maybe not the best characterization of Vil's thought process but this is cute so...)

a/n: just a small thought I needed to get out.

wc: 0.5k

Master List

“He is not pretty,” You said with a judgmental look on your face.

“Are you blind?” Vil asked back, raising one of his perfect eyebrows. “Look at his jawline, the impeccable makeup, the fashion style!”

“He cheated on his partner!” You shot back, nearly causing Vil to mess up his application serum to your skin. His light colored eyes narrowed, silently warning you to stay still.

“That may be, but that has nothing to do with his looks,” Vil countered, carefully picking out an eye cream that would suit you. 

The two of you were having a sleepover…well that's what you were calling it. Vil had simply offered you help with your night routine since ‘your skin looked puffy’ (you hadn’t seen a difference but this was Vil we’re talking about). You managed to convince Vil to put on a show in the background and he had simply pointed out the main antagonist looked attractive, which led to this mini-argument. 

“Wrong,” You stated, making a buzzer noise. “Personality is everything. Yeah I can see what you mean physically, but he ruined his looks with his actions. He’s the ugliest character ever because of what he did.” Vil paused his actions, blinking at you. He genuinely was caught off guard by what you said. His entire life he felt pressured to look perfect, it didn’t matter how a person would act. He had always wanted a starring role, a role that was painted as a hero, yet he was always shot down because he ‘looked’ like a villain. So you stating that you saw the world differently, that you judged others mainly on actions instead of looks, he found himself speechless for once. 

“Yet you’ve fallen for my charms,” Vil tried to rebuttal, ignoring the weird warmth that tried to consume him. You were such a strange person, he still couldn’t wrap his head around you…but he supposes that was your appeal. 

“Yeah,” You shrugged, pulling back as Vil finished putting a really good smelling moisturizer on you. “Because you’re really nice. I mean you literally just used skin care products on me that cost more than my life.” 

Once again you had managed to make his heart stutter and he hated you for it (not really, he’s just being a drama queen). You said it so casually, do you not realize just what that meant to him? He always felt like he had to prove himself, make himself look the most beautiful, work hard for his place, yet you had managed to carelessly toss it to the side with such a simple statement. With a simple belief. You sat across from him as he wore no makeup, his hair messy (it was perfect even if it was casual), and in pajamas (they were the most expensive pajamas you had ever seen), yet your eyes held nothing but adoration. 

“Can I do yours now?” You asked, like you hadn’t just shaken his entire world. Typically he’d deny such a request…but he found his resolve crumbling under your warm smile.

Just what were you doing to him?

[ozarkthedog]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed. 

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too. 

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose. 

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings. 

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home. 

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying. 

The shell of a man he used to be. 

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long. 

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands. 

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart. 

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead. 

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[ashlynnfall]

ekko looks for powder in the color blue. the sky, the water, hair, and eyes. blue blooms in the flowers near his tree and weaves through the streets of zaun, leaving trails for him to follow, leading him to something that no longer exists.

ekko looks for powder in light. it emanates from fire and spreads throughout zaun in the night. it's in the fixtures that decorate the streets, and it cascades down onto ekko's hideout, illuminating the mural that commemorates what has been lost. light reminds him of her. her bright smile and her blinding beauty. it revives the past they shared before tragedy struck, of that unforgettable night where they danced under the stars, of that kiss on the ledge...it's an everlasting reminder of his deepest affection.

ekko looks for powder in the gadgets he possesses. he searches for traces of her in the trinkets he collects, tinkering away to create new ones. inventions are where he looks the hardest, reminding himself of the days they spent working on innovative projects together. he thinks of her genius, her drive, and her madness in the craft. the memories bring a comforting smile to his face, which is a rare sight these days.

ekko looks for powder in time, lamenting how much they used to have together. there's a cruel irony in "the boy who shattered time" nickname. he was unable to spend the time he wanted with her, he couldn't shatter time enough to fit his needs. he enjoyed what they spent together, but it was too little. he could rewind time over and over and over again, but he still wouldn't get enough of her. his love for powder is timeless.

ekko looks for powder in his title: the boy savior. yet another cruel irony. he saved the entire world, ensuring the survival of many. in fact, he's spent his whole life saving people. he's always sacrificing his own needs for others as he leads a life of unbridled altruism. in a way, he's making up for being unable to save powder from jinx and silco. the boy savior, capable of rescuing anyone and everyone, except for the love of his life.

ekko looks for powder in the new era of zaun. sevika leading in the council, children running in the streets in glee rather than fear, the people breathing fresh air-it was everything they ever dreamed of. if only she was around to see it. ekko searches for the murals dedicated to her, seeks out the remnants of her hideout, scouts for anyone with leftover stories of her to tell. he observes the elated spirits of the city and bears the pain deep within his smile, reminding him of what could have been.

ekko looks for powder physically. it's not enough to just remember her. he needs to hug her, hold her close, and never let her go. he needs to hear her voice again, to invent with her again, to dance with her again, he just needs her to be here again. powder's absence is impossible to ignore, and ekko's tired of acknowledging it. he wants to be selfishly in love with her, but he can't. the world needed a savior, ekko answered the call.

ekko never stops looking for powder. she's in his head, in his heart, in his memories, in his home-no place is without her image. in his mind, powder's words echo promises of the past, not knowing that they'd be broken in the future. he searches for her in the people of zaun, hoping for the day when someone's face matches the one he craves to see so desperately. his search is endless, hopelessly devoted to a ghost of his past.

ekko finds powder in the hand that extends to him from a large white blimp. blue and pink nails decorate the pale skin covering it, confirming who stands before him. he looks at her bright smile, her pink eyes, the blue hair that grew back to the tops of her shoulders, the beautiful face he yearns to get lost in. he takes her in, processing everything he can see, praying that this isn't some horrible dream or hallucination.

ekko finds powder in the hug that they share, the hands that he holds, and in the lips that kiss him. ekko finds powder in the promises of adventure, in the conversations about their post-war lives, and in the apologies for everything. ekko finds powder.

powder and ekko find each other in love, in the reunion with their surviving friends and family, in the celebrations of a new zaun. they find each other on the dance floor once again, but this time, in the right universe. they bask in each other's arms, refusing to ever let go.

ekko finally finds powder, promising to never lose her again.

a/n: hi! i wanted to give ekko the ending he deserves because he's my fav character and deserves the whole world. timebomb as a couple mean so much to me, so i wanted to write a little story about their reunion after the finale of season 2. i need them together!! i also just adore ekko and powder, and that scene of them dancing in the alt universe was insanely well done. i hope you enjoyed my work, and thank you for reading! any tips of improving my writing or general thoughts on the fic would be greatly appreciated. thank you for your time <3

[barbs111claims]

You are Universe looking back at itself

(Guys, brace yourself because it is not going to be your usual post.)

I don't know if you guys understand why it is "assumption".

The thing we see, hear, smell, touch, taste. They aren't real. I'm not trying to say the same thing again and again.

I'm not emotional blackmailing you to have faith in imagination in order to have your desires in 3D. But I'm telling you to have faith in imagination because it is the only truth. The source creation.

If the 3D is actually real and vivid as it seems,

there wouldn't be Ageusia, Dysgeusia, Color Blindness, Anosmia, Anaphia and literally tons other mental illness or disorders.

Dysgeusia: A condition where taste is distorted, leading to unusual or unpleasant flavors. Color blindness: A deficiency in color vision, usually involving difficulty distinguishing between certain colors. Dysacusis: A hearing disorder where sounds are distorted or unclear, making them hard to understand despite normal hearing. Anosmia: The total loss of the sense of smell, often caused by damage to the olfactory system Anaphia: The loss or impairment of the sense of touch, often due to nerve or brain damage.

Similarly between them?

"In short, they all relate to disruptions in the way the body processes sensory information."

Now, what proves that our entire lives that what we feel is not a distortion?

our brain? the only thing that distorts?

science? the thing is which is created by human brain?

These disorders happens due to a change in neural pathway in brains or due to medical treatment of which it affects the brain of some people which alters their entire reality.

People with color blindess don't know that their brain cannot see certain colors until other people make that person aware. Only then, the person with the color blindness gets aware of their condition, so till then... That person assumes that is their reality because that's what consciousness does.

So now, what if everyone on earth had color blindness?

It would simply just be the 'true reality'.

Brain provides distortion and consciousness accepts which then repeated becomes a belief in deep subconscious mind.

Nothing is "truth". We don't actually see 3D but the brain repeats us the old assumptions again and again.

That's why 3D is a reflection of our own mind.

The assumptions doesn't affect the 3D but becomes the 3D.

Assumptions are the true reality, 4D is the true reality.

Whether new or old, there is no "true reality" out there. (link)

There is no active 3D existing. Everything is 4D. Your so called material world is just interpreted by your brain through sensory nerves. You were always living in your head.

"Oh but why do need something external like water if we only live in our head?"

Because you exist in a physical body at this moment. Your body needs it. You don't. So you can actually shift to a reality where you don't need water.

Our physical never had to suffer or endure pain, we were provided with abundant water, minerals, trees which ripe fruits, vegetables, human physical and mental strength to power other creatures since the dawn.

"Oh then why do we innovate new physical objects if it already exists in 4D?"

Because we are source of creation. Our imagination, 4D. We don't just create out of no where. Just like how the airplane was a fantasy of the Wright brothers before it came into existence. We imagine something, we drive in creating.

Everything that is existing right now is a fantasy of the creator.

We are a mere fantasy of I am.

We are the I am conceived in human form who then forgot ourselves and became a dream character.

When we are first born, our subconscious develops at 6months. The duty of subconscious is solely to protect and serve you. The baby in the womb knows how to suck milk from the mother. Your subconscious protects you now and forever, you then develop consciousness which has the possibility to change the subconscious belief considering changes in adaptation in surroundings and to mend with the society.

That's why kids are very 'spongy' from 6-8yrs. Their conscious and subconscious both are developing together. This is where their majority life's belief starts forming deep onto their subconscious.

(Your subconsciousness is why you are here, making you able to read this at the moment. Heart beat, lungs functioning etc. It developed long ago and is consciously listening, it can't process every thoughts like consciousness, it just simply takes you as the dominant thought)

You get adapted to 3D and forget about 4D.

So it becomes 3D-> 4D->3D (old assumptions becomes 'true'.)

instead of 4D-> 3D-> 4D (you create assumption, your own reality which then becomes the 'true').

You are only truth, I am.

Whatever state you associate yourself with after that is an illusion that you can choose to be.

Anything is possible to I am.

You were/are/will be void forever.

You are whatever you desire and get conscious of.

[ellieslaces]

NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU, BABY.

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!agent!reader x ashley graham

synopsis: ashley graham's biggest weakness is attractive people, especially kind, attractive people. she was not expecting to be saved by two of the hottest, kindest people she'd ever met, much less to end up crushing on the both of them

content warnings: harsh language; mentions of violence; tension; lots of flirtatious banter; ashley shooting her shot for an entire fic basically; mentions of reader being bisexual; light smut; kissing (f!f & f!m); one bed trope; forced proximity; no real smut bc idk how to write a threesome :(

notes: takes place on the way back from Spain (technically post RE4R); one bed-ish trope (r&leon share a bed, and a room with ashley); ashley is sort of confused about her sexuality; semi-established relationship (r&leon); really more of a sibling dynamic between ashley and leon (it sounds weird, but its balanced in the actual fic, i promise)

word count: 6.13k (i’m so sorry)

chloe talks: was this entirely inspired by @postersofleon ? yeah, i read this post a week or so ago and i'm losin' sleep over it. so full credits to @postersofleon for the plot! luv their lil' drabble :) also, sorry this isn't more of a threesome fic. if it were a triple female threesome, i could work with that, but add a dick into it, i'm clueless. anyways, enjoy ashley fumbling for this whole fic (luv her, i just can't help embarrassing her shes so cute). also, please appreciate this, i wrote around 80% of this while i was supposed to be studying for an exam. that’s on adhd and procrastination :)

now playing: Nohings Gonna Hurt You Baby; Cigarettes After Sex

It is entirely possible that blondes were, indeed, your weakness. Sure, over the years, you'd come to realize there was something especially alluring about lighter hair - possibly the way it reminded you of the sun, or how each strand looked like spun gold. Although, what seemed to seal your fate was the ever dangerous pairing of blonde hair and blue eyes. Oh, how alluring and damning was the color of icy blue coupled with silvery, silken strands.

For a time, you believed your weakness was encompassed only within your field partner, Leon S. Kennedy. God, how handsome was that agent. Not only handsome, but brave, and kind - awkwardly so, but it really is the principle of the thing. It was painstakingly obvious to everyone, other than Leon it seemed, that you were completely and forlornly in love with him. It seemed you were equally as blind to the evidence that Leon Kennedy was also miserably in love with you.

But the one person who noticed it upon first glance was Ashley Graham. Not only for the clear obviousness of the situation, but because the feeling was entirely, and unfortunately mutual. And it was this girl who also awoke the realization within you that Leon was not the only blonde-haired, blue-eyed person you found enticing.

Though, you were not the only one in this clandestine triad who had an impending weakness for certain types of people. No, you were not, Ashley had an Achilles heel for graciously kind people. Not just kind, but attractive. Not in a shallow or superficial way, but to say more that a person would catch her eye. She had no pre-existing physical type - no particular hair color, eye color, or even height preference. Just that they be kind. And much to the First Daughter's dismay, you were both horribly kind. In your own respective ways, of course.

Leon — as aforementioned — was awkwardly kind, despite how well he meant. He never knew exactly how to word his concern, or how to come about comforting someone. It was usually said in simple phrases such as “you okay?” or in way of one of many snarky comments he had stored in the deep recesses of his mind. Ashley thought he was funny; sometimes.

You, on the other hand, were painfully sweet to her. Always reassuring her that she was okay, and you were going to keep her safe. Field medic, that’s how Leon explained your role in her rescue. You were there to keep her and Leon healthy and in one piece, which you were startlingly good at. Any bruise or cut she procured was immediately treated by your sweet disposition and skilled hands. She liked how gentle you were with her.

So yes, Leon was kind in an awkward manner, and you were kind in a practical sense. And that devastating combination was her inevitable downfall.

From the moment you and Leon found her in that church, she knew she was fucked. Because, how could people look that good while doing the sort of jobs you had? There was no way, no way she would ever be able to form coherent sentences around you two. But, somehow, by some miracle, she got on with you both quite well. Despite the obvious moments of third-wheel-ism because you and Leon were so close.

There where multiple reoccurring occasions where Ashley suspected the pair of you may be together. Or at least fucking on the side. Because no two people who are just partners have that dynamic. The constant tension, the way Leon could be protective or even overbearing sometimes. The way you would rush to his side to patch up his wounds — no matter how small and minuscule they were — after a fight. Sometimes, despite how endearing it could be, Ashley was annoyed. Sure, you two had known each other for an extended period of time and had just met Ashley that day. But, it became so aggravating when you would consult each other without the inclusion of Ashley.

Many times you would apologize to her, expressing how sorry you were for leaving her out of conversations or hypothetical battle plans. It wasn’t that either of you thought she was stupid or couldn’t handle it. No, it was more along the lines that you were used to it just being the two of you. There was rarely ever a third party involved — other than Hunnigan chatting away in your ear pieces of course — in these types of situations.

Ashely was smitten, to put it lightly. She’d made several attempts to quote-unquote ‘shoot her shot’ with Leon. Little comments of how brave he was, how thankful she was for his saving her. Even calling him her ‘hero’ on one occasion or another. His name had posted permanent residence in her vocabulary it seemed.

However, her means of flattery with you was completely different. She was a little more bold with you, seeing as you were more of an open person than Leon was. She partook in the cliche, yet never failing flirtatious mannerisms — simple touches, giggling at your jokes, or simply sticking to your side in dangerous situations. It wasn’t that you didn’t notice, no, you just turned a conscious blind eye to it all. Ashley was a college girl, a sorority girl, a privileged girl. She was probably used to using flattery to get what she wanted, to gain the attention she so desperately thrived on.

Though as your time in the hostile Spanish village went on, you came to realize that it wasn’t superficial, Ashley’s flattery toward you and your field partner. Absolutely not, far from it. You realized after Leon had carried her to Luis’ laboratory and you managed to get the machine working to expel the parasite from her body, that Ashley was totally and completely smitten with the pair of you. She was attached in the worst way. And that would be your inevitable downfall.

Leon was consciously blind to it. Your partner — no matter his selfless tendencies and his awkwardly kind nature — was melancholic. He had a firm belief he was predestined to be miserable. That there was always another shoe waiting to drop. He didn’t deserve happiness, peace, love, a good life. So, he ignored it. He ignored how Ashley was equally as taken with him as she was with you. He didn’t bring it up, he didn’t even act like he noticed. Oh, but you did.

You saw the attachment so clearly by the time the three of you had managed to escape the crumbling island via Ada Wong’s gifted jet ski that Ashely was so attached to the pair of you. She’d offered positions on her own personal detail to you, claiming she could put a word in with her father. Denials were made, kind smiles and the shaking of heads. Too kind of an offer and you liked your jobs, is what you’d told her. That wasn’t at all what you were thinking though.

Post a Hunnigan meltdown over your earpieces, the three of you were told to stay the night in a shabby, rundown little local hotel in a larger town a couple dozen miles south of the village. Still in Spain, still tired, still craving a warm shower. One room, two beds. Great, one of you was stuck sleeping with someone. Ashely offered for one of you to have a bed to yourself, she’d sleep with the other. Not a great idea. You and Leon — having spent many awkward and difficult missions together, so this was not strange to either one of you — decided on giving Ashley a bed to herself and taking the other together

If you’d been alone, oh how your lovestruck little heart would have burst. Sharing a bed with Leon Kennedy, the object of your affection. The sole performer in your wildest — and wettest — dreams. But you weren’t alone. Ashley was in the room, a matter of feet away, in her own double sized bed.

If she hadn’t been — to be vulgar and completely honest — nothing would have stopped you from fucking him then and there. The tension between the pair of you had been growing thicker since your arrival in Spain. It was thick, painfully so, and also horrifically obvious not only to you, but yet again, to Ashley. For the longer stretch of the mission, she’d expected a grand confession at any moment. A breakdown caused by a dangerous situation that ensued a moment of emotional and even physical vulnerability. But, to her dismay and yours, that never happened. Because, above all things, Leon was professional for a lack of a better word. He wasn’t going to allow his emotions to jeopardize the mission.

And so no breakdown of emotional distress and vulnerability played out. No confession of hearts bleeding for the other were cried out. Part of you was glad it hadn’t happened that way. But the larger part of your soul which was dedicated to Leon had wished it had. You longed for the day he realized he needed you too. But, to maintain professionalism and dignity, neither of you made such admissions.

Warm showers were taken in rotation in the tiny excuse for a bathroom. The shower was small and permanently stained with grime, but really was clean as the owner swore. The shower head was one of the older ones from the seventies that made the water come out in a dribble, then a forceful rainfall that hurt your back. The toiletries provided by the hotel were small and cheap, but you were clean. That’s all that mattered.

Sans dried blood and grime, you sat on Ashley’s bed, cross legged as you patched up each one of her injuries. Ashley had been the first to shower, after a fifteen minute debate with the two of you over who should go first. She had a few bandages and exposed scrapes that needed to be re-cleaned. So, with gentle hands you did so as Leon took use of his turn to shower.

“Looks good, no signs of infection so far. But, like I said before, I can’t tell too much without the right equipment.” You reassured Ashely as you finished patching up a cut on her arm and began to put your first aid kit back together.

“Thanks,” Ashley nodded, inspecting her scrape riddled skin. Small bruises and surface cuts were beginning to make their appearance, telltale signs of the brutality the three of you had endured in that village.

“Let me know if you feel feverish or see any swelling. That could mean infection.” You offered, being kind but stern.

“‘Kay,” the girl nodded, smiling up at you as you let out a sigh, leaning back on your hands on the bed.

You looked at her, smiling softly as your head tilted to the side a little. “Need me to kiss it better?”

At this, Ashley’s eyes went wide, her cheeks dusted with pink. You felt a little bad then, you just tried to ease the tension. “S’okay, Ashley. I was just playing.” You laughed, your tone lighthearted as you placed a gentle hand on her knee with an equally gentle smile.

It seemed the touch was worst than the comment. Ashley’s entire face went aflame, her eyes wide, and large as she stared at you. An uneasy ache settled in your chest, uncertainty lingering in the air as your smile faded. The initial shock between the pair of you didn’t last long as the door to the bathroom swung open.

“Jesus, you could’ve left me some hot water.” Leon grumbled as he stepped out into the room, lips downturned and brows etched in an annoyed frown.

The three of you were now paused as Leon’s eyes fell on you and Ashely — or more-so on the hand that rested on Ashley’s knee. Reality seemed to snap into place all at once for you, yanking your hand back and standing up.

“Let me check you out.” You mumbled, clearing your throat as you picked up the first aid kit and took residence on your own bed.

“No, I’m fine. Check on Ashley,” Leon shook his head, damp blond strands sticking to his forehead.

“Already did. Just finished. Your turn, whether you like it or not.” You stated, your tone final as you looked up at Leon, brows raised.

The agent let out a huff of agitation, grumbling something indiscernible as he sat down on the bed beside you. You began to gently inspect Leon's wounds- some small, others more intense. Despite his prior hesitation to be taken care of, he was stoic about it all. He sat still, unmoving, silent as you worked to disinfect and cover each wound with fresh bandages. The silence in the room was loud, startlingly uncomfortable as you patched Leon up.

A quick glance over at Ashley as you finished bandaging a deep cut that you'd quickly stitched up on the field showed her wide eyes. Wide baby blue focused on the way your fingers gently worked, how graceful and careful they were again the alabaster tone of Leon's skin.

"Doing okay over there, blondie?” Leon inquired, a small smirk playing on his face as he spotted Ashley's startling gaze on the wounds decorating his skin. He had mistook her fascination of your hands as nervousness of his wounds. But you knew. You could tell what her gaze meant.

"Oh, yeah. M'fine." Ashley recovered very quickly, to your surprise. Well, maybe it wasn't just your hands that had her enraptured, Leon was sitting on the bed, shirtless.

"Alright, hero-boy, all better." You smiled at Leon as you patted his bicep - earning a small, almost inaudible grumble from him - and moving to close your medical kit. You stood, tucking away in your pack and let out a sigh. "’Kay, l for one, am fucking exhausted."

“Yeah, me too,” Ashely murmured, an aura of discomfort still radiating from her. She offered a kind, if not awkward smile to the pair of you before settling into the bed, pulling the overs over her shoulders. “G’night.”

“‘Night,” you smiled, shuffling over to the bed you and Leon were sharing. You sat down on the edge, eyes trained on the back of Ashley’s head — the blonde hair, how it shimmered against the dim light of the single lamp in the room. You felt almost as if you weren’t really there.

“Need me to check you?” Leon asked, snapping you back to reality. You jolted a bit, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“Oh, nah, I’m okay.” You shook your head, clearing your throat as you settled into the bed, flicking off the lamp.

“Okay,” Leon shrugged, getting into the bed too, still in just a pair of pants. Everyone was in the barest of clothing. You in a tank top and underwear — Ashely in the same. It was all you had. All your clothes were soiled with dirt, and grime, and blood.

Thinking of nothing in particular, you laid there, staring up at the ceiling of the dark room. The walls creaked every once in a while, odd drafts filtered in from cracks in the ceiling or from the window. It was too quiet. And it stayed that way for a long while.

“Everything okay with Ashley?” Leon asked, his voice quiet, as not to wake the subject of conversation.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You mumbled back, turning your head. He, too, was on his back. Both of you too afraid to face each other in bed, seeming too personal. “Why?”

“Just making sure.” His response was quiet, a little too nonchalant, as if he’d forced it to be casual. “It was awkward earlier.”

“Earlier?” You decided to play dumb, despite knowing that Leon wouldn’t believe it. He was well aware you knew what he was talking about. The touch. How Ashley had frozen when you’d touched her leg.

“Whatever, play stupid.” He scoffed with a half smile — a knowing smile. The bastard. “Just saying, she seems attached to you.”

“Oh, and she’s not with you, her hero?” You bit back with a hint of humor. Your voices were still low, hoping Ashely was asleep — or she couldn’t hear you if she wasn’t.

Leon laughed quietly, a rough scoff sound that echoed in your ears. You smiled at little at that sound. “Whatever you say,”

You frowned, gaining the confidence to shuffle onto your side, facing him as you contemplated what that simple, yet heavy ‘whatever’ meant. “What do you mean, whatever?”

Leon sighed, rolling onto his side to face you too. His eyes, still so blue even in the darkness of the motel room, bore into yours. It seemed he didn’t carry the same awkward feeling about this topic as you did. Or, maybe he did and he just hid it exceptionally well. But knowing him, that didn’t seem right.

“She’s just attached to you. Always at your side, or chatting your ear off. And what the hell was with that earlier?” He continued, brows furrowed in their eternal frown.

“I was patching her up. Making sure none of her cuts were infected.” You half shrugged, trying to play it off as something simple, even though it was so complex.

“She looked like she wanted to kiss you or something.”

“Oh, my God,” you rolled your eyes, trying to push away the way your chest tightened at the though. “You’re so fucking dramatic. She wasn’t gonna kiss me.”

“Okay,” Leon shrugged, his tone final and casually dismissive. Like he was finished talking about it. Like he didn’t believe you but didn’t want to say so.

“She was not going to kiss me.” You pushed, voice quiet yet firm. Your own brows were pulled into a frown, like what he’d said was offensive.

But it wasn’t. Kissing Ashley wasn’t a bad thought. It wasn’t as if you’d never kissed another girl before. The first time you had was in the training program for USSTRATCOM, your training partner who made you realize that all girls don’t look at other girls that way. She was the first, others followed.

Ashley was pretty, very pretty. Tall, pretty lips, and the blonde hair, blue eye thing, of course. Kissing her wouldn’t be so bad, really. It would probably be very nice. But nothing like kissing Leon, though.

“Okay.” Leon said again, shifting to lay on his back again, letting his eyes close. The finality of it all aggravated you. So, you asked him a question maybe you shouldn’t have.

“What if she did?” You asked, eyes narrowed and trained on him. A smile bloomed on your face at the way his eyes opened, his brows furrowing deeper at your question.

“What about it? It’s not my business.” Leon grumbled. But the tone he used made it wound like it was very much his business.

“M’kay.” You nodded, quietly celebrating to the way you’d seemed to have stumped him, surprised him.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He stared at the ceiling, and you stared at him. It was deadly quiet, the rhythmic sound of Ashley’s breathing the sole sound in the room.

“Did you want her to?” Leon asked, mumbling quietly. His eyes stayed on the ceiling, as if he were afraid to look you in the eye when you answered. Afraid you had an answer he wouldn’t like.

“I dunno.” You admitted, honestly. You didn’t know, truly you didn’t. Kissing Ashely wouldn’t be so bad, but you hardly knew the girl. Not to mention her heavy attachment to you. It could get worse if she kissed you.

Leon nodded, not sure of how to answer your admission. He laid there, your eyes on him as you laid on your side. You wished so desperately for him to kiss you, or hold you, or do something. It was painful, the thought that he didn’t feel the same.

“Would that bother you?” You dared to ask, voice so low it was almost inaudible as you spoke.

Leon was still quiet for a long moment, maybe considering whether to answer seriously or with his usual dry humor. The latter won. “Not something I’d wanna walk in on.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Why? Because we’re girls?”

“Because she’d be kissing you.” He responding, saying it lightly, like the meaning of that simple sentence wasn’t the heaviest thing you’d ever heard.

Your mind did circles, your heart raced. Did he mean that because you were his partner? Or did he mean it out of jealousy. God, you hoped it was jealousy.

“What do you mean by that?” You questioned, voice apprehensive and unsure.

Leon shrugged, a soft, unintelligible grunt falling from his lips. He didn’t look over at you, his eyes still trained on the ceiling. The nagging feeling that was ever present in your chest worsened. The silence was deafening, painful. Then, finally, he spoke.

“It’d just be weird. It’s Ashely, it’d be weird.” He mumbled, like even he didn’t believe his own answer.

Leon’s words befuddled you, made you frown in contemplation. “Because it’s Ashley? What you mean by that?”

“I mean it’s Ashley. It’d be weird.” He repeated, not clarifying at all. This annoyed you.

Eyes narrowed, lips in a line, you scoffed. “Thanks for the explanation.”

“Anytime,” Leon clipped back playfully. But you were in no playful mood.

You huffed, Leon picking up on your attitude as you sat up in bed. “Seriously, what’d you mean by that?”

Leon let out a scoff of his own, rolling his eyes as he looked over at you. “I mean it’s just a weird thought. You and Ashley. We, we just met her, okay?”

“Oh,” you nodded, wishing you hadn’t jumped to your own conclusions internally. You’d thought he meant it was weird because she wasn’t him. Or maybe that he wanted to kiss you. Not such a simple and obvious answer.

“Yeah,” he nodded, letting out a small sigh to stifle a yawn. “Look, can we get some sleep now? Kinda have a long trip home tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” You mumbled, lying back down on your back, eyes on the cracked ceiling once again.

It was quiet again, the discomfort of silence present once more as Ashley slept in the bed next to yours, and Leon tired to sleep beside you. Your mind buzzed with a thousand variations of the same question: why did Leon actually care so damn much?

“Go to sleep. You think too loud.” Leon grumbled, shifting to lay on his side, back facing you.

“At least some of us think,” you quipped quietly, earning a scoff of a laugh from him before he went silent for the final time that night.

Of course Leon woke up at dawn. The asscrack of fucking dawn. And it wasn’t like he was quiet either. Shuffling of his feet as he stumbled to the bathroom, the sink creaking on. You tried so hard to stay asleep, but your stupid internal alarm clock was ringing too. Oh to be in D.C. where it was still dark.

“C’mon, get up. We need to get moving.” Leon said, his voice somewhat gentle as he rested a hand on your shoulder once he’d emerged from the bathroom, fully changed.

“I’m up. You’re loud.” You mumbled, voice muffled as you pressed your face into the pillow.

“Jesus,” Leon whispered under his breath. “Even Ashely’s up.”

“Good for her,” you nestled deeper into the pillow, hearing a second set of footsteps head toward the bathroom. Less than five short seconds later, Leon yanked the covers from your body, sending a muffled yelp from your lips.

“Up, we need to move.” Leon said again, giving your leg a small shake as you grumbled on about a lack of sleep. His gentleness was gone now, replaced by urgency.

Technically, you were still on ‘enemy grounds’. You weren’t safe until you were back on U.S. soil, and even then there carried a risk with Ashley in tow.

So, with more sour encouragement from Leon, you got up and changed into your now dry clothes. Once Ashely used up her turn in the bathroom, you took yours. And not long after, the three of you were heading back toward the lobby of the shabby motel.

You managed to convince Leon to stick around for an extra thirty minutes for a shitty cooked breakfast in the sad excuse for a dining room where the motel offered complimentary breakfast.

Once full of frozen scrambled eggs, stale toast, and really bad coffee, the three of you were on the move once more. It was tricky, getting home like this. Hunnigan had promised that of you made it to a certain location a few miles north of the motel, there would be a chopper waiting to pick you up. Hunnigan hadn’t failed you yet, so you didn’t doubt her.

“How much further?” Ashley asked, her brows creased, forehead already glistening with sweat as the three of you walked through the winding streets of a small village as you had been for the past few hours.

“Not too much. Tired?” You asked, slowing your steps to walk alongside the girl.

She nodded, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Sympathy panged in your chest — Ashley wasn’t built for this like you and Leon were. The two of you had trained for exhausting situations such as these, she had not. You frowned.

“Need some water?” You asked gently, holding out a canteen from your belt. Ashley nodded vigorously, taking the canteen and drinking deeply.

You motioned to Leon to stop for a moment, he frowned, but did nonetheless. You stood with Ashley as she drank, taking a break before going back to drinking the water.

“Thanks,” she smiled, handing the canteen back to you — now half empty. “Sorry, I drank a lot.”

“That’s okay. Can’t have you passing out on us now, can we?” You smiled, taking a sip yourself before latching it back on your belt.

Leon, noticing that Ashely was finished with her break, began walking again. You and Ashely followed, keeping a small bit of distance between you and Leon.

“Hey, I um, I overheard you and Leon talking last night. Not everything, but some of it.” Ashley confessed, her voice a bit hesitant.

“Oh, that so? What’d you hear exactly?” You asked casually, worry springing in your chest.

“Just, I’m sorry because I know you guys have a like, groove or whatever. And I mess it up and I make it weird.”

You frowned for a moment, thinking about her words. Then it hit you — she didn’t hear about the kissing discussion, just the last bit about her being new to the trio.

“Oh, Ashely. You don’t make anything weird. Leon and I… we weren’t talking about you making things weird.” You promised, lips curved downward as you and Ashley walked behind Leon.

“Then why’d Leon say that?” Ashely asked, the insecurity obvious in her voice.

You hesitated, unsure whether or not to say it to her face. That he’d thought you two were going to kiss. After a moment of consideration — and seeing Ashely’s sad, curious eyes — you decided to just say it. Consequences be damned.

“Because he thought you were going to try to kiss me. When he came out of the bathroom last night.” You explained gently, shrugging as if it weren’t a big deal. When it kind of was.

The girl was quiet for a long moment, her brows creased, lips turned downward. She swallowed, looking back at you from where she’d been staring at her feet. “And he meant it’d be weird if I did kiss you?”

“Yeah, that’s what he meant. Not because we’re girls,” you were quick to interject your previous statement. “But because it’s just… that you and I don’t really know each other that well.”

Ashley nodded, walking beside you as you followed Leon along the uneven stone paths. Every once in a while, he’d glance backward to make sure you weren’t lingering behind or somehow gotten lost.

“Okay,” one simple word carried such finality. It shook you — Ashley was uncomfortable.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird. I just wanted to be honest.” You tried to explain gently but firmly. You didn’t want her to think you were strange.

“You didn’t make me feel weird.” Ashely shook her head, eyes squinting in the mid-afternoon sun as she looked over at you.

You smiled a little, relieved you hadn’t put her off or made her uncomfortable. That really was the last thing you wanted. “Good,”

The three of you continued to walk along, and a little further up, you demanded a break. Leon huffed, claiming you didn’t have time for a break. But the sun was warm and you were quickly running out of water.

So, you stopped for a quick fifteen minutes before setting off again. Leon was walking much quicker than before — dead set on getting to the extraction point before sundown. Which was very much possible as you were a mere four miles away.

There was a chopper waiting, just as Hunnigan had promised. God, you’d mentally decided to name your first born after her, so thankful to finally leave Spain and sit your ass down.

You sat beside Leon in the back compartment of the chopper, all three of you sporting massive headsets to protect your ears. You chatted away with the pilot — a friend of Hunnigan’s named Danny who was funny, and reminded you of the late Mike who died in pursuit of getting you and Leon out of trouble in the village.

With the promise of a good meal and actual hot showers, Danny flew the three of you home. You were busy looking outside the chopper when Leon nudged your knee with his, earning a slightly venomous glare from you before he pointed to Ashley. Who was dead asleep across from you.

The ride back to D.C. was long, around six hours. Most of which were spent talking with Danny or falling asleep, slumped against Leon’s shoulder. Around twenty minutes before you were set to land — you and Leon had been previously discussing what you were doing first, eating, sleeping, or showering — you shook Ashley awake.

The poor thing was groggy and half asleep as you all filed off the chopper and bid goodbye to Danny — whom you’d made a promise to meet up with and have drinks in honor of Mike at his favorite bar he’d mentioned before he tragically died.

A government issued SUV waited for you, instructing the three of you to pile into the back so you could be taken straight to the President, then to testing. Which you put up a damn good fight. Who the fuck cared about testing? You were hungry and tired and dehydrated as hell. Leon shut you up quick though, despite not being happy about the arrangement himself.

Unfortunately, the car ride was around a half an hour. The driver — not as intimidating had he’d first appeared — flicked between radio stations ntil he landed on one he knew was Ahsley’s favorite. (Apparently he’d been the one to drive Ashely to college, so he knew what music she liked).

Much to Ashely’s dismay and deathly embarrassment, the fucking Backstreet Boys were playing. The driver turned it up, also having the knowledge that this particular track was one of Ashley’s favorites.

Unfortunately, you knew the lyrics too. You mumbled along with them, Leon biting back a smile at how ridiculous his own field partner could be.

“You like the Backstreet Boys?” Ashely asked, her cheeks a bit warm as you bopped your head to the beat and hummed along.

“Nah, but don’t be embarrassed.” You shook your head, smiling at the girl who was sitting between you and Leon.

“Music is music, blondie.” Leon agreed, nodding his head with your positive attitude. He looked back over Ashely’s head at you, trying hard not to smile at your antics. God, you could be so stupidly immature sometimes.

“Oh,” Ashley mumbled, slinking down further in her seat as the driver made the final turn and parked the SUV.

Leon exited first, then Ashley, and you to follow up the rear. You and Leon were armed, still charged with protecting Ashely, no matter the fact that you were indeed on U.S. soil again, and at the White House. The President didn’t greet you outside to your surprise, but you were ushered immediately to his office.

There he was reunited with his daughter, the emotional moment making you have to quietly clear your throat because it even choked you up to see Ashley so happy to see her father again.

You and Leon were thanked profusely, promised your compensation and the highest of honors and awards. To which you didn’t really want (except the money, fuck, you wanted the money), but you knew better than to even try to deny.

With that, you and Leon were quickly dismissed, told you were being led to government testing to be sure you really were clear of the parasites. You gave Ashley a quick goodbye smile and hug, Leon giving her a pat on the shoulder, telling her to behave herself.

She looked so unsure, so strange standing in the Oval Office, clothes grimy and blood stained, hair mussed as she watched you and Leon being escorted from the room.

The First Daughter felt a strange sort of emptiness in her chest then, watching you leave. Her brows furrowed as her father spoke incessantly to her about how worried he’d been and how much he missed her. You were agents, assigned to bring her home and leave. No more, no less. So why was she so devastated to see you go?

Of course, you felt a little sad to leave the girl behind. Despite spending only around forty-eight hours with Ashley, you found yourself realizing you’d miss her. Her smile and her comments and her laugh. The way she always asked if you were alright when you should have been doing so to her. How she tried her hardest to defend you and Leon, despite her chronic helplessness.

These things were not spoken to Leon though as you two walked out of the White House together, followed by guards back to the SUV you’d arrived in. But, even though you didn’t say it, you knew Leon felt it too. Somehow, in forty-eight short hours, Ashley had left a mark on you. The both of you. And you missed her already.

“Wait!” You stopped in your tracks, you and Leon almost simultaneously looking over your shoulder to see Ashley running out of the White House after you. She was panting, trying to catch up.

She ran to Leon first, wrapping her arms around his neck, taking the agent by such surprise it made him stumble backwards a bit. Leon wasn’t much of a hugger, you knew this personally. But, despite the action being hesitant and awkward, he hugged her back.

After a few moments — which you knew in your bones were long for Leon — he gave her a quick pat on the back. Ashely took the motion in stride and unlinked herself, smiling at him.

Then, she turned to you. Of course, you expected a hug as well, and you got one. She wrapped her arms around your neck too, you wrapped your arms around her middle, hugging her back with no hesitation. But what you hadn’t expected, was for her to lean back and press a kiss to your lips.

You paused, frozen, eyes wide as Ashley kissed you. What the fuck? She wasn’t a bad kisser, actually. You felt a little bad, not kissing her back as Ashley pulled away, letting go of you and taking a step back. You sort of wished you had kissed her back. But, as the girl stood there, she held no contempt for the fact that you hadn’t. She knew she’d taken you by complete surprise.

“Thank you, both of you. I know I already said it, but thank you for saving my life. It, it means a lot.” Ashely said, her lips — which had been as soft as you thought they were — curved in a sweet smile. Baby blue eyes darted between you and Leon.

Leon who was as shocked as you that Ashley had kissed you with such little hesitation. He was still recovering as well.

Ashely said no more, just offering one last wide smile before turning around and walking away. Her guard — which had followed her outside, running behind her — escorted her. She didn’t even look back, didn’t get a second look at the still shocked look on your face.

“Holy fuck,” you said finally, looking away from Ashley’s retreating figure to look at Leon. He was shocked as well, brows raised as he blinked for a moment.

“Yep, that was weird.” Leon mumbled, nodding as if in affirmation. He said no more, turning around and walking to the SUV, leaving you in momentary silence.

You blinked yourself back to the present, realizing Leon’s comment. You frowned, turning and quickly walking to the SUV as well. “So I didn’t just have a dehydration induced hallucination? She actually kissed me?”

“She actually kissed you,” Leon nodded as he buckled in the SUV, you climbing in and sitting beside him. The car started and rolled out of the parking lot.

“Oh my God.” You said, brows raised, shaking your head. You were unsure of what else there really was to say. You were at a total loss for words.

“Fucking weird.” Leon shook his head, whispering again.

This caused you to look over at him, brows raised. “Why? Because we’re girls?” You brought up your challenge from the previous night, knowing full well you’d get the same damn response.

“No, because it's you.”

You frowned deeper, lips downturned. Oh, you liked a good fucking challenge. “You think I’m like, un-kissable, or something, Kennedy?”

Leon rolled his eyes, exhaustion obviously catching up to him. He looked tired — physically and mentally. “I didn’t say that. It’s just weird.”

“See, that’s not an explanation. Just like it wasn’t last night.” You chided, eyes narrowed.

“Christ,” Leon mumbled under his breath as shook his head, clearly regretting ever speaking in the last five minutes. “It’s just weird to see my partner being kissed like that.”

You took this as your chance, a grin forming on your lips. “By another girl? Or just in general?”

“General.” Leon responded, obviously not caring of how bored it sounded.

“Jealous or something?” You challenged further, lips pulled in a shit-eating grin.

Oh you’d gotten him there. You could tell by the way Leon’s shoulders tensed and his too casual expression that he was, indeed, sickeningly jealous. An idea — stupid, one that may ruin your dynamic — popped into your head.

You turned your body to face Leon in the backseat, grinning as he frowned at your sudden closeness. With no hesitation or moment for him to react, you leaned forward and kissed him. Square on the mouth. It must be a thing for blondes to have really soft lips.

Leon didn’t say a word, didn’t pull back, didn’t move. He just let you kiss him. Which was strange in and of itself. You placed a hand on his cheek, him a hand on the back of your neck. Eureka, he’d wanted to kiss you all along. Fuck yes, that’s all you could think.

Leon was a decent kisser too, a really good kisser actually. You scooched a little closer, allowing him to hold you by the back of your neck, your body relaxed against his as if it were natural to do so.

Was this what Ashely was feeling when she’d kissed you? Absolute elation and joy? You didn’t let yourself wonder too much, getting swept up in the fact that you were kissing Leon. His hand was gentle yet firm on the back of your neck, your hand on his cheek drifting down to rest against his chest. This moment, God you wished it could last forever.

Which unfortunately, it didn’t. You heard someone clear their throat, the driver looking at you through the rear view mirror. You pulled back, cheeks a little warm. You must look like some sort of girl. Someone who got around maybe. First the First Daughter had kissed you, now you were verging on making out with your field partner in the backseat of a government vehicle.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, pulling away from Leon and sitting back on the seat.

Leon scoffed to himself, letting his hand fall from where it’d been resting on the back of your neck. “You’re stupid,”

“Excuse me?” You let out a small laugh. You’d kissed him and he was calling you stupid? What the hell?

“I can’t believe it took you that long to realize.” Leon shook his head, making you roll your eyes. He’d been jealous the whole time. So the comment of how weird it’d been that Ashley would kiss you — and actually had — was exactly what you thought. Huh, you were some amateur detective.

“Shut up,” you smiled, mumbling as you crossed your arms over your chest, sinking into the seat.

“Nope.” Leon shook his head, making you smile wider.

Maybe these tests wouldn’t be so bad, now that you had two kisses to think on. One you could only ever remember, and one you could receive a million more of once all this was over.

how you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸

[hwnglx]

this combo of sag and scorpio energy in him is crazy 😵‍💫

sunghoon's ideal type

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

shuffled song: stand still by sabrina claudio

physical traits

watery and striking eyes. (when their eyes just stand out, he thinks lighter colored or blue eyes are beautiful) classic and traditional beauty. conventionally attractive. powerful presence, turns everyone's heads. feminine and elegant. gorgeous and blinding smile. longer and flowy hair. taller height. water or fire risings! i keep seeing margot robbie or anne hathaway.

personality traits

the immediate vibe i got for sunghoon, is that he wants someone invested. and when i say invested, i mean fully. i've said this a lot at this point, but sunghoon has such a dynamic chart, which shows this clear difference in character according to who he's with. he can either be the most easygoing and laidback, or the most intense and passionate person in the room. just put his lover (or someone he deeply cherishes) next to him, and you'll literally see the gaze in his eyes change.

sunghoon wants someone who can handle his intense nature in love. someone who resembles it to a degree, because otherwise they might get overwhelmed or not understand it. he really needs his and his partners love language, and their values in relationships to correlate. he wants to feel like he shares the same passion as his lover, and not get the impression that he's the only one holding on so tightly, when his partner is just kinda meh about it all. he wants a deep and intimate connection, that goes beyond what anyone else could understand. he wants a person he can have a relationship with, that is separate from all the rest, and special and extraordinary in his life. he draws a clear line between the people he holds extra close to his heart, and his standard “friends”. there's this version of sunghoon only his lovers could tell you about.

he likes it when someone won't get intimidated by his intensity. who can hold their ground firmly, not falter under his gaze. he also likes someone who's just very affectionate and romantic. a person who won't be afraid or too shy to be direct in their display of love for him. he wants someone who knows how to love someone in a proper way, who's good at making him feel loved. i also keep hearing “mother of my children” this man is all about longterm commitment. he wants a family-oriented woman who'd be a good mother. responsible and reliable, but also soft and nurturing.

sunghoon loves the idea of a lengthy relationship. he likes sharing history and memories with his lover. i can see him liking the thought of growing old and maturing with his partner, going through various stages together. he wants his lover to be like an “인생 친구” which means lifelong friend. again, it'd give them this special ability to know each other in and out, have things or inside jokes only the two of them understand.

sunghoon also needs his lover to understand that, although he'll be incredibly zoned in on their relationship, he still has goals and achievements of his own, which he won't neglect for their connection. his job requires a lot of work and time, and the possibility of him not always being there 24/7 shouldn't be a problem for his partner. especially because, he truly wants them to trust him. he is not the type to cheat or look elsewhere if he's in a committed relationship. he wants his lover to understand that, and tolerate his personal ambitions. i can also see him liking the thought of his partner having their own ambitions. he enjoys the thought of both of them being goal-driven and hardworking, but once they come together, they can't see anything but each other. in comparison to some other people, sunghoon definitely likes his lovers to resemble him, rather than be entirely different. i can just see him and a gemini venus being extremely difficult. (funny because sunoo is one and yeah.. their relationship is rather complicated)

him as a boyfriend

+ he's a boyfriend who doesn't rush into anything. very slow burning energy. in the beginning stages, sunghoon will be very curious about you as a person. he prefers getting to know his lovers thoroughly first, really getting a grip on their character, understanding their desires and values before taking the next step. he wants to make sure you're on the same wavelength with him, and get this feeling you're the right one, before investing so much of himself into the relationship. he thinks deep and intimate connections between two people who effortlessly understand each other, require a lot of patience. you just have to know each other's every aspect, he'll definitely want to be the only one to know some secrets, you do not tell anyone else about.

he's an amazing listener. he'll enjoy sitting there listening to you talk about yourself for hours and not get tired of it. literally stare in to your soul while you keep rambling. only interrupt you to ask questions and deepen the conversation.

he's definitely a sucker for intimacy, especially in places where he, and no one would expect it. like whispering things in his ear in public could probably make this man melt. i also keep seeing him hold hands with his partner in public and literally squeeze the hell out of their hand, in this possessive manner. like he's telling you “you're mine and with me.” in a wordless manner. there'll be a lot of silent communication between you, you'll just get each other right away.

there's also a very considerate and calm energy to him, where he'll display this source of peace for you. this is something i've observed about scorpio placements, especially venus', they're very.. understanding towards overemotional people. they can handle people's emotional outbursts, and mostly don't get consumed by it. on the contrary, a lot of the times, they quietly allow you to get your emotions and frustrations out, validate your feelings and not make you feel overdramatic, and try to talk things out calmly with you. let's say sunghoon gets into a fight with his partner; if you start getting angry and throwing things and losing your mind, he's the type to just sigh and sit there and control his own emotions silently while listening to you. he'll probably give you a little time to calm down, and once he feels you're ready to be talked to again, he'll try and talk the matter out in a more rational manner. very emotionally mature and compassionate energy in him. (interesting since i remember in my collective enha ideal type reading, he seemed to struggle with this. he seems to have grown a lot)

- sunghoon can be very hot or cold. it's like once he's with you, everything's great and a fairytale and you feel amazing, but once he's away, it's easy to feel like he forgot about you. he's very busy, so it can be a common occurrence for him to forget replying to you, not talk to you for days, make you feel left alone, because his love can be quite addicting. it's easy to feel dependent on scorpio venus', because they literally make you feel like life without them would be awful. even if you confronted him about this, he could get discontent with you giving him such a hard time about something he can't help. sunghoon draws a clear line between his personal and professional life, which he wants his partners to respect.

i do not see him cheating or doing anything wild, he's extremely loyal. he will not look at any other woman if he's a taken man. however, sunghoon still wants freedom, he doesn't enjoy feeling like you suffocate him while he's working (like spamming him with calls and texts because he isn't answering while busy, that'd frustrate him) yet at the same time he got you to the point of naturally clinging to him. “you made me be like this!” is what i can imagine his partner accusing him of. it can just get draining to deal with someone, who has such contrasting values when it comes to love, and his own ego and career.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Total Eclipse Of The Heart (Part 14)

Summary: Jacob Black, alpha of his pack, would never fall in love with a bloodsucker, much less imprint on one. The problem is that Y/N Swan was human…until she wasn’t anymore.

Series Masterlist

When Y/N was younger, she imagined a great many things. She imagined marrying Jacob in a white poofy gown and chowing down on a big cake, while their friends and family cheered.

She imagined how sweet it would be when they finally decided to have a child. A perfect mix of her and the most wonderful person she’s ever known. Long dark hair, chocolate brown eyes and blinding smiles.

She imagined it would take hours or days to bring their child into the world, but she always knew it would be worth it. For this moment.

Carlisle places the tiny russet colored wolf on her chest, covered in blood, which can only be Jacob’s and a silver liquid she assumes to be her venom.

Jacob rubs at the little wolf’s back while they whimper, shivering in Y/N’s arms.

“Shhh, you’re ok.” Y/N whispers, as Carlisle carefully replaces the pieces of her he’d chipped away to deliver their child. She glances up at Jacob, “they’re ok, right?”

Jacob passes a hand over her hair. “Babies cry, honey.”

Y/N nods, wrapping the knitted blanket tighter around their child.

“How are you holding up?” Carlisle asks, still tending to her…wounds.

“I think I’m ok.”

“You’ve done remarkably.”

“Thank you,” Y/N stares up at the ceiling.

“All set.” Carlisle pats Y/N’s knee. “You can sit up.”

Jacob takes the baby, rocking gently as the wolf shifts into a perfect baby boy.

Y/N stands, pushing her dress down to cover herself.

“I’m going to share the good news.” Carlisle excuses himself.

Y/N feels different, though her physical body has not changed.

“Shh,” Jacob hushes their son as he begins to fuss. “There’s mommy.”

The baby is silent then, his wide, dark eyes settle on his mother.

Jacob attempts to hand him over.

“No,” Y/N stops him. “I don’t want to make him phase.”

Jacob’s face falls, “he’s our son.”

“I know,” that’s why she has to protect him, even from herself.

“You’re not gonna hold him?”

“I want to.” Every cell in her body is screaming for him.

“This is going to take some getting used to for all of us. He might phase, but he’ll learn to control it. Just like I did.” Jacob murmurs.

A little fist reaches out from the blanket and the baby begins to cry.

“He wants you.” Jacob hears the thought so loudly in his head.

“Really?” Y/N leans in.

Jacob nods, easing the infant into her arms.

Y/N stares down at her baby, still human and watching her with unblinking eyes. Like he knows her. “He looks like you,” Y/N strokes the baby’s hair. “Both ways.”

Jacob laughs. “Yeah.”

“Sorry I freaked out; but I hate to think I’m the reason he’s afraid or uncomfortable. I’m supposed to be the one who makes him feel safe. I know it’s not personal and it’s not anyone’s fault…I just feel bad.”

Jacob puts his arms around them, around his entire world. “The fact you’re beating yourself up about it proves that you’re actually insufferable.”

“We knew that.” Y/N scoffs, kissing the little hand wrapped around her index finger.

“But it also means you’re a great mom.” Jacob grins, “and I love you.”

“I love you too.” She rests her head against his shoulder.

“So how are you feeling?” Jacob asks, “are we one and done? Or are we having a few more?”

“A few?” Y/N arches a brow, “how many do you want?”

“One more.” Jacob suggests.

“I could do one more.”

The door of Carlisle’s office opens and Renesmee comes bouncing in. “Aunt Y/N! Uncle Jacob!”

“Renesmee, wait.” Bella protests, “hold on a minute.”

“I just want to see the baby,” Renesmee explains.

“Sorry guys,” Bella smiles, “she couldn’t wait.”

“It’s ok, Ness.” Jacob waves her over, “you can say hi.”

“This is your cousin,” Y/N dips the blanket down for the little girl to see. “Rowan.”

Renesmee glances back at Bella. “He’s so little, mommy.”

Bella smiles at her nephew, “he looks just like you, Jake.”

“That’s what she said.”

————————————————————————-

Rowan finds his place in their large, unconventional, family better than anyone expected.

The Cullens love kids, babies, weddings and birthdays. All the human experiences they were robbed of.

The pack welcomes Rowan with open arms, making room for the tiny wolf in their ranks. Showing him love and understanding, most importantly, teaching him to embrace who he is. Turning into a wolf is only weird if you make it weird, after all.

Rowan grows fast, but not as fast as Renesmee who looks to be about six years old at only twelve months.

They are still looking for answers in regards to Renesmee’s rapid aging, but tonight they are at the Cullen’s. Even Billy has joined them, listening to Edward teach Renesmee to play piano.

Rowan pulls himself up, standing beside the couch, leaning on it to stay upright. “Dada.”

Jacob smiles, wide enough to split his face. “Hi,” he takes him into his lap.

“Looks like he’s getting ready to walk there, Jacob.” Charlie says.

“You think?”

“He’s never done it on two legs before.” Y/N passes a hand over Rowan’s baby curls.

“Today might be the day.” Billy grins, “put him down, let’s see if he’ll walk to grandpa.” He extends his arms.

Rowan giggles, opening and closing his chubby fist in Billy’s direction.

“What do you think, buddy?” Jacob whispers to his son, “you wanna walk?”

“Mama,” the little boy says, instead, crawling off Jacob onto her.

Y/N hugs him to her, “I love you, sweet boy.”

“Mama.” He clings to her, bouncing with his little legs.

“Maybe next time, Billy.” Charlie claps his shoulder. “Looks like he’s setting up shop.”

“Boy loves his mama.” Jacob’s father nods, “Jake was the same way with his mom.”

Jacob swallows hard, looking to his wife, who he hasn’t officially married. He’ll never let anything bad happen to her. Never again.

————————————————————————-

Y/N is hovering over at foot of their bed when Jacob wakes. “Good morning.”

“Morning, beautiful.” Jacob shoots her a lopsided grin. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Bella wants to take Ren out to play in the snow. I was thinking we’d tag along.”

“That sounds like fun. Do you mind if I dip out early with Rowan? I promised to bring him down to the rez today.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Y/N smiles.

“Cool.” Jacob returns the gesture. She makes his heart flutter in his chest, even after all these years.

Y/N comes around to his side of the bed, tracing her finger along the slope of his nose. “There is one thing I’d like to do today.”

“What?” Jacob thinks he knows, but he loves hearing her say it.

“You.”

Jacob laughs, pulling her down onto the mattress. They wrestle around playfully, landing on the floor with her pinned beneath him.

“Shhh,” Y/N hushes him. “My dad’s gonna hear us.”

“I really hate to tell you this,” Jacob drags his thumb across her cheekbone. “But I think he knows.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, “he thinks Rowan was like…immaculately conceived or something. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Whatever helps you not sleep at night, honey.” Jake chuckles.

Series Taglist: @vxidnik @remembered-license @itscheybaby @cole22ann @the-tryhard-twihard @zheezs14 @adaydreamaway08 @xcastawayherosx @moneteguiza @stinkii-boii @theatrechic26 @sylum @irrelevant-86

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

the thing that allistics talking about social skills never seem to grasp is that i do not SEE body language or facial expressions. i am not some innocent adorably stupid little darling who's never been taught what a frown means and so now i feel like everyone is hostile to me because i'm not participating in the Necessary And Unbiased social ritual that lets everyone know i'm Safe and a Real Person.

no, i spent 10 years regularly attending social skills courses. as in, weekly at minimum, for a lot of it daily. i still cannot read body language or facial expressions because i LITERALLY CANNOT SEE THEM. i am partially faceblind. my visual processing is ganked to the point that even though i am not blind i need to use IDs to understand images. these are VERY common traits in autism, this isn't a special "just me" thing. if someone makes a face at me, i can't SEE it. sometimes i can tell that some of their facial muscles are moving, but i have no idea what they're doing and very little ability to piece together what the end result looks like as a whole picture. sometimes i can see when someone is leaning away from me, or if their whole body is shaking or something, but anything less whole-body and cartoonish than that is literally invisible to me.

allistic social norms are built around treating me as scary and unsafe for not participating in them, and i LITERALLY CANNOT SEE a good portion of what they're based on. the less physical bits--implications and social context, etc--are 10x harder when you essentially can't speak half the language, and that's not even touching on how those parts can be near impossible on their own if you have a slow processing speed--which i also do. it takes me 30-60 seconds minimum to fully process a spoken sentence and understand what the unspoken and nuanced implications of it could be, and by then i have already been slotted into "unsafe creep" territory by being entirely silent for 45 seconds. and i am considered socially adept and to have very fast processing among my autistic peers. my barriers here are MINOR compared to someone very severely socially impaired.

this is why explaining to autistics the purposes of allistic social rules and nuances and giving us tips on how to navigate them is condescending and cruel as hell. you're dangling in our faces how important and necessary and integral it is to do something we literally CAN'T do and implicitly justifying us being seen as dangerous and socially undesirable for not doing it. and you're framing it as helping because you're "teaching" us. but it's like teaching a colorblind person color theory; maybe once in a while someone will be interested, but it'll always be significantly harder for them to learn than someone who isn't colorblind, and their experience with it will always be profoundly qualitatively different and produce different results, even subtly. and their existence doesn't mean that the REST of colorblind people who don't have that energy and time and investment should just put up with literally every road sign being written in red on green when you could just make signs that are black on white to begin with.

[renthony]

Animation (specifically 2D animation) is my preferred TV/film medium. A piece of live-action has to go above and beyond to get over my personal bias of, "most things would be better if they were animated," but it's taken me a long time to figure out what, exactly, makes a piece of live-action really do it for me.

I think what it really comes down to, for me, is the little details. If your live-action doesn't have some level of nuanced physical acting, intense detailing in costuming and set design, a strong sense of visual storytelling, or kickass practical effects, I'm pretty much always going to come away thinking, "I'd like it better as a cartoon."

I think some of this is due to my issues with face blindness--I need characters to have distinct silhouette and costuming, or they will all blur together in my head. Animation tends to stress the importance of silhouette, so I have an easier time telling everyone apart and following who's who. That's not to say that this problem doesn't happen in animation, or that it always happens in live action, but I do think it contributes to my personal preferences.

Anyway, just for fun, a random shortlist of some live-action that I think uses its medium well:

Child's Play/Chucky. Half the appeal of Chucky (IMHO) is the incredible showcase of practical effects and animatronics. Each incarnation of the Chucky doll incorporates incredible advances in animatronic and puppeteering technology. I have on multiple occasions compared the Chucky puppeteer team to Muppet performers. That shit is its own art form, and it's incredible. The current Chucky show makes some use of CGI, but it's all to enhance the practical effects, and the puppeteers are all given the spotlight in the show's credits. I love that.

Killjoys. The incredible nuance to the actors' body and facial acting is mind-blowing. The set design and costuming are gorgeous, and there's a lot of very good detail worked into the visual space that would be hard to animate. They use their CGI well when they do use it, but a significant amount of the show seems to be practical effects and props. Additionally, Hannah John-Kamen's ability to flawlessly portray multiple characters is so good it's uncanny and makes you forget they're literally being played by the same woman. She changes her entire body language, and it's phenomenal.

Jordan Peele's entire body of horror. His films pack in so much symbolism and subtlety that I could probably watch them all a million times and still find new details. The nuance in the acting, the sheer detail packed into the costuming and set design, the use of color...god. It's unreal.

Crimson Peak, because the set design for that film...holy fuck. The costuming and set design in that film are pure gold. The acting is also phenomenal, but I could probably talk about the set design for hours. The house is a character in its own right.

Galavant and Our Flag Means Death, both for the same reason: both shows feel like I'm hanging out at a ren faire being goofy with my friends. They feel like I'm watching a LARP. They feel like they could easily exist in the same setting as Muppet Treasure Island, and at any second Kermit is going to show up and start singing, and it wouldn't be out of place at all. I think I'd also include Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves in this category, along with The Princess Bride and Labyrinth--all of which also include kickass practical effects, choreography, and costuming.

This isn't some sort of objective truth or anything. I just like that I've finally been able to nail down some reasons why I prefer animation, beyond just, "idk, cartoons are fun."

[elminx]

Since I have seen a lot of posts about correspondences in witchcraft going around again, I wanted to stop for a minute and talk about how correspondences work and why you might want to make sure that you understand the correspondences you are using in your own craft.

This is likely an oversimplification, but I think that we can break down correspondences into three main categories:

Cultural Correspondences - these are often heavily steeped in the mythology and folklore of a particular region. They are often but not always correspondences of items found in that region. This is where correspondences become the most varied because, despite what you may have read in Those Bad Witchcraft Books, culture is not universal. A great example of this is that most Western cultures associate the color black with Death and Mourning but a lot of non-Western cultures have the same association with the color white. It stands to reason that this type of correspondence will work the best for you if you are sticking as close to the correspondences of the bioregion that you grew up in as possible (1) and that they will be most effective when used magically on somebody else from that bioregion (2).

Material Correspondences - these correspondences are based on the physical properties of the item in question. Some plants are edible, some medicinal, and some poisonous. Things with thorns can hurt you when you touch them. Quartz has high levels of electric conductivity. The idea here is that if Rosemary repels insects, it can be used in a banishment spell to repel that unwanted "insect" from your life. These are, in my opinion, the immutable correspondences - the item you are using will ALWAYS carry its physical characteristics with it into your magic. Spicy peppers will always be Hot and Burning, so-called "Weeds" will always grow tenaciously, and Sugar will always be Sweet. It is worth keeping in mind here that when using plants, the part of the plant may affect whether it carries that correspondence. Sometimes only one part of the plant carries a particular property - consider the difference between the sweet scent of rose petals that we use in love spells versus the sharp thorn that would be better used for protection. 3. Sympathetic Correspondences - The base concept behind sympathy is that two things that are alike in some way share a connection with one another that can be harnessed magically. The more alike that two things are, the deeper the connection. There are many ways that this is used in magic. A lot of herbal correspondences involve sympathy through the Doctrine of Signatures. This is the thought process that anything shaped like an ear can be used to affect ears/hearing magically. The Doctrine of Signatures gets rolled in a little bit with Cultural Correspondences as it is heavily rooted in Western herbalism, but it deserves a mention on its own. Another way that sympathetic magic makes its way into correspondences is the idea that an object from a particular place carries some of the energy of that place which can be harvested for magical intent. You see this in the use of bank dirt in money spells or cemetery dirt in baneful magic. This is also where Holy water, moon water, and stormwater come into play - here we are assuming that something that has been done to the water (being blessed by a priest, charged in the moon, or collected during a storm) carries an inherent energy that can be then transferred to your spell. Depending on your viewpoint, you may or may not agree with the concepts of sympathetic magic.

And that's the whole point of this. Witchcraft, as a whole, isn't the sort of path where you are supposed to proceed based entirely on blind faith. If you're flipping to a certain page in Scott Cunningham's infamous Green Book and finding the first money herb you come across to use in a spell, you are probably doing yourself a disservice. I suggest that you look closer. Not only will the physical correspondence change how your spell manifests (I've written about this before) but you may find that you don't even BELIEVE or AGREE with that correspondence at all. And maybe that's not important to you (but if that's true, why are you even reading this?). But I suggest that it should be. That understanding of a correspondence deepens your connection with the energy of the item you are looking to use. Moreover, exploring it further may give you all sorts of juicy ideas for spellwork to augment that energy.

Do you like my work? You can support me by tipping me on Kofi or purchasing an astrology report written just for you.

[devsgames]

Accessibility vs. Approachability

Friendly reminder that "Accessibility" and "Approachability" are two fundamentally different concepts when it comes to game design.

"Accessibility" specifically pertains to lowering a barrier of entry for people with specific needs or disabilities, such as the hard of hearing, color blind, elderly, mobility-limited, etc. by taking into account their specific contexts or needs. Features that are "Accessible" are designed to explicitly target and improve the ease of use and quality of life for these demographics.

"Approachability" is how easily a game, concept or feature is understood to people of different levels of experience, cultural understanding, or expectation of genre. This is not necessarily tied to their ability to physically function or interact with your game.

While sometimes Approachability changes can result in Accessibility improvements (and vice-versa) and while these two concepts do often overlap, using "Accessibility" as a blanket term for when you're actually talking about "Approachability" during design conversations can confuse intention when designing for disabled people is explicitly the goal or intention. It can also lead into thinking that because something improves "Approachability" it implicitly improves "Accessibility" equally by association, which is not always the case. Just because a game is "Approachable" does not implicitly make it "Accessible".

Accessibility is it's own consideration entirely, so it's wise to consciously separate them both as terms and as concepts as you're designing your game.

[verdemoun]

Ok you made like one post about an au where Kieran survives and that is not ok. We need much more than that.

assuming you mean this kieran survives au!

kieran is in a bad way. like - he's been through blessed are the peacemakers but he was already underweight. completely delirious with fever, rambling apologies while his eyes dart back and fourth but completely clouded and not dilatating. chalk white with black, purple and blue bruises that heal to a sickly yellow. there are cuts towards his eyes, completely macerating his face, but it was heat and smoke and physical trauma to his eyes. he would be considered legally blind, night blindness and light sensitivity but can actually see things as blurry shapes and colors.

a lot of his injuries are more personal than arthur's gunshot wound. chest adorned in both deep and shallow cuts like they were planning to carve him up for serving. injuries that were clearly just fists or blunt weapons being used over and over. his left knee, specifically, is shattered. how he managed to get up on branwen and actually stay on almost all the way to shady belle is a miracle

he's so starved he throws up the first bowl of watered down stew they give him and it clicks this is going to be a long, long process.

hosea immediately gives up his room, because they need to keep him inside and warm in a clean environment to stop any more infection

arthur, being a good doting son, immediately insists that hosea take his room and he'll be fine sleeping on the floor in the main living area. little changes --

because, well, now hosea is just down the hall from dutch. and with how stressed he is and how 'demanding' molly is, who would blame dutch for taking comfort in the presence (and bed) of his longest companion?

whole time micah is whining because they're back to robbing coaches and doing small jobs until they figure out a new plan, because admittedly most of their best gunmen are distracted by ensuring there is always someone there taking care of kieran. they thought they buried him. they mourned him, and regretted how they treated him. getting him back, even in that state, seems like the first kindness the gang have experienced in a while

also who the fuck was the headless guy the o'driscolls sent into camp. did they really kill a random guy with a similar build to kieran assuming he died after escaping just to fuck with the gang??

no one ever calls kieran 'o'driscoll' again. when he starts getting his strength back, and of course desperately wants to see the horses, almost the entire gang are discreetly trying to follow him like ducklings in case he needs help.

mary-beth is constantly having to tell them to back off because it's overwhelming all these people who seemed apathetic to him suddenly doting on him and kieran is too soft to remind them he needs space. the gang joke she's been hanging out with sadie too much but mary-beth is constantly reminding them she fended for herself for a long time before the vdls picked her up, is a very accomplished thief and con artist and she will cut a bitch

dutch, with hosea back in one ear and micah still whispering in the other, gives micah his blessing to head back to blackwater and try to get that money back. and surprise surprise, micah gets killed barely a quarter mile across the border. oops

molly has her 'i loved you, you goddamned bastard' breakdown at shady belle, calling bullshit on dutch and hosea's affair when dutch had once said he loved her and completely brainwashed her. with no mention of pinkertons, dutch gave her enough money from the lockbox for a ticket and told her to fuck off back to ireland if she meant something there

dutch sucks and hosea reminds him he sucks and dutch swears he will do better but the gang need to move they've already pushed it being so close to saint denis too long.

dues-ex-kieran duffy. in his timid way, he suggests going back out west since everyone constantly talks about wanting to go west but he knows a whole list of abandoned o'driscoll camps and a rough but doable north-west route around west elizabeth that the o'driscolls used to avoid blackwater after the VDL disaster.

the gang make it out west. they stop to shoot up hanging dog ranch, colm included, along the way. the pinkertons lose their trail. arthur still gets diagnosed with tb, but he's somewhere warm and dry and without the physical and psychological strain of guarma they reckon he has plenty of time left.

the gang naturally disperses. the marstons decide to find their own fortune, uncle and javier in tow. uncle escuella might be sleeping with his dad but jack deserves multiple father figures and javier will always take jack fishing or actually ask about his books even if it is just to complain about the english language. abigail is content living the this is my ugly ass groom john and his boyfriend javier. i hate them both but affectionately.

charles leaves to help the wapiti people only to return the second he hears that arthur has a slow but terminal illness, and they have many years of blissful domesticity together. lenny goes off to school and somehow lives darragh macguire's life as both outlaw and politician. he keeps a photo of sean in his dad's pocket watch. hosea and dutch admittedly return to running cons and robberies because they feel like they're too old to change but it's smaller-scale with less mouths to feed and they get away with it the rest of their natural lives.

bill of all people ends up being the one who went with charles because as problematic as he is robbing the military sounded fun after they fucking booted him, only to end up falling in love with captain monroe and going off on a rainbow-filled adventure of fleeing from the government, the military, and awkwardly helping people out along the way. monroe calls him out on racist bullshit and bill just immediately apologises because wants to be better for his man

grimshaw, who needs to be taking care of people to feel self-worth, takes karen under her wing and saves her from her alcoholic spiral. tilly still meets her husband and becomes a wealthy lady in saint denis, technically employing grimshaw and karen as housekeepers but it's really just an excuse to keep her found family together

kieran and mary-beth stay at the gang's original settlement and accidentally end up running a stable. mary-beth gets to write her novels but she does develop a soft spot for helping out in the barn because kieran talks so passionately about horses she can't help love them too

everyone's happy enjoy a fix it au the end

[xxsycamore]

Hello there since Yokohama req for kink let's see two of my faves with your boy Size kink and body worship how do they sound ?I love them all and I already can't wait to read wgat you will come up with this time 😍😍

GASP i should've seen this coming!! This is so much like you :D Let's see if I can spark (more) interest in Napo for you with the use of your favorite kinks~ With pleasure, Julie! <3 Let's start with Size kink!

Napoleon + size kink

tw: includes descriptions of short/tiny reader

If you're of a way smaller build than Napoleon, you can bet that he's going to have strong feelings about that. What kind of feelings? Protectiveness, first of all. The more his feelings deepened for you, the smaller you looked in his eyes - like a precious creature he desperately needed to wrap into his cape and hold close at all times. That being said, the size of your soul is entirely different; your inner strength might stand taller than him at times, and he's not blind to that. He won't measure your disposition by your physical appearance.

Then his feelings for you deepen further, and he starts to notice how your size affects other aspects of his love for you. How it affects his libido. How the things he finds cute about you during the day are all coming back to him when the night wraps the both of you in its veil and tints everything in a different color... During the day, he laughs at how you can't reach that one cabinet in the kitchen, even on your toes. During the night, he lets you enter his room ahead of him and he thinks about taking you standing against the wall, just so he can tower over your back again like earlier in the day when he helped you out. During the day, you complain about him always involuntarily walking ahead of you, and he'll snort and tell you to grow longer legs. During the night, he'll stroke the side of your foot because he can't believe it's nearly the size of his hand, before hoisting your leg over his shoulder.

You might catch him expressing this infatuation of his, and you might think he's simply being a bully. All the times he ruffles your hair just because your pretty little head is in perfect proximity, or when he jokingly rests his arm on your shoulder, or when he holds up an item above you where you can't reach it without jumping in the air... you'll have to look for the signs of him doing this purely out of his love for the difference in your sizes, mostly manifesting through an act of affection coming immediately after this teasing. He's not kissing you only to apologize - he's kissing you because you're terribly small and angry and he's the big bad wolf who can eat you up if he wishes but he chooses to be kind and nice instead.

Of course, there's a certain area where he dwarfs you completely, and where the psychological enjoyment of it is highest - as well as the physiological. And that's when he enters your tight little hole.

Now, you'd say I'm biased for this part but my guess is that Napoleon is on the well-endowed side, something a little above average. If Napoleon made the difference in your builds strikingly noticeable enough before you moved to the next step in your relationship, then chances are you were a little scared of what he was hiding in his pants, and rightfully so... But don't worry, he's going to soothe your worries; the very first time and every other time when you're faced with having to accommodate him inside you. He's talking sweet nothings in your ear, making you cum on his fingers that are stretching you open. If you're genuinely concerned about the tight fit, he'll leave any teasing behind - any that is not for the sake of smoothing out the furrow in your brows, that's it, he has a good judgment of when enough is enough - and focus on reassuring you. Once this becomes a regular thing between you, once he notices how you clench on his fingers at the mere mention of exchanging them with something that's going to fill you up properly... He'll use this information for personal gain, I'm afraid. He's going to make you lightheaded with the things he says, and he'll find countless opportunities to remind you of how obviously smaller you are than him. He might make you watch in the mirror while he has you in his lap, his cock in his full erect glory resting heavy against your lower belly, knowing that this thing is going to disappear into your depths exactly as you see it in the reflection. And then you get to see that too, as he lowers you on his cock, whispering of how good you're taking him all the way in.

I'm going to take some points off though, because his strong belief in equality is bound to make him upset if your height leads to people disrespecting you. He's prone to overprotectiveness too and he knows it, so in order not to sound like he's underestimating you, he might do the opposite of reminding you of how small you are. He still finds it cute though, he can't help the hair ruffling for instance...

6/10 "Here, place your hand down. Do you feel me? I'm all the way in here inside you... Who knew your little hole could be so greedy, hmm? Alright, I won't bully you anymore. Just let me feel more of you."

-> (ALWAYS OPEN) send me a kink & I’ll give you a headcanon and rating for Napoleon!

🦶foot fetish 🥵breeding kink 🥕pregging 😈dom/sub 🍈breast kink ⛓bondage 🩸period kink 👄marking 🐺predator/prey 🏙public sex 🤗praise kink 👅 cunnilingus 🍌blowjobs (receiving) 🚪getting caught 🖐️masturbation 🥛lactation

[daresplaining]

Mike Murdock's Sunglasses: On Character Design and Autonomy

I've written a little in the past about character design in regards to the translation of zany alter ego 1960s Mike Murdock into slightly-more-grounded, at least 85% more real 21st century Mike Murdock. Specifically, I talked with artist Phil Noto about Mike's outfits in Daredevil #606-612, and analyzed the clothing choices made by the creative team in the 2020 Annual. However, one specific detail that I find interesting in Mike's transformation from Matt's hyperactive id to his own autonomous person that I haven't really written about yet is his sunglasses-- when he wears them, when he stops, and how this shift may or may not align with his journey.

Matt: "Let's see now-- I'll just muss up the mop, to give myself that carefree tousled look! A fella like Mike wouldn't be caught dead with a simple Ivy-League hair comb! And, I'll have to give my specs a coffee break for a while, as I cover my sightless eyes in a more colorful way-- If the attorney-at-law business ever gets slow, I might just decide to open a school of method acting! Yessir! Stanislavsky had nothing on me! Now, all I've gotta do is change my personality! I figure a clown like Mike Murdock is sure to be on all the time!" Daredevil vol. 1 #26 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, Frank Giacoia, and Artie Simek

Matt and his dark glasses were inseparable in the 60s-- literally, to the point that he even apparently wore them under his Daredevil mask (fortunately, he doesn't do that anymore). The clear hesitance of DD artists in this period to draw their blind protagonist's uncovered eyes is likely one of the reasons that when it came time for Matt to invent himself a fake sighted twin, the sunglasses stayed on. This has not always been the case. In the years since, Matt has taken on several sighted identities in which he does not wear glasses at all-- notably, con artist Jack Batlin in the 90s. Of the two approaches, the former makes slightly more in-universe sense. As someone with no vision at all, who was blinded in a physically damaging accident, logic suggests that Matt's eyes would look different from those of a sighted person-- most likely due to chemical burns/scarring, but at the very least from things like a lack of eye contact. Thus, the choice for Matt to simply switch up his style of shades for the Mike look, rather than taking the risk of foregoing them entirely, feels logical (even if it doesn't always match up with the way Matt's eyes are actually depicted, but that's a topic for another post).

As it turned out, the oversized, colorful shades ended up tying perfectly into the loudness of the rest of "Mike's" outfits, becoming a memorable staple of the look that Matt crafted for his fake twin-- a look that was as distant from the classic Matt Murdock suit and tie (and simple, dignified shades) as he could manage. These shades were iconically, undeniably Mike's. However, they were still born from the use of sunglasses as a visual shorthand for-- and Matt's in-character response to-- his blindness. A Daredevil reader in 1968 might have looked at ol' Loudmouth Mike and asked the question: If this guy were a real person, independent of Matt, with his own backstory and reasons for dressing the way he does-- would he still choose to wear dark glasses?

Mike: "Well, as I live and breathe! You're Daredevil, right? Friend of my brother, if I don't miss my guess. Real pleasure to meet you at last." Daredevil vol. 5 #606 by Charles Soule, Phil Noto, and Clayton Cowles ("As I live and breathe" is such a funny thing for him to say in this scene.)

Enter: Fragment-Boy Mike, and the beginnings of an answer.

When it came to transforming the concept of Mike Murdock into a fully realized character of his own -- not to mention pulling him out of the 1960s and into the 2010s-- some core Mike Murdock elements were dropped by the creative team, both for the sake of streamlining the narrative and in order to match the tone of the contemporary comic. Fragment Mike is no longer Daredevil's alter ego; in fact, he claims in his first appearance in Daredevil #606 that he has never even met DD before. Gone are the loud clothes, the primary colors, the waistcoats, the fedora with the feather in it. Curiously, all that remains of his original Look(TM)...is the sunglasses.

Foggy: "That is...correct. How did you...?" Mike: "Because I ain't him. I'm me. And now, Foggy...you need to call my brother." Daredevil vol. 5 #608 by Charles Soule, Phil Noto, and Clayton Cowles

Fragment Mike existed in a kind of limbo that neither he, nor Matt, nor even his "creator" Reader really understood-- a tortuous state of both being and non-being, in which he believed himself to be real and then had his worldview shattered by learning that no one else saw him that way. Mike claimed his autonomy and fought for his right to live throughout that story arc, but the simple truth was that he was born out of Matt-- specifically, out of Matt's case files, from which Reader accidentally spawned him-- and the memories he possessed of being anyone/anything else were false. He was nothing but a twisted, reanimated echo of an identity his brother had created, dark glasses included; Matt but not Matt, physically separate but still bound to his brother.

Mike: "I'm Matt Murdock's twin brother, but...but I'm not. I've got some fake memories. I'm like a shell of a thing...but inside...I can tell I didn't live through anything...and I think...I think it's driving me crazy." Daredevil vol. 6 Annual #1 by Chip Zdarsky, Manuel Garcia, Le Beau Underwood, Chris Mooneyham, Rachelle Rosenberg, and Clayton Cowles

But! Fragment Mike, just like Matt, maybe because of Matt, is a fighter. He does not take being fake lying down. Through some Norn Stone magic, our fragment became a Real Boy, with real memories of a real backstory. And if we take a look through that backstory, we finally receive an answer to that 1968 DD fan's hypothetical question, because...

Daredevil vol. 6 Annual #1 by Chip Zdarsky, Manuel Garcia, Le Beau Underwood, Chris Mooneyham, Rachelle Rosenberg, and Clayton Cowles

The moment Mike Murdock becomes a real person, the sunglasses vanish.

Look back through Daredevil volume 6. Once he is officially, cosmically real, the only time we ever see Mike wearing dark glasses is when he is dressed up as Matt (ohhh, the poetry of it all!). He is wearing them, standing in Matt's apartment, when he dies in Matt's place-- fated, in the end, to never entirely escape his brother's gravitational pull-- but what matters is that the sunglasses tied Mike to his origins as his twin in a costume, and the loss of them indicates fully and utterly that Mike has broken away and become his own person. We even get this fascinating scene at the beginning of volume 7:

Matt: "...It was Matt. He came back from rehab, went to his apartment... I don't know what the #$@% Fisk was thinking, but I know they've got history and... Ah, Butch. He killed my brother." Daredevil vol. 7 #1 by Chip Zdarsky, Marco Checchetto, Matthew Wilson, and Clayton Cowles

This is Matt Murdock, in the year 2022, once more pretending to be Mike...post-Norn Stone reality rewrite. And this time? No sunglasses. In fact, Matt claims that the key to a foolproof Mike Murdock disguise is in the eyes: "Not just making sure they faced the right direction...but that no matter what, he had kindness in them..."

Do I love Mike Murdock wearing smarmy shades? Of course I do. But I love a good piece-of-clothing-as-allegory just as much, and I love peeling back the layers of identity to discover who Mike really is when he is not his brother.

[fantom-as]

Barbenheimer

pairing: barbie x oppenheimer

description: Oppenheimer wakes up in Barbie's bed.

word count: 2,3k words

no warnings apply

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

There was a blinding burst of light and painful, agonizing fire, searing through his entire being. Then—darkness. Immeasureble lengths of it.

Oppenheimer woke up with a start in a bed. The blinding light was still here, forcing him to blink furiously. Although no pain, no fire—quite the opposite. And the bed he was in—it was surprisingly soft, too soft even, he felt like he was drowning in the mattress that dipped into itself from his weight. He looked around, feeling his sweat-soaked back go cold. The place he was in—he couldn‘t imagine it, there wasn‘t space for that much color in his imagination. No, color wasn‘t the right term as the room was all pink. He had never seen anything like it before.

Oppenheimer sat up in the bed, trying desperately to remember what happened. He was making a bomb, a bomb of such capacity that could destroy the entire world, leaving nothing but ashes behind. It wasn‘t finished, not yet, many improvements had to be made, but he had lots of hopes. That bomb – a mash of wondrous chemistry and accurate physics, had to end the war and make America  the greatest nation in the history of nations. It also had to be Oppenheimer‘s opus magnum. He frowned. Something didn‘t work out. Apparently. Something was not right. One of the trials failed. He remembered the explosion, him in a safehouse, hidden by thick walls of lead that had to protect him. But it didn‘t. He saw the burst coming his way—

And then. Now. He was here.

In this ridiculously huge pink room lying in this ridiculously soft bed, wearing this ridiculous—what was he wearing? A soft pinkish shirt that clung miserably to his muscled chest.

He frowned again, and tried to gather some sense in his body.

“Oh, you’re finally awake!” he heard a high-pitched over-the-top voice say.

And there she was—a woman. This was a woman’s room, naturally. But she wasn’t just any woman—the most beautiful one he had ever seen. All blonde hair, blue eyes, impeccable skin and wide smiles. She was truly genuinely happy that he was awake and wasn’t trying to hide it. Oppenheimer wondered when the last time was someone smiled at him like that – a long, long time ago.

He groaned in pain when the attempt to move out of this position in bed failed and a bolt of pain tore through his temples. She was wearing pink, for god’s sake. It was all too much for him—too much pink.

The blonde blue-eyed woman in pink moved closer to him, putting the flowers she was carrying with him on his bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Oppenheimer’s frown deepened. “Who are you,” he demanded.

“I’m Barbie. I’m an actress, but you might already know, I have gained quite a lot of international success even in Europe.” Her teeth were white as pearls, and he was getting more annoyed with every second that passed, with every word she spoke, with every aching sensation in his uncooperative body.

“Where am I,” he asked.

“In—my home?”

“And where is that.”

“Malibu, California,” she said, fully not understanding what horrible situation he was in.

He was so far from home.

“How did I get here.” He chopped his questions as facts, though there was nothing factual about them – he felt as if he was doing Sisyphus�� work for him.

Barbie now leaned away from him like she was taken aback by his brass behavior. Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Look, sir, you literally were drowning in my pool, I found you there naked. I dressed you in  my ex-boyfriend’s Ken’s shirt, it seems to fit you fine, and don’t worry, I did not gawk at you, I’m not like that. Look, I don’t know what you were doing or how you got there, all I know is that if I hadn’t saved you, you would’ve been dead by now. Besides, during the last three days you’ve been waking up, then losing your consciousness again, and we’ve been having this conversation thrice, but you always claim you have no memory that we’ve talked of this.”

Oppenheimer blinked. He did not remember waking up before, but he was not going to tell her that.

“Wait, did you say I was here for three days?” he rushed to ask. He jumped up in bed, feeling his bones rattle and his blood sing in his ear, but this time he ignored it. “What time is it?”

Barbie reached out her hand and put it on his shoulder, trying to contain him; it wasn’t hard – he had no strength left in him to do anything.

“Whoa, maybe you should slow down a bit,” she advised him. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but you look really… rough. Just… don’t worry, okay? You can relax and stay here as long as you need to until you fully recover. This house is mostly empty anyways, besides me. And for the time,” she looked down at a small pink gadget with a screen in her hand. She pushed a button and the screen lit up, showing the numbers. Oppenheimer’s eyes widened, “it’s eleven past eleven! Angel numbers!” she exclaimed, looking back at him. “You must be lucky, mister… What’s your name?”

“Julius. Oppenheimer,” he answered her reluctantly.

Barbie’s eyebrows drew together.

“Wait a minute… Oppenheimer… Oppenheimer… This name sounds familiar…” she kept mumbling. He groaned. Realization hit her eyes. “I know! That’s a film title! A film that’s going to be released the same day as the film I star in! my film is called Barbie, and it’s a biopic about my life, well, lives…” she chuckled. “Wait, are you Oppenheimer, as in, you play him?”

“No, I don’t play him. I am him,” he sneered.

Barbie seemed to be thinking. “I’m pretty sure Oppenheimer is the man who created the atomic bomb. No idea why you’d want to be him, but that’s not possible – he died some fifty years ago.”

Oppenheimer’s insides turned cold. He looked around frantically once more, then his gaze settled on Barbie.

He swallowed. “What—year is it?” he asked, for the first time asked quietly.

Barbie’s eyes filled with worry. “It’s 2023,” she told him.

That didn’t make sense, so he simply ignored the date. This woman must be clinically insane, so he’ll just pretend to agree with her. It was 1944, and nothing will convince him otherwise.

(Some conversation with this mad lady later, he was convinced.)

He closed his eyes, clutching the last moments of his last memory before passing out as if it could give him all the answers—but it only forced him to ask more.

The bomb exploded, that one thing was certain. And the rest—

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Did—the Apocalypse happened? Did the world end?” Did I destroy everyone and everything?

Barbie seemed deep in thought once again, and that made him worry more. However, she was still so upbeat about all of this.

“Well, you might say that the world ended if you consider all that happened in the last few years – the Covid pandemic, the war between Russia and Ukraine, the disastrous economic crisis that followed afterwards, Iran’s predatory legislations regarding women – then yes, the Apocalypse did happen, and now we’re living in the remains of what was left behind,” she finished, her face turning somewhat grim. Which annoyed Oppenheimer even more. She was of no help for him at all. “Our films – yours and mine – might bring some joy for people – well, not yours, perhaps. Maybe a distraction from these awful times.”

He was beginning to lose patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already told you, I’m not an actor, I’m not in any film, I’m not playing Oppenheimer—”

“Then what were you doing in my pool?” she asked coolly.

“I… I don’t know.”

Barbie smiled conspiratorially. “I know why. You wanted to celebrate the success of Barbenheimer and came here to finally meet me!” Seeing the horrified look she clarified, “Barbenheimer – that’s what fans call it. It’s a whole meme crashing through the internet these past few weeks.”

Oppenheimer had no idea what Covid or meme or internet was, but he felt the need to make this woman see the truth.

“Listen, Barbie,” he addressed her, catching her attention. “My name is Julius Robert Oppenheimer. I am the real him. I live in Germany. I have no idea how I got here.”

She watched him for a moment. “Fine, I’ll just Google you, and then you’ll see.” She looked down at the little gadget in her hand and started tapping the screen furiously with her fingers, so fast his concussed brain couldn’t follow. She finally stopped and turned the screen to him. “See? It’s not you. You’re a lot more handsome, I must say. Oppenheimer is… well, he just is.”

There was his full name, a black-and-white photo – that definitely wasn’t him – and two dates. April 22, 1904 – February 18, 1967. The text below claimed that he was a physicist that tried to create an atomic bomb – and failed.

He had no words left in his mouth – or his brain. He only stared at Barbie who continued her surfing. “Now, let’s check the actor playing Oppenheimer.” A few seconds later she frowned in confusion. The man on her screen was not the same as the man in her bed. She looked up at him without smiling.

“Sir, you must be very confused,” she said finally. He was, he was very confused, he had no idea what was going on, and this strange, beautiful creature was not helping. “I should probably take you to a hospital, the doctors could definitely help you more than I can—”

His hand shot up in the air and landed on her thigh, stopping whatever thought train she was developing. “No!” he shouted. “Don’t. No hospitals. No doctors. Please.”

Her eyes softened, although she still seemed very worried. “Alright, alright. I won’t do anything against your will. Just… lie here, okay? You need to get your strength back. I’ll bring you something filling.”

With that, Barbie stood up and left the room, her floral perfume still lingering in the air. With that, Oppenheimer leaned back to rest against the many pillows on the bed more comfortably. With that, he was slowly giving into whatever was happening to him – he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t grasp his situation, he might not be sane, but he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Barbie came back with a pink drink in her hand – so much pink! – that looked like milkshake. She reached it out for him, and he sipped it, savoring the sweet taste.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a smoothie. A fruit cocktail of sorts. I made it from strawberries and added some protein powder. Delicious, isn’t it?”

He hummed his agreement, sipping some more. A comfy bed, a spacious room and a beautiful woman. Ignoring all the pink, he could get used to this.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks – but it also wrapped around him like a cozy blanket.

“I’m in Heaven,” he said quietly. “I died and I got into Heaven. I didn’t even believe in the Afterlife, and here I am.”

Barbie smiled at him fondly. “Oh, I’m glad you think my Dreamhouse is Heaven – I do work pretty hard to make it feel like this.”

Oppenheimer looked at her, seeing her truly for the first time. Maybe this wasn’t Afterlife – perhaps it was a Life After Life. He was given a second chance.

“You said you’re an actress,” he said.

Barbie nodded. “I mostly play romance, fantasy or fairytale leads in films that mostly focus on women’s empowerment as well as embracing femininity. I love my job, but I’ve been playing sixteen-year-olds for seventeen years—seventeen!” She laughed, but it sounded strained. “I’m thirty-three and I believe I should play adult roles now – that’s why I thought playing the main character in a film about myself might be great fun. However, my life isn’t very interesting, apparently, so most of that is made up – the usual Hollywood pop-film with a clear beginning, middle, climax and ending. That’s not how it is in real life, though… Here it’s just… So much nothing… You know?” She looked at him, searching his eyes.

Oppenheimer knew it better than anyone. He nodded. He felt this way too, even before he got here. And now, knowing that his whole life’s work turned into a big loud nothing – well, it was devastating to say the least.

This whole strange time-traveling pink-soaked transportation between life and death was merely an afterthought now.

“I was here in the Dreamhouse for the past week. It’s a beautiful home, but it’s so big and empty,” Barbie continued. “I was so bored all by myself, and then—then I found you in my pool. And caring for you, nursing you back to health seemed to give me… purpose. I felt like I was actually doing something meaningful, helping another human being. I’ve missed this feeling a lot.”

Oppenheimer watched her for a moment when she went silent, and he didn’t say anything for a while. It was hard for him to force out what came from his lips next.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do next,” Oppenheimer admitted. “I doubt my home is still where I left it – God knows I’m not all there. I have nowhere to go. And I might be… no one.”

Barbie blue eyes lit up like the sky in the summer as if no one of a man was exactly who she needed.

“Would you, maybe, like to, I don’t know, stay here?” she asked somewhat shyly.

He could get used to her blushing.

The End