#every story i have ever disliked has pieces of a story i liked that just barely missed the mark

[natyune-writes]

my only motivation to write is to prove my 7th grade english teacher wrong because she said my english/writing skills were subpar since i wasn't a native english speaker (literally not true she was just mega racist and assumed because i was very proud i speak arabic/am arab and apparently simultaneous bilingualism doesnt exist in her world)

[pyrodolls]

yandere tomas vrbada x reader hcs

warnings: stalking, tomas is kinda disgusting and creepy here, regular yandere tendencies, some implied nsfw but not smut

summary: hcs of yandere smoke x (gender neutral) reader

a/n: he’s yandere in this story he’s supposed to be ooc btw. usually i dislike when people make smoke submissive and stuff but i get it now. anyways this was fun to write :3 i love you all go drink some water

tomas could not get enough of you. just being in the same room as you makes his heart beat rapidly. your scent was addicting like a drug, you always looked breathtaking, and you also looked so cute while you slept!

in fact, one of tomas's favorite hobbies is watching you sleep. it's not creepy, because your window isn't locked! he's just inviting himself in. he loves grazing his fingers over your skin, your sweet delicate skin, and he almost feels as if it's sinful. as if he doesn't deserve to be in the same room as you. as if he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you.

his heart jumps out his throat every time you speak to him. even the smallest conversations mean a lot to him, and he'll go to bed that night thinking about it, completely overthinking anything he said to you.

"hey tomas!" you greeted, walking by him.

"oh, uh, h-hey!" tomas stammered.

that's it. that was the whole conversation. and yet he went to sleep that night wanting to skin himself alive for stammering. he thought he was such a fool for not engaging enough with you. maybe if he spoke to you more, you'd pay more attention to him.

he needed your attention. he needed your validation.

even if it was negative. he just needed you to look at him.

if you looked at him in awe, he'd explode into a million pieces. if you looked at him with disgust, he'd have to excuse himself to take care of something in the nearest restroom.

tomas was also a bit of a.. hoarder. every object you have ever touched and left behind, he picked up and kept it. he tries not to pick those objects up with his bare hands, scared that he would ruin it.

that also means he sometimes takes some clothes of yours. only the ones you don't wear often, of course! he would never be an inconvenience to you and steal your favorites. he knows which are your favorites and which ones aren't.

tomas likes to sleep with your clothes right next to him. breathing in your scent as he falls asleep is a euphoric feeling to him. his heart shatters every time they lose your scent, but he keeps it anyway just because it used to belong to you. but no worries, he'll return it once you two are married!

he finds it very tempting to profess his love to you- but he knows you ultimately wouldn't accept his affections yet. he needs to wait. unfortunately, he is far too shy to even speak to you often.

sure, you both got along and you spoke at least once a day, but it wasn't enough for him. he needs to glue himself to your side in order to truly feel satisfied. for now he can handle just being in the same room once a day, but he dreams of someday being yours. someday he can be by your side. if you don't want him by your side and you only want him as a servant or something, he will gladly accept that too! whatever it takes to please you. he will follow you around like a lost puppy if he has to.

once you start dating and end up married, tomas would prefer that you didn't have a job, especially if it has to do with kombat. he would hate for you to constantly be around danger. besides, he can do all the work for you! he wants you to let him pamper you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. he can leave every morning and continue his work in the shirai ryu, then come home to you! that's his ideal future.

he knows he often puts himself in danger as well. he knows his job isn't easy, and he puts his life at risk every day. but you keep him going. the thought of your future with him keeps him going every day. it is his motivation to survive every battle he engages in.

tomas just loves you very much! he loves you so much it drives him crazy that he can't embrace you. but someday... someday he can. someday he will be able to touch you, love you, protect you. he can't wait for that day to come. for now, he is content with savoring your scent and touch everywhere you go, staring at you from afar, and yearning for your touch. but once he finally gains the courage to get closer to you and confess to you, you will be with him. you *will* be together.

[darsynia]

Banana (Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Steve unexpectedly stayed over, and you want to make him the best breakfast ever.

Length/Warnings: 1,700 words | sexual contact

It's your ACTUAL BIRTHDAY @ronearoundblindly!! For banaNA, the delicious centerpiece of my 7 Ro Roll stories, we've got an established relationship morning interlude of teeth-rotting fluff. Enjoy!!

Excerpt:

Steve sets his fork carefully onto his plate, lifting up his napkin to wipe his mouth. The look in his eyes is warm. “You’re hoping I stay over more often?”

Two months ago you’d have worried that was some kind of relationship test.

One month ago you would have been scared to admit how much you think about sex with him.

Today you say, “Yes, I am.”

Loving Steve Rogers has made you more confident, and someday you’ll tell him that.

Banana

You really hadn’t expected your boyfriend to sleep over. It wasn’t the traditional date where you dress up in something beautiful and eat out at a ritzy restaurant, then come home and undress to experience something beautiful. It was the kind where he comes by with takeout and the two of you watch movies until you both fall asleep on the couch.

Still, you’d like to make the morning intentionally special for Steve.

You can’t ask him what he likes for breakfast while he's in the shower, but you're sure he has a metabolism-stimulating plate of protein every morning, looking like that. After assessing what's in the fridge, you make the decision to go all-out. He’d been used to mess hall communal meals back in the army, right? Plus, there's a kitchen in the Compound, so he probably makes his own breakfast. You lose a few minutes just picturing that.

Ten minutes later you’ve made him a plate with two kinds of eggs, sausage patties, buttered toast, and a little cup of sliced strawberries. The glass of orange juice ended up using the rest of the carton, but you can always buy more.

You wait with bated breath with your own breakfast, a generous bowl of oatmeal with your favorite fruits garnished with brown sugar. Steve doesn’t need to know those were the only eggs, nor that you made him the last of your sausage.

“Wow that smells great, are you setting up your crock pot or something?” he calls out from the hallway. You grin, excited for the surprise. Soon he’s coming into the kitchen, still drying his hair off with one of your towels. He smells amazing, and everything about the moment is exactly what you’ve always wanted.

Except… he looks uncomfortable.

“Please tell me you’re not allergic to eggs,” you fret.

“Oh, those are for me?”

“Well, yeah, look at the size of the plate! I guess if you want the oatmeal…”

He’s walking into the wide kitchen doorway, disappearing behind the wall for a moment (during which your mind races, thinking of all the things you could have done wrong. Does he dislike pepper? Allergic to citrus? What if he hates sausage? Why did you think this is a good idea!?).

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s got a banana in his hand, along with a fork, knife, and spoon. “Together, we’re a table setting,” he jokes, holding them up.

You almost facepalm-- you’d completely forgotten silverware. “Thanks.”

After the eggs and fruit are gone (accompanied by many enjoyment noises that punctuate your discussion of baseball), he points at the empty bowl of strawberries with a neatly-sliced piece of sausage on the end of his fork.

“You should know, I usually only eat a banana or some sliced fruit like this for breakfast, but this is delicious. Thank you.”

You conjure up the least embarrassed smile you can manage, but inside you wonder whether his honesty is warring with his sense of politeness.

“You’re asking yourself if I’d lie to make you happy, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Guilty,” you sigh. “I’m glad you said something before I made this mistake multiple times in the future.”

Steve sets his fork carefully onto his plate, lifting up his napkin to wipe his mouth. The look in his eyes is warm. “You’re hoping I stay over more often?”

Two months ago you’d have worried that was some kind of relationship test.

One month ago you would have been scared to admit how much you think about sex with him.

Today you say, “Yes, I am.”

Loving Steve Rogers has made you more confident, and someday you’ll tell him that.

He stands, coming over to take your hand and draw you solicitously up to your feet for a sweet, brief kiss. Steve's expression turns more serious, and he looks you right in your eyes.

“I’m hungry.”

You cannot be reading him right. It’s wishful thinking.

“There’s still that bana--”

Steve interrupts you with another kiss. It’s full of passion--a rough hand at your hip, thumb caressing your cheek, teeth scraping out of desperate sloppiness. The man is wrecking your mental health, but you’re right there with him, slowly filling up with heated liquor at every swipe of his tongue. He lifts his head and smiles gently, his lips twitching for a few seconds before he leans his head back and laughs.

Two months ago you would have thought he was laughing at you.

One month ago you’d have nervously played along in confusion.

Now you shove at his shoulder in mock frustration. “Out with it!”

“I can’t pull off that line, I’m sorry! I did my best,” he confesses sheepishly. “I woke up in the middle of the night on the couch with you asleep on my chest and texted Clint about what to do.”

“Oh, God,” you say, trying valiantly to hold back a giggle. “Why Clint?”

He backs up into the kitchen with his hands held up defensively. “I thought I could trust him! I figured Natasha would give me… questionable advice,” Steve says, “--and neither of us wanted me to ask Tony.”

“Oh, God,” you say again, this time in actual dismay.

“Exactly.” He pulls out one of your leftover containers and its matching lid, and holds them up.

He looks so good in his tight pants and form-fitting t-shirt that you gather up all of your Steve-loves-me courage.

“I thought you were hungry?” you say impudently, walking over and taking them out of his hands to set on the counter. Sliding your arms up around his neck, you kiss him with as much fervor as the kiss just minutes ago, letting your hands roam into his hair, down over his arm muscles, and finally to your goal, his waistband. Because you want his full permission before you do anything further, you mouth your way from his lips to his jaw, so he can say something if he needs to. If his enthusiastic participation in the kiss so far is any indication, though, there’s hope he’s up for it.

You circle the button of his pants with your thumb, slipping your fingers past his waistband. He hasn’t put on a belt yet, and there’s something intimate about it that’s beyond anything sexual, like he trusts himself to be not fully put-together around you. Falling asleep on the couch with you is one of those kind of things, too.

Steve whispers your name in a hoarse voice that’s rich with desire.

“Yes?” you question, hoping you’re not pushing too much.

“Yes.” 

Arching up to give him a kiss, you release the button and push the zipper down slowly, as much a caress against his groin as anything else. Steve throws a hand out to the side, and you feel a surge of excitement to think he’s so enthusiastic already.

“Here,” he says, throwing the towel that usually hangs from the oven on the floor at his feet, eyes full of amused apology. “Believe me, I’ll want to hold on.”

It’s so Steve Rogers to worry about your knees.

There’s nothing you can say that won’t sound terribly gauche or overeager, so you kiss his chest and pull his pants down to his feet, kneeling as you go. You look up at him, holding eye contact as you tug down his boxer briefs--but you don’t have the bravery to keep his gaze for your first taste.

Steve’s holding himself rigidly still, but you can feel his leg muscles tighten up even more when you take him into your mouth. It’s validating as hell. You pull back, sucking, loving the feel of him, warm and vibrant and wanting you. 

At that point you let yourself bliss out, eyes closed and fully attuned to him. When he makes a guttural little sound of need after you do something, you add it to the rotation, and when he starts to rock his hips forward, you quicken your pace. Everything is perfect; the crease of the towel digging into your knees, the taste of precum in your mouth, the searing ache between your legs, and most of all, how alive Steve is under your tongue, against your hands, in your throat.

“Ahhhhh,” he groans, and slams a hand onto the counter. You realize you’d hummed in happiness, and god, he’d loved that. You let out a little moan of pleasure of your own at the thought of just how wet you’ve got to be by now.

As a reward for you both, you hum again.

That sends him, starting a glorious chaos of holding on and taking it all in. When Steve reaches down and flails at your hair and shoulder, you let him pull you up and into his arms. Steve holds you tight to his chest, right each there against the counter with his pants around his ankles, each of you pulling as much oxygen and approval into your bodies as you can.

He pets your head and leans down. “Want to know what Clint said to tell you if the first line worked?”

Two months ago you were sure you weren't good enough for him and it could never last.

One month ago you’d have worried this levity was a sign you'd done a bad job.

Now, you glare up at him in utter adoration.

“If it’s something about being barefoot in the kitchen, Rogers, I’m going to go to the bedroom and finish by myself.”

“Never mind,” he says, moving sideways just long enough to get a hand on his pants to tug them up. He does the button but not the zipper, then picks you up, heading into the hallway. At the doorway to your bedroom, Steve fucking Rogers looks down at you with a loving expression and says, “Don’t worry. I’d never leave you behind.”

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Oh good the Lorch is sending herself asks about me again.

[Lily's Post]

Oh yeah Lily calling marginalized people a "pick me" for not having the same exact opinions as you doesn't make you look bigoted at all.

Unlike you I don't think children's cartoons are activism. And my pointing at that some people like to try to downplay the lesbian themes in Steven Universe, or at least the way lesbians interact with the themes of the show, actually has nothing to do with the show itself.

Hey Lily did you know I also really don't like the word queer being thrown around, refuse to call myself that because it means strange and also dislike "anti-assimilationist" types?

Speaking of which:

[Lily's Post]

Yeah I say that about the kids telling me queer has been "reclaimed" for me. I would think you'd agree, Lily.

Those are two completely different concepts you dumbass. We can have gay content in mainstream media without it being insulting dreck driven by rainbow capitalism.

Lily is the one who basically wants the Hayes Code back. She wants every show and movie to tell her who is good, who is bad, what to think and for the bad guy to get thrown off a cliff at the end.

Lily just because those are the only two pieces of media YOU know I like doesn't mean that's all I like or have ever seen. Have you seen But I'm a Cheerleader? How about Saving Face?

Hey Lily if you'd actually watch my responses to you:

No I sneer at shows with bad depictions of gay characters when they have bad depictions of gay characters. Especially when they break their own spines patting themselves on the back for it.

Are you trying to get ahead of my VOD you falsely struck going back up on Thursday? You know the one where you said an early 2000's flaming queen stereotype in some shitty Alicia Silverstone vehicle was super good "gay rep" because you had some retarded need to paint a narrative that Canadian cartoons "did it first"?

The whole "she's just mad other shows are outpacing things she likes" lol it isn't a competition, dawg. That's you, Lily. That's how you think.

This is how I know its a self ask.

Yeah that's why in my reaction to James Somerton's somehow EVEN WORSE takes on Utena than yours I kept saying things like "Utena isn't really that hard to understand it just tells it's story in a very abstract way".

Also if you think the Sword of Dios is "the sword of patriarchy" you really didn't get it but much like James here I doubt you ever even watched it, Lily. I look forward to your "In a Nutshell" video where you will read out TVTropes with zero context and get everything wrong.

Lily I hadn't watched the show fully in over 15 years when I made my very first video on you. I wasn't even expecting to talk about Utena you just went on a tirade about it in the middle of your 2023 Steven Universe video.

In fact, the reason I even cut that video in the first place is I was so impressed with my own recall of the show. And then it got 5k hits out of nowhere on my then completely unestablished channel because people just hate your takes that much.

And now making fun of you has paid for my new GPU and CPU. No Man's Sky is running great and I'm ready for Dragon Age Veilguard so cheers!

[mangowillow]

last to know | ch. 2: as always, even now

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: mentions of weight loss and a hospital, jeongguk has a panic attack (semi-detailed), problematic parent-child dynamics. let me know if i miss anything and please be kind!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: *peeks into the void* why hello there! let's pretend i didn't disappear off the face of the earth. earlier this year i went to see The Rose live for their dawn to dusk tour and it was so much fun! there's just a lot of things that have happened and continue to do so; please accept my sincerest apologies for being inconsistent! BUT. know that i haven't forgotten about this story. heh.

also a few more things: ♡ to put things into perspective: jeongguk, OC/reader, and woosung are all the same age; that also means they're as old as seokjin and yoongi in this fic. all the other members maintain their age. honorifics may or may not appear at times. if that bothers you, well, can't please everybody! ♡ this fic isn't beta'd nor proofread by anyone. we go rogue, always.

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

fic masterlist

Woosung plants a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek and giggles.

Looking at him, you ask, “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” Woosung teases as he chews on his jjajangmyeon. You chuckle at his candidness and reach out to wipe the sauce that landed on the corner of his lip. The both of you resorted to sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, using one of them as a makeshift table to place the food.

“I’m really happy you got to come today,” you muse, enjoying Woosung’s calming presence as he delicately places a piece of chicken karaage on your noodle bowl before setting his own down. You haven’t seen him for a few days because he needed to get some new music done in preparation for his application to a recording agency as a performer and a producer. You were more than happy to support him in any way you could, including giving him his space to figure things out. It was also who Woosung was— a quiet soul who liked working in solitude. 

You and Woosung are so much alike.

“Why? Did you think I’d forget?” Woosung teases, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“No, I just thought… maybe you needed more time to prepare for your application. That’s important.”

Woosung gently shakes his head, ready to disagree— “Nothing will ever be as important to me as you.”

A slight pink dusted your cheeks. You didn’t expect him to be this cheesy so early in the morning so you smile and cast your eyes back down to your meal. 

“... I do have news for you, babe.” Woosung starts. He turns his body to face you. Giving your hundred percent attention, you cut the noodles with your teeth and place the bowl down. Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you hum at his statement, “What is it?”

Woosung smiles and looks at you lovingly. You feel a bit self-conscious every time he stares at you so intensely and like clockwork, you feel your cheeks heat up. 

“I got the job, sweetheart.”

Hearing the news leave his lips leaves you surprised— your hands fly to your mouth and your eyes start to water. “R-really?” Woosung nods and chuckles through his own teary eyes, you throw yourself at him to give him a tight hug. “Woosung, oh my god— this is— “ you hold him by the shoulders, explore every inch of his face, elation in both of your hearts— “this is great, oh gosh I am so happy for you,” you hug him again. 

You feel Woosung’s body relax instantly in your hold; it has been a journey, walking with Woosung through his own painful moments struggling with his art and passion. Two years ago, he came to Seoul desperately needing a break from life and music after many unsuccessful attempts to make it into the music industry back home in the United States. Although he and his bandmates have put out several songs in the past, they never really gained as much traction with an audience as they had hoped. Going back home to his roots in South Korea also meant leaving his bandmates behind— they have been nothing but supportive of him and his time as they also needed to re-assess their own lives and figure out what they truly wanted. 

Two years ago, Woosung also met you. Both your lives changed ever since.

“Thank you for all your support, ____… you know I wouldn’t have been able to get through all this if it weren’t for you.” Woosung whispers, tightening his hold on your waist. You feel this, you feel everything when it comes to him— so you wrap your arms tighter around him, too. “This is all you, babe. This is all your hard work.”

You both stay that way for a while. Unspoken words are left hanging, as well. You both know well what might become of all this as you always try to communicate. You believe it is what has sustained your relationship for so long. 

Both of you know that Woosung will always belong to music— it’s his dream and the reason why he took so many risks along the way. It was only a matter of when. The possibilities have always been there— should there be a moment where Woosung would return to his career, to his band, to becoming a global star. The fears that come along with those possibilities were also ever-present: what you and Woosung’s future would look like. 

All of these thoughts come rushing to the both of you, but neither of you said anything.

For now, the both of you are happy. And that is enough.

When you parted from each other, you pushed away some of the hair that fell over Woosung’s eyes. “When do you start?”

Woosung takes a deep breath, “As soon as the higher-ups get settled in. I’ve been told they’ve recently landed in Seoul so it shouldn’t be too long now. I’ll be meeting with the owners and one of them is the lead producer. I heard he was a genius, but also a bit scary. They’ve also given me a signing bonus and a potential collaboration with him… that was new… he said they liked my work so much…”

“Wow, that… that sounds so exciting, baby. How are you feeling about all of this?”

“I’m nervous, for the most part,” Woosung murmurs, readjusting the collar of his shirt. It’s been a while since I talked to someone else about music professionally and… this company— I’ve heard so many wonderful things about it. For one, it was built by musicians, too. So I’m hoping they’re not just doing all of it for the business.” 

You smile warmly at Woosung and hold his hands. “You’re going to do great, you know that, right?”

Woosung draws in a breath and nods before meeting your eyes. 

That night, Woosung couldn’t sleep. He watches over you as you dream and when a strand of your hair falls on your face after moving a bit, he tucks it behind your ear. His fingers lightly dance while grazing the side of your face. Woosung sighs as a feeling of anxiety starts to creep into his heart. He loves change, but he cannot help but feel somewhat scared about it anyway. He gets so lost in his thoughts about you that he doesn’t notice you wake up.

“Baby, hey… you’re still awake.”

Your voice brings Woosung back to the present. Seeing your sleepy eyes under the sliver of moonlight that passes through your window makes his heart do a mini somersault— it always does.

“Hmm… I couldn’t sleep,” Woosung says. You scoot closer to him, his arm going under your shoulders to support your body in an embrace. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you whisper, eyes closed, inhaling his scent— him. 

“Just… things. I’m not sure how to articulate them yet…”

You hum, “Then I’ll just stay like this with you to keep you warm… warmth helps you sleep, right?”

Woosung nods, bringing your body closer to his. “Hm… especially your warmth.” Seconds later, he feels you breathe deeper, letting him know that you’re about to let yourself succumb to sleep once more. “I love you.”

When no response came from you, Woosung closed his eyes. Then suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he feels your hand squeeze his ever so lightly.

“I love you, too.”

“Hyung, I think that’s the salt—” Jimin starts.

Seokjin snorts, stopping with the shaker in his hand mid-air, “What do you mean, Jimin-ah, I think I know the difference between salt and sugar.” He was about to potentially put salt on the croffle in front of him, leaving Jimin feeling both very nervous and distressed.

“Last time, I remember you put the sugar in a different container because a customer accidentally broke the original shaker. The color of the cap was blue, not red. This—” he pointed at the shaker Seokjin was holding, “— is obviously not blue.”

“Yah, that happened last week, but I already switched them out two days ago—” Seokjin tries to argue.

They didn’t notice Woosung enter the cafe until he spoke, “Why don’t you just taste it?”

“Oh hey, Woosung-hyung,” Jimin greets.

“Hey, Jimin. Good to see you,” Woosung replies as Jimin nods, his eyes turning into crescents as soon as he smiles.

Seokjin scoffs once more before greeting Woosung, but he relents and tastes whatever is inside the shaker. When he makes a funny face, Jimin and Woosung chuckle.

“Told ya, hyung. Tell us I saved your life.”

“I can’t believe this is salt, I knew I already switched it out—”

With possible disaster averted, Jimin doesn’t listen to Seokjin’s monologue anymore, “You’re here early today, hyung. Would you like to order the usual?”

“Actually, I am here to buy a mango parfait… ____’s fridge is crazy cold and the frozen mangoes are, well, too frozen. I might actually break the blender. I also forgot to make her usual overnight oats. We had to move a lot of things very quickly yesterday so she could have a bed to sleep on.”

“I got you, hyung. We just finished making a fresh batch of parfaits. Do you want one, too?” Jimin asks.

“Are there other flavors?”

“Blueberry and strawberry,” Seokjin adds.

“I’ll take one blueberry, then. Thanks.” Woosung gets ready to pay, but Seokjin waves him away. “It’s on the house.”

“You always give us free stuff, Seokjin—” Woosung tries to argue, but Seokjin shakes his head immediately.

“Taking care of my sister is more than enough, Woosung-ah.”

Woosung gives Seokjin a tight smile and nods. Seokjin then asks, albeit softer, “How is she doing lately?”

“She’s doing better,” Woosung reassures. “She has been painting more recently; not just because of her job at the university, but also at home. We’re going to set up her studio today so it should be fun.”

“That’s good to hear, right hyung?” Jimin turns to Seokjin, who nods. Jimin hands Woosung a paper bag with the parfaits. “I put some new desserts we’re experimenting with. Please give them a try.”

Woosung peeks at the paper bag and sees croissants and greenish muffins, presumably matcha-flavored. “Oh wow, thank you Jimin… I won’t take up too much of your time, guys. ____ is still sleeping and I need to clean up the mango disaster I left on her kitchen counter before she wakes up.”

Seokjin chuckles, “You really came all the way here for parfaits when you could have bought these anywhere near ____’s apartment.”

“Ah, but nothing beats your parfaits, Seokjin. A wise man once told me that,” Woosung smiles. He and Seokjin instantly formed a bond the moment they met two years ago, much to your relief. You’ve always been nervous to tell your brother anything remotely new about your love life— and you understand where he is coming from.

“Well whoever that wise man is must be pretty smart,” Seokjin replies. His eyes soften right afterward. “Go. Let’s have a drink sometime, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Woosung waves goodbye to Seokjin and Jimin.

Jeongguk walks the hallway of the recording studio, still groggy from sleep. Hands in his pockets, he stood outside Yoongi’s door, staring at his peculiar mat: a cat with its middle finger raised, the words ‘fuck off’ glaring at him. Figures, he thought. A doormat won’t stop him from ringing Yoongi’s doorbell, though.

“Who is it?” he hears Yoongi call out.

“It’s your favorite person in the whole wide world,” Jeongguk says, sarcasm lacing his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he developed in college whenever he felt the exhaustion seep out of him. He hears scuffling from the other side of the door until the sound of the door’s automatic lock rings. Jeongguk sees Yoongi clad in a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a gray beanie— his signature style. 

“Dumbass,” Yoongi mutters under his breath before turning his back to return to his equipment. “Good morning to you too,” Jeongguk teases as he closes the door behind him. 

“How are you already set up? It’s barely a day since we arrived!”

Yoongi chooses not to respond. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jeongguk asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you at least went home to get your shit sorted? Or maybe sleep like normal human beings do?”

“I did… for a brief moment, maybe?” Yoongi starts.

Jeongguk shakes his head, “You have to stop spreading yourself thin, Yoongi. It’ll be the death of you.”

Yoongi fiddles with a few knobs on the synthesizer before muttering, “That doesn’t seem so bad— spreading myself too thin, that is.”

Jeongguk throws his hands up in surrender and rolls his eyes.

“Have I succeeded in frustrating you to hell and back, yet?” Yoongi smirks while continuing to flit his eyes through the numerous screens in front of him.

Jeongguk was about to say something but then the door alarm clicked. Kim Namjoon’s head peeks out from behind the door.

“I came to say my welcome remarks,” Namjoon says as he lets himself in. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open because he couldn’t believe Namjoon could just easily waltz in without any resistance. What’s even more astounding was that he knew Yoongi’s passcode— while he, on the other hand, had to ring the fucking doorbell.

“Oh, great. So your boyfriend knows your passcode and I don’t?” Jeongguk asks.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Yoongi states, matter-of-factly. Jeongguk couldn’t help but glance at Namjoon’s way, who seemed unfazed.

“Right, and I’m Neil Armstrong,” Jeongguk plops down on the couch.

“You’re the CEO, Jeongguk, of course, you should know the passcode… right, Yoongi?” says Namjoon, ever the oblivious one. 

Yoongi continues to do work on his computer, his fingers deftly flying across his keyboard, “Don’t encourage him, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks back at Jeongguk who has now taken an interest in the plant beside the couch. When they met each other’s eyes, Namjoon just shrugged, his dimples showing. 

“How was your flight, you guys? I hope everything was easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Jeongguk responds. “Not sure about Yoongi here though. He looked like he was about to puke.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi retaliates.

“I can’t imagine the both of you tolerating each other while in another country. It’s a miracle this production company is still standing upright,” Namjoon says chuckling. 

Namjoon met Jeongguk first in university while they studied in New York. Although Jeongguk was a business student and Namjoon double majored in music theory and composition, they ran into each other at a frat party-— with Jeongguk being drunk off his ass. He was about to fall into the pool full of piss (which the other frat members thought was funny) when Namjoon saved him in the nick of time. 

Apart from Yoongi, Namjoon also served as Jeongguk’s confidant, especially after things went south between you and Jeongguk. When the dust settled and Jeongguk was sober enough to realize the gravity of his mistakes, Namjoon helped Yoongi pick up the pieces of Jeongguk’s brokenness. As with time passing by, Namjoon and Yoongi started to develop into something more, too. Much to Jeongguk’s delight and envy.

However, neither Yoongi nor Namjoon has admitted their feelings to the other. And truth be told, Jeongguk is sick of them dancing around each other.

But he also knows it’s none of his business.

“Hey, Jeongguk, is that family dinner of yours still happening tonight?” Yoongi decides to ask. Also probably to change the subject.

Jeongguk lets out a deep sigh. “Yes, it is.”

“Ouch. Will you be alright?” Namjoon asks out of genuine concern.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi inserts. “You just need to work on making the right ones.”

Jeongguk slacks his jaw and runs his tongue across his lip ring. He doesn’t really have an answer to that.

Because once again, Yoongi was right. Not just about the damn family dinner; Jeongguk also knows his best friend’s words run deeper and imply a whole lot more than just feeling forced to sit down with his parents over steak and champagne.

“See you on the other side, then,” Namjoon says as he pats Jeongguk on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Jeongguk mulled over bringing flowers to the family dinner but decided against it.

He knows that the house would be filled with them, anyway. And his efforts won’t matter, either.

As he got out of his car, a chauffeur was already by his side ready to take his keys for him. When the car drove off, Jeongguk took a moment to look at the house he hadn’t lived in for years. It feels odd to come home; it feels even odder to feel numb about all of it.

It took Jeongguk a few seconds to ring the doorbell; for god’s sake, it was his house too, he thought. Ringing the doorbell meant he was a stranger— which he felt was appropriate.

He was greeted by a new housekeeper. He gave her a nod before stepping inside. Almost instantly, his mother appeared at the top of the staircase. They look at one another for a moment, before his mother breaks the silence.

“You finally decide to show yourself.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond, either. He was prepared for a stare-off match with his mother, but that was until his father showed up from the kitchen. With a dish towel in hand, Jeongguk’s father smiled at him as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

Jeongguk, once more, doesn’t have it in him to respond.

At the dinner table, the silence was so loud, that Jeongguk thought it could break glass.

“Did you settle in fine, Jeongguk?” his father asks.

“Yes, father, I did.”

“You should have chosen a place that was nearer to us, Jeongguk,” his mother chides.

“Honey…” Jeongguk’s father tries to put out a fire that is about to ignite. Jeongguk, on the other hand, was so tired from the flight and emotionally, that he felt a need to retaliate.

Because why not? Whether he speaks up or not wasn’t really up to him. Between him and his mother, he has nothing to lose.

“I don’t know, mother, I chose that place because I wanted to get away from here as much as possible.” Jeongguk remarks. He knows he hit a nerve because his mother downed her champagne rather than respond.

“How is the company going, son? Everything doing alright?” his father asks, trying to mitigate a conflict that neither of them could recover from.

“I guess. Yoongi and I haven’t managed to burn anything so that’s nice,” Jeongguk eats a spoonful of mashed potato. He knows he really needs to shut up and regulate his emotions, but he just can’t help but be sarcastic.

Once more, the silence won. However, Jeongguk’s mother is the type to not back down.

“You should think about getting married soon, Jeongguk—” she starts. Jeongguk feels himself grow cold as if on instinct. 

“—and this time, we want you to marry someone your level,” she finishes. Jeongguk felt his heart twisting so painfully that he didn’t notice how tight he held on to his cutlery.

Jeongguk swallows the once-repressed pain that used to consume him whole. He knows this is futile because he never dares to face his regrets square in the face. Instead, he allows the pain to make him angry. He allows his resentment to consume him in ways he doesn’t know how to handle and in a pained effort to avoid causing further damage, he remains quiet. Unresponsive. Cold. Withdrawn.

But his own mother is even more cold-hearted than he is. She is the one who made him like this.

It’s her fault.

“You need to marry a good woman who can keep up with your social status. Remember you’re not just anyone, Jeongguk. You’re a Jeon. And you have a legacy to uphold,” his mother condescends. 

Tears start to sting Jeongguk’s eyes, but he doesn’t want to let his mother win. So he keeps still.

“I have a few prospects for you, dear. We should set dates for them, don’t you think so? I chose the most refined and educated—” Jeongguk hates how his mother knows how to push his buttons and hurt him.

He knows that his mother knows his ultimate weakness.

You.

And because his mother cannot contain her insecurities and prejudice, she projects it all on her son. But most especially, you— whether you were in the room or not.

Jeongguk’s mother continues her monologue. His father miserably fails to become the referee (he always does). Heat starts to rise Jeongguk’s neck and he swears he could hear his own blood pumping through his ears. What almost immediately follows is the high-pitched ringing that only he can hear. 

Jeongguk starts to feel dizzy; like he’s about to lose control.

But instead of releasing, instead of crying, instead of getting angry— he does none of them. 

He finds himself standing up, his hands dragging the plate full of food to the ground. With all his might, Jeongguk tries to breathe deeply.

“That’s enough, mom.” Jeongguk croaks. A tear escapes his eye. “Please.”

Jeongguk rarely addresses her as “mom”. But in times of vulnerability and helplessness, it’s the term he ends up using.

“As I expected… you are still weak, Jeongguk.” his mother states with absolutely no remorse.

Jeongguk feels like he is about to throw up. To save himself, he drags his legs to leave the dining area. Housekeepers try to help him, but he brushes them aside. Security guards around the house up until the gate tried to support him, but Jeongguk just waved them all off.

He just needed to get away before his vision completely blurred. He needed to get out of this godforsaken house.

It was a miracle that Jeongguk got far away from the house as he had. But in doing so, he felt physically weaker and weaker. His mind isn’t done with him yet as thoughts of you start to resurface. His chest starts to tighten again. He feels cold and afraid and tired.

Jeongguk falls to his knees on the side of the road; he allows his body to go limp and fall to the ground. 

He barely remembers what happened next.

When Jeongguk opens his eyes, bright, stale lights greet him. 

He hears beeping, faint footsteps, a voice over an intercom.

He feels something brushing his leg so gently that it takes him a while before realizing that someone is standing over him, wiping the edge of his slacks.

Jeongguk squints his eyes to get a better look at the person touching his leg. When he tries to elevate his upper body, the person in front of him feels him moving.

Jeongguk couldn’t believe who he was seeing. His panic attack must still be happening because it was impossible.

It was you.

“Oh… hi,” you start. Jeongguk is at a loss for words so he continues to stare at you.

You immediately feel self-conscious so you start to wrangle the damp cloth you were holding. 

“Are you okay? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse—”

You start to leave, but Jeongguk catches your wrist. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. You look at his hand on your wrist before Jeongguk lets go of it.

“W-what happened?”

“You’re at the hospital… um, I– I got a call from them saying you were here,” you say.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows met. He is still confused as to how or why the hospital would call you. As he looks at you, in the flesh, in front of him, the familiar ache in his chest threatens to overwhelm him again.

You look as beautiful as ever, even more so than the last time he saw you. The last time he did, you were crying to him. He did that to you. That was his fault.

“Are you hurt, anywhere, Jeongguk? I think I need to call your doctor, just give me a second—”

“No… please. I’m okay. I don’t feel any pain.” Except for my broken heart.

“Oh… okay.”

Jeongguk observes you, more particularly your hands. You still have that habit of fiddling with your fingers when you didn’t know what to do, he thinks. 

“H-how did the hospital call you? You didn’t change your number?” Jeongguk is a hundred percent sure his choice of questions was dumb, but he doesn’t have any idea as to why you’re here.

“The hospital told me I was your emergency contact… they uh– they only found your wallet on you and found this,” you explain as you handed him his wallet. Inside was an old piece of paper with your emergency contact number and e-mail address.

“The e-mail address is now defunct, but my number is still the same because I had it reactivated when I came back here…”

When I came back here, Jeongguk repeated to himself. 

Jeongguk wanted to ask you a million questions, but his throat feels dry and he is unable to speak. 

“I um, I also called Yoongi. He should be here any minute,” you continue. When Jeongguk looks at you funny, you give him a small smile— the first one you’ve given him since he woke up. “We talk sometimes.”

There is a lot of information that Jeongguk needs to process but his head hurts a lot and he makes a mental note to interrogate his friend later.

You move to grab and open the plastic bag that is on the bedside table. You pull out a pair of black socks. Jeongguk sees you hesitate a bit before speaking again.

“I got these across the street… your socks got wet from the rain.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk feels really dumb.

“May I?” you tentatively ask. “Your feet will get cold if we don’t—and you have the IV on so you won’t be able to use your hands—”

“It’s okay…” Jeongguk’s response startles you. “Thank you.”

You nod and sit by his feet to put on the new socks. Jeongguk feels the tears again but he tries to hold them back as he feels your touch and your warm fingers graze his bare, cold skin. When you’re done putting them on him, you smile to yourself.

“Does that feel better?” you ask.

Jeongguk nods and hums. He took his time to look at you and to his mild surprise, you reciprocated. A sense of stillness seemed to occur like time stopped just so Jeongguk could fully take in the sight of you.

He hurriedly tries his best to memorize all your features—old and new. Your face is smaller, your cheekbones higher; both indicative of you losing a bit of weight since he saw you last. Your eyes are softer, but also more tired. You also grew out your hair. 

To Jeongguk, you are still so beautiful.

And he missed you so much that his heart hurt again at the thought of losing you.

“How are y—” Jeongguk tries to ask, but the door to his hospital room slid open, revealing a disheveled Yoongi.

“Jeongguk, are you okay? What happened?”

Jeongguk notices you quickly moving aside to give Yoongi room. 

“I’m fine, Yoongi. I guess I just passed out and—”

“You had another panic attack, Jeongguk. That’s the second time this week. Have you taken your medication?”

Yoongi’s string of questions had Jeongguk feeling anxious. He just had the unexpected chance of seeing you again but under the most dire circumstances. Surely, it wasn’t the time for you to hear about his mental health issues.

“Yoongi, can we—” Jeongguk tried to save face, but Yoongi was faster. 

Yoongi turns to you and hugs you. “I’m sorry, ____, you must have been so confused.”

“No, not at all, I’m… I’m glad I could be of help,” you reassure. More so for Jeongguk because you know this must be very awkward for him. 

A bit of awkwardness did happen because none of you spoke for a bit. Your phone ringing was the only saving grace.

“Hello? Oh, okay. I’ll be right out,” you answer the other person on the line. Hanging up, you say, “Um… I should get going.”

“Is someone picking you up?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes, Taehyung’s just a few minutes away,” you answer.

Yoongi nods and pulls you in for another hug. He whispers his thanks and you respond by hugging him tighter.

You also approach Jeongguk a little closer. “Take care of yourself, Jeongguk.” You see the pain in his eyes, but you refuse to acknowledge it to yourself, even if Jeongguk’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his nose was already pink.

Jeongguk doesn’t want you to go. But again, he has no choice but to let you.

“You too, ____.”

As soon as you close the door, Jeongguk allows his tears to fall.

As soon as you get into the car, Taehyung asks his questions.

“Why the hell did you just come out of a hospital?”

“Tae—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? You’re the only one there? What happened?” You can feel the panic rising in Taehyung as he inspects you, but you just chuckle.

“Yah—you laugh?”

“I’m fine, Taehyung,” you tell him but he doesn’t look convinced. “I really am.”

“Then why were you in there?”

“I saw Jeongguk again, Tae,” you calmly respond.

Taehyung freezes. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you answer.

“And you’re… are you okay?”

“I am.”

Taehyung knows you better than that but he gives you a pass because he could also tell you were tired and your short answers mean that you didn’t want to talk just yet.

“Do you want to talk about it over ice cream and fries?”

For a second, you felt tempted, but you just also wanted to go home. “Maybe some other time, Taehyung.”

Taehyung understands immediately and nods. “Should I take you to Woosung hyung or do I take you home?”

You do want to see Woosung because you know he is what you need, but you also don’t want to burden him with a bombshell of an event so you opt to be alone for the night. “Take me home, please.”

“Okay, ____,” Taehyung answers.

The rest of the car ride was a quiet one.

The short walk in the hallway leading to your home is a heavy one. As you punch in your passcode, you deeply sigh. You want nothing more than to collapse on the bed and ruminate on what just happened over the past few hours.

However, the moment you open the door, a wave of delicious scents welcomes you home. As you take off your shoes, you see a familiar pair. You smile to yourself as you place yours beside it. 

You enter your home further and see Woosung with his back to you, working his way in the kitchen. As if on cue, Woosung turns around and walks toward you. 

“Hey you,” you say with a smile.

“Hi,” Woosung responds, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Did you have a good day, today?”

You feel yourself swallow once before nodding. Woosung, ever the sensitive boyfriend, holds you tighter.

You know you can’t hide from him. So you hold on to him tighter, too.

And you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Woosung feels your body shake and he runs his hand across your back to soothe you. 

He may not know what’s going on right now, but he also knows you will talk to him when you’re ready. So he continues to embrace you; kissing the side of your head after a while.

Woosung whispers against your ear, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart.”

taglist: @whoa-jo @nays2112 @junecat18 @jk97bam @butterymin @smdnai

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

[richarlotte]

more things you swear by?

Japanese Lingerie.

I swear by Japanese lingerie, especially if you love detailed sets. My body doesn’t suit American-made lingerie now that I’ve lost so much weight, and I learned about Japanese lingerie from r/abrathatfits on my journey to find what suited me. The bras are forward projecting and give me a much better side view. I love buying matching lingerie sets, and the sets I usually go for are lacy and intricate; they’re incredibly well priced for the quality they are, and they fit me the way I like my sets to fit me. Buying lingerie is extremely feminine to me, and I love finding sets that complement my body. I’m still not as secure in my new body as I’d like to be, and good lingerie makes me feel beautiful again.

French Tips.

French tips are my go-to. They look good, they’re low maintenance, they’re universally acceptable, and they look clean. When done right, they make my hands look longer and thinner than they are, and I love that with a thinner white line, they look and feel delicate. I mostly do French mani-pedis; it’s a habit I got into when I first went to Chicago, and it’s served me well, so I doubt I’ll ever stray from it. The nail salon combo is widely accepted to be DND865 and DND473, and I do an acrylic overlay on top of my natural nails, keep an oval shape, and request a thin tip if I’m not doing BIAB again. I won’t get into the acrylic vs. BIAB debate at the moment, but I will say that when properly done, BIAB looks amazing, is better for helping you retain length, and it lasts longer than acrylic while looking better.

Classic Makeup and Flicky Layered Hair.

I love styling my hair and doing my makeup; it’s like a reward for waking up in the morning. I get to sit down, make myself pretty, and enjoy the entire process. I figured it was time to update my skincare and makeup routines once again, so I took the time to start watching makeup tutorials (Uma Jammeh, amazing) and using what products I already have to adapt certain looks to my face. As for hair, I’m obsessed with Sarmadina de Beaute as of late and layers. I think my hair looks best with heavy, flicky layers (Remington curls) if I don’t have the time to do a blowout, and I’ve really embraced the process of both finding styling inspiration and actually doing my hair. I found my ultimate inspiration the other day, ordered hair immediately, and cut and styled one of my synthetic wigs to get the look in the interim, and I’m smitten.

Minimal Jewelry.

I’ve always worn minimal jewelry; I’m a major fan of Cartier, and I’ve curated a small collection that I wear nearly every day. I love accessorizing, but I don’t like wearing a million things that have no meaning; I prefer to only wear things I love or things that have a story behind them. Gold is my metal and diamonds are my jewel. I prefer this combo over all of the other combos I’ve seen or worn before, but I also occasionally wear mother of pearl when the time is right. I dislike being weighed down by poorly made pieces; I think jewelry can be used as a statement (when needed), and putting thought into what I wear and what I want my jewelry to say has saved me a lot of misery. With the exception of my charm necklace or lavaliere necklace, I try to wear the same sets every day.

Lymphatic Massages and Red Light Therapy.

Now that it’s November and the weather is soon to turn cold again, I’m much more focused on cardio and my diet. Because I’ve filled my weekday mornings with Pilates and my afternoons with the elliptical and stairmaster, I’ve added lymphatic drainage massages and red light therapy to my weekend schedule. I’ll be in Europe, on the slopes, in the freezing cold for the majority of my winter break, and I’m preparing for that now. Lymphatic massages are a lifesaver for me, especially during allergy season, and full-body red light therapy is just an additional benefit. I’ve also switched from studio yoga to hot yoga and from the steam room back to the sauna, stopped drinking coffee, and really started focusing on increasing my flexibility.

Tinting, Tanning, and Toning.

I love having dark skin already, but I do tend to go wild with the self-tanning in the winter. In my mind, there’s nothing more beautiful than dark skin against white snow, and the darker I am, the better I look. I grew up being told that I was too dark, but I’ve embraced it. I’m proud of my skin, and I love the richness of it, and I use tanner as a way to cover up the scarring on my body and contour my face. As for tinting, I tint my brows and lashes darker than I normally would in the colder months because they don’t turn over or fade as quickly. I never ever tint my eyebrows jet black; that color is far too harsh for my face, and I can’t pull it off at all. I use the darkest brown on my brows and jet black on my lashes. When it comes to toning, I spray my entire body with the Ordinary’s glycolic acid and let it dry after showering for the best results. I swear by it for clearing body acne and preventing any body odor.

It’s similar but different.

[hinamie]

wanted 2 make a bit of an update post to get a few things off my chest bc i feel like i've been a bit quiet on here compared 2 normal and for that i apologize gsdhjgfdsj I promise I will do better at being chronically online

in all seriousness though, ever since the jjk manga ended, I've started experiencing th dilemma where I am feeling less inspired but also twice as pressured to continue living up to the standard I set for myself by being so active while the manga was ongoing. i'm finding it's taking longer than it should to finish pieces that are not challenging enough to warrant the extra hours, it's harder to come up with what I think are original concepts, and overall i'm just anxious that the high i've been riding since april has finally begun its descent.

I know logically tht these expectations i'm worried about being unable to meet are entirely self-imposed. I /know/ that not every piece needs to be a profound character tribute packed with symbolism and hidden meanings, but tht doesn't change the fact that it still feels really disappointing when I try to dig for that emotional component that I was really loving in the art that was inspired by later manga chapters, only to come up short. I'm feeling myself defaulting back to drawing My Ship Posed Cutely, or Character Lineup In Cute Outfits, whereas before I was really feeling like my art was touching something beyond just surface-level aesthetic. This isn't to say that I don't think I can ever get back to creating those harder-hitting pieces, or that I /dislike/ my more lighthearted aesthetically-driven work, I'm just frustrated at myself for feeling like I have to now dig for what used to be so readily available.

there's no conclusion to this story gfhjsgd this is rly just a vent post. i've been doing this long enough to know that this is just part of what happens with any creative hobby. periods of feeling uninspired unfortunately come with the territory, n it makes sense that those feelings wld be exacerbated now that the series i take my main inspiration from has come to a standstill for the time being. but I don't feel burnt out on jjk yet, which is reassuring in that it means I know I still Want to draw the characters, no matter how boring or overdone all of my current ideas feel. i'm in no rush to move on from jjk as my main fandom either, although I do see myself sprinkling in more art for other series to pass the time n keep me Inspired while I wait for s3. so for those of you who found me through my art (probably most of u), i guess also pls take this as both warning and reassurance that you most likely Will see me start drawing for other fandoms in the coming months, but don't take it as meaning I've abandoned drawing for jjk

and as always, thank u all for sticking with me and for all the support and lovely words on my art, it rly does make my days brighter <3

[rblooms]

The Love That Slipped Away.

this is part two of my previous story the love we lost.

Description: (Gojo x Reader) It's been a year since Satoru Gojo cheated on you. He thought it wouldn't hurt when you left him. He soon realized that you were the one for him.

Warnings: 18+, Strong language, MINORS DNI!

part 1 linked here

Days have been extremely dull and gray. Satoru has done nothing but work, exorcise curses, go home and rest. It's the same cycle every day. Sure, his oh so beloved Amy was there with him, but it wasn't the same. You would always lighten up a room with a smile, But Amy didn't. Satoru and Amy didn't have anything in common other than their sex life. Ever since you left him, he's been nothing but an empty shell of who he was. You took his heart with him that day.

He thought he would be better off with Amy but he was so very wrong. Amy was nothing but a pretty face with no personality. Satoru's students disliked Amy. They would always ask for you.

"Sensei! Where's Y/n?"

"I wish y/n was here."

"I miss Y/n!"

He has no clue where you are or what you have been up to. You blocked his number and social media accounts. He obviously tried looking you up but was always met disappointment when you were nowhere to be found.

A few months later. It was mid spring when Amy had cheated on him with another man. Satoru was heartbroken shattered even. Amy had left a wound on his heart. He truly did love her. His world was all about her but what is his world now that his left? He was left ruined and alone in the place he once called "home". He sat on his bed lost in thought. Heart now broken in pieces.

"Is this how y/n felt?"

He had finally felt what you felt the day you find out he was unfaithful. It was an awful feeling. It was a stomach-churning feeling. His beautiful blue eyes had opened. He realized what he lost. What he let slip away. He took your love for granted. You were meant for him. You were his person. You saw much more to Satoru other than the strongest and a pretty face. Memories of you and him being happy together flooded his mind. Tears filled his angelic cerulean eyes. He sobbed and sobbed till no more tears fell from his eyes. His porcelain skin was stained with tear streaks. His ocean like eyes were now red and puffy. His snow liked hair was disheveled and ruined.

Was it worth it? He chose a girl with a pretty face. A good fuck. Were his friends and students, right? Did he really just pick a doll face over the most extravagant person who always bighted a room with just their presence alone? Whose voice and smile always made his heart flutter like a bird in cage ready to burst. His warm bed that he once shared with you was now cold and barren. When was the last time he got a proper goodnight sleep?

He would do anything to get you back. no matter how long it takes. He has to see his other person. The person who still has heart.

He walked around the streets of Tokyo. He looked at the Stores and Cafes nearby. The cherry blossoms where in full bloom. Streets were covered in beautiful pink leaves. He eyed the Pastries that people were handing out. The sweet fruity delightful aroma of the pastries filled his nostrils. There was on peculiar scent that caught his attention. It was your scent. That sweet scent you always had. It was as if spring had blossomed all over you. He would never forget that sweet scent you always had.

His eyes widen and he looked to where the scent was. His eyes rapidly scanned over everyone. All he could hear was the sound of his heart beating. His eyes fell on your beautiful smile. There you were. God, you looked so mesmerizing. You were glowing. A sight for sore eyes even. His cerulean eyes were focused on you. The pink petals that flew in the wind complimented you so damn much. He has fallen for you all over again.

He was so happy he has finally seen you after so long. He walked towards you. His heart was pounding like crazy with each step he took.

"Y-Y/n..? is it really you...?" He spoke softly but loud enough to make you look at his direction. His heart skipped a beat. Your beautiful colored eyes stared at his disgustingly beautiful eyes.

"Satoru." You replied with a nonchalant voice. His heart ached with the emptiness in your voice. Your voice used to be sweet like an angel.

"You look good." Satoru complimented you with a soft smile but all it left was a sour taste in your mouth.

"Don't try to sweet talk me" You scoffed at him. Satoru awkwardly smiled.

"It's good to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same" There was a hint of sadness in your voice.

"L-Look I just wanted to-" Satoru was caught off by a voice coming from behind you.

"Sorry sweetie the line was really long." A tall man with long black hair with weird bangs and black circle stud earrings approached you. The unknown man gave you a gentle kiss on your cheek while he wrapped his arms around you. He had a pastry package with him.

"Oh? Satoru what are you doing here?" Satoru got a better look at the man Infront of him. It was his best friend Suguru Geto. They were friends back in high school before they separated ways.

"Suguru? What are YOU doing here?" Satoru was caught completely off guard. Why was his best friend here with his beloved? So many questions swirled in his head.

"I'm here shopping with my lover" Suguru wrapped his muscular arm around your waist pulling you into his side keeping you in a secure grasp. Satoru had jealousy and sadness in his bright blue eyes. Seeing you with another man had his heart aching. Your sweet warm smile wasn't for him anymore. He is no longer the man you wake up to every day. That should've been HIM by your side. Not Suguru.

"You guys know each other?" You asked your boyfriend Suguru turning your face to look at his beautiful face. He was smiling. "We have some history from back in our high school days. Long story short he's my best friend." Suguru gave you a warm smile. "So, who is he to you?" Suguru asked you with sweet smile.

"He's the unfaithful ex-boyfriend I've told you about." You said with a sigh. Satoru's heart twisted with sadness and guilt at the word "unfaithful". He eyes didn't dare to meet your eyes. He knew what he had done. How could he ever get you back? There's no way he would be able to call you his again. The guilt that drowned him was enough to make him puke.

"Oh, so Satoru is the man that crushed your heart all those months ago?" Suguru was looking at Satoru with nothing with disappointment. "I'll admit Satoru. I never expected this from you. How did you let such a sweet person slip through your fingers like sand. Hm well, I guess if it wasn't for your fuck up, I wouldn't have landed such a lovely person."

Suguru looked at his white-haired friend. Satoru looked ruined as he finally faced the music. "I never meant for shit to turn out like this. Fuck! I'm so sorry Y/n. I know an apology isn't going to change the fact I hurt you. I know we can't fix shit between us. I finally realized how much you loved me. You were my everything and still are. You gave me your all. I was pathetic to not treat you the same way. But I've lost you now. Even though I'm not the one who's going to be by your side anymore at least someone will." Tears fell from his Ocean colored eyes falling onto the pale sidewalk. People looked the commotion happening but carried on their day.

You looked at Satoru as he silently began wiping his tears. Suguru's grasp around your waist tightened. Suddenly, the memories you tried so hard to forget came back. The day you ended things with Satoru. The day your heart was shattered to pieces. The one fucking day you saw him and his girlfriend passionately making love. skin on skin. lips on lips. hand in hand. It all came back to you. You watched as the man in front you broke down in tears. His eyes becoming puffy. His blue ironed button up was now wrinkled and stained with tears.

You grabbed Suguru's hand and intertwined it with yours. He let go of the grasp he had you in. You looked at the broken man Infront of you.

"I wanted you and only you. But you wanted something more. And I couldn't give you that. You made your decision when you picked her over me. I gave you my word, my loyalty, my trust. But you didn't give me anything. I always ate dinner alone waiting for your arrival, but you would eat another womans dinner and share a warm meal together. Where was I when you went to her house to fuck? Was I even a priority to you? I was questioning my worth every damn night. The lipstick stains on your neck and clothes never went unnoticed. I begged for your attention for you to look at me again, but you never batted an eye. I was never important to you Satoru. I never was. The nights I slept alone and cold in our shared bed were always the worst nights ever. You only started caring once I left." You looked at him once more before turning around and walking away with your boyfriend hand in hand.

Satoru can only stare with tears running down his face. He was an idiot to come looking for you. He was an idiot losing you in the first place. Your words struck his heart. He looked at you as your walking away from him. He has to live with the guilt of betraying you. He managed to pick himself up and head home. The sky turned gray, and rain started pouring. He hopes the rain will wash away his sorrow. No one will ever replace you again. His love that slipped away. Maybe one day. just maybe you will comeback. Until then he'll wait for you with open arms.

Thanks for reading!!

Bloo Note: Hey guys so sorry for part 2 coming out so late. I was not gonna make "The Love We Lost" a part 2 originally lolol. BUT I did mange making a part two while juggling school. Ending was INSANLEY rushed but hope u guys eat this up (or hate it idc). credit to the people who made the dividers!! taglist: @kawaiivillainess98

[lapis-lights]

Chapter 01 | Choke Yourself to Sleep

'Falling From Grace' Series

[Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Song Title: Choke by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Content Warnings: Heavy Injuries, Enemies Phase, High Tensions, Two Emotionally Constipated Characters, They Get Better Towards The End

Word Count: 11k

Author's Notes: First chapter of the Falling From Grace series! I'm excited for you guys to see what's coming up :DDDD

I wanted a good ol' fashioned enemies to lovers that dealt with two characters who actually have a dislike for each other and honestly, the longer I outlined the events I wanted to happen and estimated the word count, the more I was like "Oh shit this needs to be like a SERIES". So here we are at chapter 1. Lmk what you guys think in the comments if you'd like! My ask box is also open if you'd like to send in something through there too ^^

Posts are scheduled for 8 a.m. EST every day until the series is complete!

Series Masterlist

Ao3

Summary: Having freshly escaped from an elaborately disguised company, you show up on the doorstep of your enemy's dingy motel room. Tensions roll high as you try to recuperate all while trying not to kill each other until a secret lets loose and his perception of you shatters into a million pieces.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"Now shut your dirty mouth. If I could burn this town, I wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die.

And that would be just fine, and what a lovely time that it would surely be. So bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep."

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The air is freezing, but your body feels like it's on fire.

In a cruel juxtaposition to the chilly weather and violent wind that nipped at your skin, pain is all you know, licking flames up from a twisted ankle and into your weary muscles. Your shoulder burns, tugged on by the weapons and equipment that weigh you down but are vital for survival nonetheless. One of your joints is probably dislocated and would need an amputation or something drastic with your luck.

You’re sure you must look a sight, streaked with dirt and oozing blood from more than one place on your body. The bruises you’ve been so graciously granted are probably turning purple by now, and you wince knowing that this wouldn’t be something you could try and joke your way out of at a hospital. 

Hence, your second, more unfortunate, option.

You’ve been walking all night since you escaped after weighing the options in your mind. Actually, it’s less walking and more hobbling as fast as you can.

The trees are bare all around you, bordering a stretch of a lonely dirt road that nobody has driven through since you set foot on it. Not even given the chance to hitchhike, you consider that just laying down and dying alone of starvation might be the easier option.

Every part of you hurts, and you think that you might die anyway from your wounds. Your breaths have become shallow and hitched, your body sore from the excruciating limits you've been pushing it to. However, that all didn't matter when it came to survival. You've lived through worse before–surely something like this couldn't kill you.

The bare forest breaks and you almost cry at the sight of your destination. 

It’s a rugged little motel hidden away in the recesses of the forest, often providing shelter to hunters who were taking advantage of the seasons. However, the person you're looking for is not a hunter.

Not of animals, at least.

It’s the kind of motel that doesn’t have any stories and the rooms are all lined up along one long stretch of building bordered by rotting wooden rails. It’s not a sight to behold, but it was somewhere safe to some capacity. Either you’d die here or live to see another day.

You trip up the wooden steps, muffling a cry of pain into your palm before counting down the rooms and finding the one you need. Your knock probably sounds more like a bang and you know that this is probably the stupidest plan you’ve ever had yet. Maybe you had the right idea when you were considering just dying on the side of the road like an unfortunate piece of roadkill.

However, much to your surprise, the door swings open, and tired blue eyes meet yours.

"(Y/n)?" your name rolls off his tongue like venom being spat out. "What the fuck?"

He sounds good–really good–so you must be incredibly delirious. Whether it's from the blood loss, the adrenaline, or the sleep deprivation is a toss in the air.

"Hey," you manage a shaky smile and collapse.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

When you come to, the first thing you hear is the creak of old wood, presumably from the aged floorboards.

You're sure this motel doesn't have the funding to renovate often, judging by the run-down state it was in when you first arrived. Already, you feel better physically than the last time you had been conscious–but you were still incredibly sore–though the same couldn’t be said mentally. If you weren’t so bent on staying alive, you’d roll over and sleep yourself to death. 

Roughly blinking open your eyes faintly, you’re met with an old popcorn ceiling that has more than one questionable stain on it. Gross. 

“You know,” a voice intrudes the confused fog of your brain as your thoughts abruptly try and catch up, “if you’re trying to kill someone, showing up half-dead on their doorstep isn’t really the way to go.”

Panic blossoms in your chest as you open your eyes all the way, fully wide awake now. You tug your body upward and a jolt of pain spreads through your body as you take in the dusty motel room you’ve cursed yourself to be trapped in. You've been laid down on an old couch whose covering was printed with the abhorrent floral pattern that's only found in ancient grandmother households and the fabric scratches uncomfortably on your sensitive skin.

 It’s not hard to find the source of the voice.

Leon's already watching you from a chair positioned on the other side of the room at a small desk, fringe falling over his eye as his handgun is securely held. You have no doubt that the safety is probably already off.

"You have five minutes," he demands, not kidding around like when you've traded playground insults. "I want an explanation."

"Fair enough," you wince.

You and Leon have a rocky history of going for each other’s throats on field missions and nearly killing each other over a grudge that began years ago. He works in the D.S.O., an infamous division in the US government for only the best and most elite members of the agency. Leon Kennedy, revered for his survival in Raccoon City and preceding successful missions afterward, is one of–if not the–best of the best.

You’d been on contract with a company that was researching bioweapons independently and investigating Umbrella through rather illegal matters. The J.I.E., or Justice for Inhumane Experimentalists, had dedicated their purpose to bringing people like those who advocated for Umbrella to be rightfully exposed. Your involvement with the company was surprisingly unintentional where you’d been admitted as an intern for work experience before they offered you training for fieldwork and higher pay. 

Regrettably, you had agreed.

Oftentimes, you’d be dispatched to the same locations that the government was looking into. It was only a matter of time before your stealth mission failed and you were pitted face-to-face with Leon.

Your first encounter was rough, as your only objective was to escape alive. It was understandable why he was considered the best agent as his aim was spot on, his attacks swift and incredibly calculated. You managed to leave with a hair’s breadth away from death. 

Every preceding time you met with him, it began an all-out battle that staved mostly off of that grudge–you wanting revenge for him nearly ending your life and for him, wanting to patch up his bruised ego from letting an easy target slip through his fingers.

It was a miracle Leon didn’t just shoot you in the head when you went unconscious, though he probably only kept you alive for the potential intel you could provide.

“There was a conflict of interest is all,” you say vaguely, and he’s obviously unsatisfied with your response. “There’s not much more to it.”

“The J.I.E. finally dump your ass?”

“I left, thank you very much.”

"Bullshit," Leon snaps. "You have three minutes left to tell me why you're really here."

"I can't visit my favorite archenemy?" You huff, then wince when a new sharp pain blossoms in your shoulder and races down your arm before soothing to a burn. "Son of a bitch."

Leon exaggerates a snicker and you want to beat the sarcastic smile off his stupid expression. "Your dumbass managed to dislocate your shoulder and twist your ankle. Hope you weren't planning on going into any Olympic sports."

"My dreams are crushed," you deadpan. "Might as well put me down like a racehorse with a broken leg."

"I almost did." His gaze darkens and then fixates on you again. "Speaking of which?"

You go silent, staring back at him with the blankest expression you can muster. All he was trying to do was get under your skin to get whatever answers he wanted from you before ending your life, burying you in the woods, and checking out of the motel with a cute little innocent smile. Leon's not the type to commit a felony without a valid reason, but your little schoolyard rivalry was probably a good enough purpose for him. 

You were going to get out of here alive somehow. You just didn't have a coherent plan for it yet. You'd rather die than admit to Leon of all people what really happened at the J.I.E. before you had excused yourself–though, excused was an extreme understatement.

He probably senses that you weren't going to answer his questions before huffing and standing. His hands work roughly on his signature handgun, and it clicks sharply in the air as he disappears around a corner. You wouldn't be too surprised if he re-appeared with a loaded magnum ready to play bad cop interrogating you. 

At this rate, you'd accept him blowing your brains out.

The sudden sound of rushing faucet water running reaches your ears and it jars you enough out of your tense stupor. Silently, you wonder what in the world he could be doing. Maybe Leon needed a refresher before committing murder right in the middle of his motel room, though you suspect that he's probably not the best at cleaning up a crime scene. Would he be fully pardoned if he was found guilty? 

Actually, thinking about it, he could come up with a good enough cover story as to why a dead body was hidden under his floorboards. That was some Edgar Allen Poe shit.

Footsteps have you looking back up to see him with a plastic cup of water in one hand and something held securely in his other that you couldn't see. Leon places the cup of water on the end table that stands right by the armrest of the couch you're leaning against. 

Something clinks onto the wooden surface and you glance over to find two white pills sitting innocently next to the cup. 

You raise an eyebrow at him as he retreats, sitting on a creaking bed whilst grabbing a rifle to start polishing as if you weren't someone who's tried to kill him on multiple occasions.

"Cyanide?" You guess, poking at one of the pills and losing your appetite more than you already had. "You're getting lazy, Kennedy."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs dismissively. You didn't know it was possible for him to piss you off more than he already has. "It's painkillers."

"You should take them then since you're being such a pain in the-"

"I really don't care if you die on the couch," he interrupts and sends a dangerous glare your way. "I don't want to hear anything from you unless it's about why you're here. Capiche?"

You search his gaze trying to find any fault in his words, yet come up with none. A quiet sense of annoyance and rage boils in your chest as you slump down into the cushions of the couch. "Aye aye, cap'n."

He hums non-committedly before remarking mindlessly, "Good girl."

You wish he would step on a landmine.

Because you have nothing better to do, you snatch up the pills and choke them down with the water. Truthfully, you didn't realize how parched you were until the touch of liquid hit your dried-out throat, and you hope the bastard isn't gaining any satisfaction from your reluctant compliance. 

You note that there's dried blood still on your clothes and only the obvious wounds that were exposed have been cleaned up. It was some sort of cold comfort knowing that he didn't try anything shady while you were knocked out. 

As you settle into the couch again and close your eyes, you realize one thing before sleep reclaims you. 

Your shoulder definitely didn't feel dislocated nor did it step over the intense soreness that came after the initial painful sting the entire time you'd been awake. Surely Leon didn't set it back once he noticed, right?

He wouldn't.

The painkillers were probably the farthest his kindness reached with you. He probably thought it was dishonorable to kill you when you were injured or something stupid. He'd want a fight before getting the satisfaction of having your blood smeared all over his hands.

That must be it. It had to be.

You're conflicted as one excuse gets blocked by another, but none of it can change the fact that you hate him. When you get out of here, you'd definitely owe him a favor on your end, but after that, you'd go right back to your old ways trying to get the edge on each other on sight. 

As you fall asleep, you decide that nothing will change in the end. You'll make sure of it.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Images dance behind your eyelids, violent in every way you could think of. 

It's filled with viruses and experiments and monsters larger than life. You see people, you can hear them screaming in anguish and immense pain. Small children cling to your legs, sobbing and crying for their parents and for you to do something to help. You don't even get the chance to formulate a plan before they're harshly turned into nothing but rotting flesh and guttural sounds being pulled from their dead throats.  

You reach out desperately for them but they disappear in wisps from your fingertips. A sharp stab pierces your neck and you cry out, struggling against the undead that has latched its teeth into the supple muscle that lies in the junction at the base of your neck that slopes into your shoulder. Managing to gain momentum, you grasp it by the plaid shirt it was wearing and flip it over your shoulder. It slams to the invisible ground with a shriek.

The grip it had on you dissipates with the body of the undead into the black void, but the blood that flows from the wound in rivers is enough to make you lightheaded immediately. Before you can dwell on this fact too long, an invisible force pushes you to the ground, holding you down even as you aimlessly struggle as much as you can. It's a futile effort. 

There's the sound of chains, of a knife being sharpened right before searing white-hot pain floods your backside.

A sound that couldn't even be classified as a scream tears from your throat. It's pain, it's burning alive, it's being bitten by a million fire ants at once, it's familiar-

You wake with a gasp, tears in your eyes and sweating as Leon immediately backs away from your reactive–and now very conscious– state. 

It takes a moment for you to get your bearings and to realize where you are. 

You're not in a lab or an arena or even in another virus-infected city–just a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere stuck with the last person you ever wanted to associate yourself with. Upon getting this fact straight, you force yourself to relax as you dry your face and stubbornly refuse to look at Leon who simply watches carefully for any other possible extremity you might commit.

You can feel the question on the tip of his tongue, just barely managing to restrain himself from inquiring about what the fuck just happened. You don't even know what time it is. You don’t think you really care to find out right now.

"Do you have night terrors often?" He asks but there's no care behind the question. You know all he wants is more information regarding you and what the J.I.E. was doing. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The response flies from your lips sharply, and you don't even bother to try to have the decency to pretend to be apologetic. Really, you don't feel like dealing with his bullshit after you've just woken up. 

"Well, excuse me, princess," Leon huffs, shaking his head frustratedly as he recedes. "Here I am letting you bloody up my couch and you can't even let me know if frequent nightmares are another thing I should be concerned about."

"I'm fine," you insist as he brings out another cup of water and more painkillers just like he'd done the first time you woke up. This time, you take them without hesitation and wait for a minute to see if they'd kill you as swiftly as a poison pill would. Once you're in the clear, you ask, "What do you mean by 'another thing' you should be concerned about?"

"I'd like to get a good night's rest without getting murdered," he frowns, sitting at the desk and folding his arms. "You know, I would've loved a vacation that didn't get interrupted again but you just had to show up, didn't you?"

"Interesting spot to vacation out to," you raise an eyebrow. "Any reason why?" 

"Nice try. You'll have to be more subtle."

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

"People say that about wallflowers trying to hook up with captains of football teams," Leon scoffs. "Not about spies trying to gather information on the opposing side."

For all you care, he could go die in a hole. You have more important things to worry about–namely your injuries and how fast you could recuperate from them so you could get out of here. Leon was decent enough to tell you that you had a twisted ankle and a dislocated shoulder he potentially set back into place, but there are wounds that he didn't even know about.

Along your upper back had been a particularly nasty gash, but it wasn't anything you weren't used to. You were more so concerned with the bullet grazes you'd caught while escaping the factory you'd been trapped in. J.I.E sports multiple talented sharpshooters so you'd consider yourself lucky to have been able to get out without a piece of metal lodged into your leg. 

The big bad that they'd sent after you did more of a number on you than any group with some lousy firearms could possibly do. The memory causes you to wince.

“Do you have a first aid kit or something?” you ask, moving to get up and ignoring the wave of pain that crashes into you violently, it nearly leaves you breathless. 

“Whoa, hey–wait,” Leon immediately gets up to try and push you back down. You smack his hand away stubbornly. “Alright, fuck you too, then.”

“I need to get the injuries on my back and I’d prefer doing it on my own,” you ignore him, standing shakily and almost stumbling upon the first step. “Also I probably stink so I hope you don’t mind if I use your cheap motel shower.”

“You’re not going to get far trying to do it by yourself,” Leon protests, and irritation pricks your skin.

“I’ve made it this far on my own. I can do it.”

You know your unmoving insistence isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with because the trait is reflected right back at him. Too many times were you caught in crossfires trying to get at each other despite the obvious obstacles and the inconvenience of it all. Usually, Leon can keep his composure on the battlefield, juggling carrying out his assigned mission and preventing you from completing yours, however, there are times you were able to push him over the edge and gain the advantage.

His jaw tenses as he considers you. It’s glaringly obvious you’re not as okay as you’re trying to pass off, but in all seriousness, you need to tend to yourself. You both knew that you’d never trust him in such a vulnerable environment, and even less so showing him exactly where all your current weak spots were. The only option left really was to let you do your best while he played standby.

“At least let me help you to the bathroom,” he relents finally. “If you’re going to slip and die, do it where I can’t see.���

Figuring that this is the best you were going to get with Leon, you accept the hand he outstretched and allow your weight to be shared with him. Because of his profession and the fit form he maintained, you’re sure that it was no issue for him.

Though, it didn’t help that you were completely disgusted upon having to have him in such close proximity. Actually, you think this is the first time the two of you have interacted like this that wasn’t in a violent way.

You half-expect him to dump you onto the bathroom floor, yet he allows you enough time to grip onto the doorframe and limp inside yourself.

“Kit is under the sink,” Leon says, turning away and wiping his hands off on his jeans. “Don’t die."

The door closes and you finally breathe out in relief at being alone. 

Your reflection stares back at you in the bathroom mirror and you know you've definitely seen better days. Shadows hang beneath your eyes, probably the only purple on your body that wasn't a result of a blossoming bruise, and your hair was full of filth you didn't even want to get into. Really, the past few days haven't been the most successful.

You take a deep breath and shuffle your shirt off the best you can with one arm. 

The shoulder that had been dislocated has dulled itself down into a mild burn instead of flooding with soreness with every waking moment as it had been before. Whatever painkillers Leon had gotten his hands on, they were hella fucking good since you'd only taken four so far–definitely better than the OTC pills you usually took periodically after missions. Your ankle fares better than it had been as well, but putting any weight on it was a no-go. 

Jesus Christ, you hated this.

As you throw your dirtied shirt to the floor and start shimmying your pants down your thighs, you think resentfully about your weakened state. For fuck's sake, you were supposed to be stronger than this–you were supposed to be theoretically invincible because being anything less meant you weren’t good enough.

Really, being at Leon's was your own fault seeing as you'd hobbled here after weighing the equally horrible options before picking the lesser of the two evils, and while it wasn't at the forefront of your mind and definitely not your biggest concern at the moment, it still wasn't pleasant. That he even took you in was a miracle in itself and you intend to milk as much hospitality as you can get from him before leaving. 

Finally, you wrench your shirt off and turn to see your backside in the mirror. You find that the gash on your upper back is bad and you wince at the state of it. It extends diagonally from your deltoid muscle downward to your trapezius, but what lacks in length is made up for by the alarming width of it.

You're definitely no looker with scar tissue knotting up your flesh and making rough patches of skin that surely would be anything but soft to the touch, but this has gotta be one of the worst ones. You'll live, of course, but it's nothing you'd be proudly parading around.

Noted: B.O.W.s tend to cut a little deep when they're attacking.

You start up the shower, deciding that you should start washing away the grime and dirt before tackling the scratches that have started to prick blood again.

The warm water is welcome, though it provides little comfort as the droplets sting the opened wounds. It's a relief to finally be able to feel some semblance of cleanliness as you poke around for the motel-provided shampoo, conditioner, and bar of soap. Dirt, blood, and gunpowder wash down the drain and you sigh in contentment, letting your mind wander as you work on washing yourself without putting strain on your shoulder and ankle.

Your need for shelter vastly eclipses the disdain you have for Leon, but you do have to admit that this was incredibly kind of him. His treatment of you right now is wildly different from practically all your other encounters where it's nothing but bullets, blood, and insults hurled at each other intended to hurt. You're used to the aggressive Leon who scowls every time he sees you, but definitely not this Leon who matches your witty comments and gives you painkillers without question every time you wake up.

It feels wrong. 

It feels like at any moment, the barrel of a gun is going to be held to your temple as he forces his desired answers out of you. Leon never struck you as the type of person to be like that, which gives you somewhat of a relief, but it still puts you on edge. He's gotta have some ulterior motive for keeping you alive. The fact that you don't know why is the most concerning part.

Maybe you had answers of your own you needed to search for.

Once you had gotten yourself to a place that felt like tiny bugs weren't crawling all over your skin and the water had begun to clear after vigorously washing your hair over and over, you finally shut off the water and brace yourself to take care of your wounds. It’d be much easier now that you were free of all that grime and build-up. 

You breathe a tired sigh and get to work, numbing yourself to the sting of antiseptic and focusing on wrapping your arms and legs with bandages in a familiar routine. Back at the J.I.E., the medics were adamant about teaching agents extensive medical techniques in case they found themselves stranded and unable to access proper care. Back then, it was obviously an excuse for them to do less work, but now you appreciate the rigorous training they’d put you through.

As for the cut on your back, you couldn’t necessarily reach it, though even you could tell it would need stitches. You definitely wouldn’t be able to do that on your own so you settle on rubbing a disinfectant gel on as much as you could before wrapping your upper torso in a long winding bandage. It would have to do for now.

Moving around as much as you have exhausted you and to be honest, you’d be more than happy to lie down and sleep on the cold linoleum floor, though you don’t think Leon would appreciate it as much.

Speaking of which, there was an alarming issue with clothing…

You grimace, looking at the ragged state of your former outfit, and cringe upon thinking about having to put it back on. You didn’t necessarily have time to pack before you fled the J.I.E.

A harsh knock scares you nearly out of your skin and you mentally curse Leon as his voice muffles from the other side of the door. “You doing alright?”

“Sure,” you answer back, frowning. Well…you’re as fine as you could be with two compromised joints and a dangerously large gash on your back. “I’m trying to figure out what I’m gonna do with my clothes.”

There’s a heavy silence before Leon mumbles some unintelligible. You’re about to ask him what he said until he speaks before you get the chance to. “I’ll stop by the motel office. Pretty sure they had clothes up there for sale.”

“Okay.”

“Size?”

You tell him and you hear the sound of things being shuffled around before the front door slams shut. Immediately, you try the knob and huff upon the handle refusing to give which meant the fucker likely jammed it on the other side to lock you in. Smartass.

It felt like a lifetime before he returned, jiggling out whatever he had blocked the handle with and cracking open the door to put up the goods onto the counter. It was just a white t-shirt made of rough cotton, gray sweatpants, underwear, and a pair of thick socks but in your eyes, it was just as good as a ball gown made of exotic silk.

When you stumble out of the bathroom, Leon looks up from his place on the bed as you slowly make your way out.

For a second, neither of you speaks a word as he finally takes you in without all the dirt and crap you’ve been covered with for the past few days and you try to piece together why this was happening in the first place. This hospitality–this unnatural kindness–it had to be for something.

You tear your eyes away from him, making your way back over to the couch where Leon had set up one of the pillows and a thick blanket, which you spread out gratefully. 

It’s really hard to hate him when he does things like this, but it’s easy to turn that into some type of annoyance to use against him. It was all too easy to find things to dislike about Leon, with the years you’ve watched him, you could nitpick his faults down to memory.

You settle down and the exhaustion hits you like a semi on the interstate. 

Sleep anchors you, yet you remember your manners, managing to yawn and mumble out, “Thank you.”

The silence that follows is deafening and you almost think he didn’t hear you until he says, bordering on the softest tone you’ve ever heard him with yet, “Yeah, sure.”

And just because you have to remind him this doesn’t change anything in your dynamic, you quip, “You’re still a conniving bastard.”

“You know me so well,” Leon mutters unamused.

“Oh, go choke on a day-old cashew.”

“Hope you suffocate in your sleep.”

As you let yourself slip into unconsciousness, you think to yourself that it’s the same as it ever was. Somehow, it soothes you knowing that this aspect of your rivalry will never change. No amount of questionable tolerance from him could ever affect that, and you know you’d be quite content to turn the gun on him once you were back in good condition.

He was your enemy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Just the way it was supposed to be.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The next time you wake up, Leon's already moving around the room restlessly.

You don't see it, but goddamn, could you hear it. The floor was not doing your already growing headache any favors and coupled with the occasional mumbles from Leon to himself, you think your brain might explode.

You squint, trying to figure out what has him in a frenzy before noticing that you're positioned close enough to the window that you can peek through the crack between the glass and the curtain if you stretch. One moment is all it took before your eyes widened because all that was outside was white. Vaguely, you remember something about snow being said on the news the morning you'd left the J.I.E. but never did the weatherman mention that it was going to be this bad. 

Leon must've noticed you were awake because he immediately moved away and you can hear the faucet running just like the last time you were conscious. 

You consider this as he comes around the corner and wordlessly hands the cup of water and pills off to you before going to stoke a fireplace you hadn't noticed before due to its inactivity. His silent disposition is off-putting at the very least as you drink and take your painkillers and watch him mess with the wood that fed the flames. The motel must be ages old if it was still relying on fire for some extra heat.

"We're blocked in," Leon says gruffly, not even sparing you a glance. "It's not going to stop for at least a day or two."

You can read what he means: the two of you were stuck together until the snow calmed down enough that you could survive on your own.

Joy. You're sure his resentment for the situation matches yours.

"Quality bonding time," you quip, shifting and wincing at the soreness that seems to encompass every muscle. "We can make friendship bracelets and sing kumbaya together by the fire."

He shoots you an unimpressed look, only to furrow his eyebrows when your stomach gives an intense growl that reverberates through your diaphragm. You flush, embarrassed for the impeccable timing and you try to play it off, looking away to watch the flurry of snow whipping violently outside.

You hear rustling before it falls into silence.

Then something solid hits your head softly and lands on the floor by the couch with a crinkle.

You swivel and look down to find a protein bar lying on the ground, obviously the chosen projectile your unfortunate savior had chosen. Shooting him the rudest glare you can muster, you lean over and take the snack while the annoyance starts simmering in your chest. 

"Hope you can at least stomach that," Leon says passively.

"If I can't, I'll throw up on you."

"You really know how to show a guy a good time, don't you?"

"Only ones who can treat me right."

He puts his arms up as if surrendering, shaking his head. "If saving your life isn't treating you right, then you must have some pretty high standards."

"If I recall correctly, you've also tried to kill me multiple times." You roll your eyes while unwrapping your protein bar and biting into it. The taste manages to soothe the anger in your stomach as you eat and luckily, it was the type of bar that was meant to be filling so it left you somewhat satisfied. 

"Hypocrite," he clicks his tongue and if your shoulder wasn't out of commission, you'd pull your gun out and shoot him in the leg to get even.

Well…if you had your gun.

"Where'd you put my weapons?" You ask curiously, balling up your now empty wrapper and tossing it into a nearby small trash can. "Those are kinda important to me."

"Very funny. I’m not looking forward to being shot or stabbed when this is supposed to be my vacation."

"Well, excuse me for trying to make small talk," you fold your arms and just your chin out. "Hope you're ready for an eventful few days getting the damn silent treatment."

The two of you stare at each other from across the room, both unmoving and equally stubborn. The only good thing that came out of this whole thing was that you've learned each other's body language well enough that you could practically read each other without saying any words. Granted, the words usually said were threats to kill each other.

Leon analyzes you and your determined silence before he sighs and shakes his head. "You have a good taste in firearms, at least."

"I really hope that's not how you try and flirt with every woman you meet."

"Believe me, you're the last person in the world I'd ever try to flirt with."

“Rude,” you scoff.

There’s something different in the atmosphere. You watch as Leon finishes messing with the fire and starts getting out supplies to clean out his guns. Not wishing to dwell on it and deciding you have nothing better to do, you return to watching the blinding snowstorm outside. Some part of your mind fears that the J.I.E. were looking for you even in this intense weather, but surely even they weren’t stupid enough to try and track you down in this whole mess.

Perhaps they presumed you were dead. They did send a whole bioweapon to end you, though if they were serious about it, it would have tracked you down and not stopped until it had crushed you itself. 

You shudder, vaguely remembering the fight and running off of nothing but pure adrenaline while escaping. It was your last obstacle before you had managed to stumble out into the frigid air and start struggling to the motel.

You glance at Leon from the corner of your eye.

Truthfully, he wasn’t your first choice. There were multiple people you could have called to play getaway driver for you, but the potential of someone hijacking the signal and finding out about your plans was too high. It ran the risk of trading safety for comfort so that had definitely been off the board. Staying wasn’t an option either–not after what they revealed they were trying to do.

You’d located Leon’s location not long after the events in New York City with Glenn Arias. You don’t know the entire ins and outs of it, but he had suffered from a lot of blunt force trauma and as a result, had to be hospitalized for a few days. It wasn’t that hard to find his medical records in the doctor’s database, and furthermore, it was easy to then trace where he was planning on getting away.

Fortunately, it was near enough to the lab you were stationed but the walk was arduous. He was the only viable option.

“Do you always stare so openly?”

His question pulls you out of your thoughts and you blink before raising an eyebrow in a silent prompt.

“You’ve been giving me a side eye for the last minute or so,” he points out, cleaning out the barrels on one of his guns. “It’s kind of unsettling.”

“I thought you’d be used to a woman watching you,” you hum, leaning your chin into the palm of your hand. “Are you telling me that you don’t have as much game as you say you have?”

“It’s a little different with you.”

“Aw, are you saying I’m special?” 

Leon’s lip pulls up in disdain and you have to resist the urge to laugh lest you pull a muscle or something. “Don’t get any ideas. God only knows what happens in that little fucked up brain of yours.”

“You wound me,” you simper mockingly. "I thought we had something good going."

"I worry for your past relationships if this is your definition of good."

He doesn't need to know that you've never put yourself out there after high school. The J.I.E. didn't leave any relationships to be had outside of the workforce and the people you'd worked with were far from interesting. Besides, you'd be putting them in danger if they were outside of your work sphere.

The last guy you'd given a chance only ended up with him knocking up another girl at a house party so your track record isn't anything to sneeze at either. 

"Alright," A sigh escapes your lips as you shift your body so you can look him in the eyes and he stares back just as defiantly. "Let's make a deal."

He obviously doesn't like the ominous tone that’s used primarily when you’re about to say something to get underneath his skin. "What are you proposing?"

"It's simple," you smile. "As long as we're stuck together, we don't kill each other. Like a peace treaty without the officiation.”

“I thought that was a given.”

“Well, you keep alluding that you assume I’m gonna put a rusted pipe through your gut while you’re asleep, though I’m pretty sure I sleep more than you do.” You frown. “Are you saying you don’t agree?”

“It’s not that,” Leon shakes his head. “I just never thought I’d see you trying to keep the peace.”

“What kind of girl do you take me for?” Like a little drama queen, you sniff exaggeratedly. “I know how to behave when the circumstances call for it.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“You fucking suck.”

“Don’t forget that you’re the one who came to me,” Leon grumbles. “I could’ve left your ass in the snow to freeze over.”

“Maybe that would’ve been the better option for both of us.” The words are sharp, biting out with aggression even you didn’t expect. “You can get real pissy sometimes, y’know.”

“I think I have a good reason,” Leon snaps, and the gun he’s polishing suddenly seems a lot more dangerous in his hands. “All you do is fucking whine when I could’ve finished what I started.”

You grit your teeth, falling into silence as the two of you maintain deadly eye contact. All the exits and where they were located flash through your head and you know it would take too long to try and escape while you’re injured. You could barely slip away from his perceptive nature when in full health.

Maybe it was time for another nap.

For some reason, the instinct was reminiscent of the times your parents would argue so loudly, it shook the house, and a younger version of yourself turned on her nightlight and tucked herself into bed to sleep away the pain just to wake up to blissful silence. You just didn't expect the old habit to resurface here. 

You turn away from him, folding in on yourself, and try not to think about the snow piling outside, the monsters out to get you, or the fact that Leon's eyes are still burning at your backside as he watches. It's less creepy and more irritating and you wonder if he knew how to let someone sleep in peace. 

Your eyes close and you try to fill your head with mindless thoughts until he forcefully pulls you out of it. 

"I…Let's just try and get through this without going at each other's throats. Okay?"

You don't have the energy to fight him nor did you particularly want to right now. "Okay."

Refusing to look at him, you resign to watching the swirling white outside rather than face the tension that obviously was brewing in the room. Even with this uneasy peace treaty, there was no guarantee that it would be upheld without efforts made by both of you. 

In the background, you hear Leon begin shuffling around and you sneak a glance over to see he's elbow deep in one of his bags before he pulls out a sleek silver attache case. He finally seems to find what he's looking for when he takes out a vial that's filled with green, red, and yellow. It's small, probably a little longer than his middle finger, but the contents concern you a little–especially when he saunters over and holds it out to you like you know what to do with it.

"Are we getting high as a celebration of our camaraderie?" You ask, raising an eyebrow as you take it. The colors are all crushed-up leaves of some kind and you silently wonder if Leon's been a stoner this whole time you've known him. "I don't do blunts, Kennedy."

"Slow your roll, crackhead," he scoffs. "It's herbs that'll put you right as rain."

"And you want me to…?"

"Eat it."

You blink dumbly at him, trying to figure out if this was all some kind of joke that he was trying to play on you. "What?"

"I had to take doses of it all the time when I was in Spain," he assures, though you don't feel any better about the prospect. 

"I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse." 

"Take it with water if you're so worried."

You watch him carefully as you uncap the vial and cringe at the strong smell of the plants and the powerful aroma of an herbal scent. In fact, if you stayed here for a bit, you're sure your eyes would probably water as if you were standing in front of an onion while chopping it. Looking at Leon with uncertainty, he just nodded like that made this whole situation viable. 

You didn't really have a choice. 

You pour the contents of the vial into your mouth then choke down as much water as you can as fast as you can. It's alarming the way your body seems to jolt and the nerves beneath your skin start buzzing. If this is what dying felt like, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be.

"You should sleep," Leon suggests, turning around and making his way to the bathroom. "You've been awake for a while and the herbs need time to settle."

"Alright."

He spares you a glance, looking as though he wanted to say something. It doesn't make it off his tongue though, as he turns back around and closes the door with a soft click. Soon, you hear the sound of running water, and the sounds of the shower provide a comforting white noise as you settle down on the couch. 

Your eyes close, and it doesn't take long before you find yourself in the middle of a smoking battlefield covered in the debris of fallen buildings. Somewhere, a grenade goes off.

Some things never changed. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

“I’m serious, Kennedy,” you frown, trying to work it all out. “Where the hell did you even get something like that?”

He shrugs but the small shit-eating smirk he tries to suppress is more than enough to make your blood boil just a little.

When you had woken up, your body seemed to have rewound back in time while you were asleep, putting you back at peak health. The injuries that you had been nursing for about three days vanished without a trace and didn’t leave any after-effects. The autonomy you had almost made you fall off the damn couch when you realized this fact and it had devolved into trying to get Leon to tell you what the hell was in that vial and how he had gotten his hands on it.

Your questioning has not been successful so far. He’s scarily good at evading giving an answer. 

You fall back to sit on the couch, rolling your shoulder and ankle this way and that, trying to find a fault in the healing process, but come up empty-handed. It really was as if nothing happened at all. 

“Just in case,” Leon speaks suddenly, “I’d like to check you over for any extra injuries. Even those herbs can’t catch everything if we’re not careful.”

Your lips purse as you reel back at the idea. That was something that required trust, which very little of ran between you and Leon. Exposing yourself to him for an easy shot at your back wasn’t the most appealing scenario and you’d rather avoid the chance of it altogether. He had a point, though, since you couldn’t see the cut on your back and knew that if it didn’t heal correctly, it could get infected which was less than ideal.

“I want all weapons on the other side of the room,” you concede and he immediately sets to work discarding everything away from the couch as you venture to the bathroom for the first aid kit. 

Nervousness rolls in your gut as if you were about to go out on a stage and perform at an opera in front of thousands of eyes–actually, that would probably be better than this. Every muscle in you twitches as if reminding you what typically happens when you or Leon see a vulnerability in each other.

That was rule number one: you see a weakness, you exploit it. 

When you return, Leon’s already sat down and removed his jacket so that all he was left with was a gray t-shirt and pants with pockets that were comfortingly flat and empty-looking. You sit down with your back facing towards him, set the kit in your lap, and breathe out in hopes that it would soothe your nerves. 

It does not.

“There was a nasty cut on my back,” you begin, deciding fuck it and strip off your shirt. The cooler air hits your skin and you shudder. “I couldn’t reach it so I just slapped some disinfectant on it and called it a day.”

“How you managed to wrap it with one arm is beyond me,” he remarks, tapping the bandages that you begin to remove when you get the hint.

The wrappings fall away and the room falls silent. Too silent.

Afraid, you mutter, “Leon?”

“What the fuck?”

The last time he had said that was when you had shown up on his doorstep, and his tone concerns you so much that you pivot your torso around just enough to look at him.

His eyes have locked onto the scars on your backside, and you can feel the ghost of a grip that nearly ground your radius and ulna together as a blade had carved itself into your skin. You know what it looks like, having avoided mirrors that had any view of the rigid flesh that decorates your back like a mutilated canvas. The scars are ugly, forcefully healed and you realize why it might look odd to someone who hasn’t had to bear the curse of looking at them every morning.

A collection of punishments you had deserved. You hadn't been careful enough and you paid the price

When he talks again, Leon sounds like he's ready and poised to kill, though it wasn't directed at you which was incredibly uncharacteristic of him. "Who did this to you?"

You look away. "It's not important."

The silence hangs tensely in the air, just waiting to burst open. Of course, it's awkward being half-naked in front of Leon bearing old scars that you tend to try to forget for a reason. This was supposed to be just a check-up–maybe some aid in patching up that horrendous cut on your back–nothing more.

"They did this," he murmurs, almost inaudible. "Didn't they?"

You don't look at him, hoping that if you will yourself hard enough, you could just disintegrate. You'd do anything just to get away from the demanding gaze his blue eyes pin you down with even with him not having touched you at all.

"(Y/n)." He's never said your name like that before. As if you mattered to him. As if anything that hurt you hurt him too. "What happened at the J.I.E.?"

Well…there was no point in trying to hide it now, was there?

“They began understanding that Umbrella wasn’t backing down from their advances no matter what they did.” You flinch when the pad of his fingertip brushes the wound from the bioweapon. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” he says and it still feels weird to hear him apologize. “It’s still open so I’ll have to stitch it. You’re lucky it didn’t get infected.”

“Okay,” you open up the first aid kit and hand it over to Leon and he begins the process of numbing the area. “Anyways, um, the J.I.E. got it into their heads that the only way to take down Umbrella was fighting fire with fire so they started developing their own bioweapons–which I didn’t agree with.”

Leon pulls away and rummages through the kit for a needle and thread. 

“I tried getting them to understand that starting a B.O.W. war was gonna do more harm than good, but of course, they didn’t listen to me. Instead, they only resolved to keep me in line and continued with their work.” You close your eyes. “Oftentimes, they’d chain me up in one of the labs and…well, you can see how that turned out.”

The point of the needle pierces your flesh and you talk to avoid the feeling of the thread winding through your skin. “I didn’t learn my lesson the first few times and I could only take so much before I had enough of it.”

“So you left.”

“I left, but not without a fight. They sent a titan after me while I was making my escape, and I barely managed to get out alive,” you hesitate, “and that’s when I came to you.” 

“About that,” he mumbles, hands steady as he makes his way up the injury, “how’d you know where I was?”

“They kept tabs on you specifically since you posed the greatest threat. I was sent to your locations because of my experience in encountering you so they knew I’d have the most success rate following your missions.” You bite your cheek to avoid twitching from the needle hitting a tender spot. “It wasn’t hard to track you after the incident with Glenn Arias in New York since they also held your medical records. After I found out you were here, I corrupted your files and removed them entirely from the database.”

“Smart.”

“I try to be.”

The rest of the stitching only lasts in silence as he finishes up, pulling the wound together and sealing it with a patch. Together, you re-wrap your torso and he snaps shut the first aid kit. 

“Thank you,” you say, reaching out to take the plastic box off his hands so you can return it to the bathroom. “By the way, do you know when this blizzard is going to end?”

“Should be done the day after tomorrow,” he answers before his expression twists in confusion. “Why? You have somewhere to be?”

“I need time to plan if I’m going to be taking down a whole company,” you tuck away the box and close the cabinets, poking your head out of the bathroom to peer at him. “I also should do some recon work to see what I’m really working with. They don’t tell agents much, y’know?”

“You’re going back?”

“I have to.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that alone,” Leon argues as if you haven’t run through this decision a million times in your head already.

“What am I going to do?” You roll your eyes, walking out of the bathroom and sitting on the couch a good few feet away from him. “Amass an army? This is really the only way to do it.”

Upon seeing his stony expression, you struggle to understand why he was making such a big deal out of this. Were it any other day, he would tell you to go die if you really wanted to and leave it at that, so what could have possibly changed that made him concerned over how dangerous this self-imposed mission of yours was?

“Let me come with you,” Leon says and your stomach drops. 

You could barely formulate any words. “What?”

“I already told you that going alone is a surefire way to get yourself shot in the head,” Leon shrugs as if you were discussing what you had for lunch. “Are you really going to say no to an extra pair of eyes?”

“No, but–” this whole conversation is turning your whole entire world upside down, “–what the hell would you be getting out of this? Are you out of your mind?”

Leon gets up, and the muscles on his back flex. “I’d be finding out how J.I.E.’s been getting through the government’s defenses, which has been a particular thorn in our side. Really, there’s nothing to lose.”

“Except your life.”

“There’s always been that possibility.”

You breathe deeply through your nose, trying to sort out the confusion of this whole situation. It’s a wonder how he always manages to do this. “Leon. I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Fire away.”

“Why did you really let me live? When I showed up.” Your gaze looks past him through your lashes and he considers you for a brief moment, seemingly thinking over his answer. “You could’ve killed me–ended this all and gone on with your little vacation. I really need to know now.”

“Well that one’s easy,” he leans down and takes a black duffel bag up in his arms. He tosses it over and it lands at your feet. “I couldn’t leave you to die when you were so helpless.”

You unzip the bag and find all of your belongings in there from your guns to stocks to the boxes of bullets you’d brought along. Everything is left untouched to your relief and you take out your handgun, running a finger over the inscription lined in gold on the side. In this state, you make up your mind and mentally curse yourself and Leon. 

“Alright,” you finally allow, looking up at him with new determination. “We get out of here when the blizzard stops and we figure out a way to get into the lab.”

“We take it down from the inside.”

“We end their operations, apprehend any officials, and let the government handle the rest.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Leon huffs out a breath, taking a protein bar and handing it over to you. “I take it our peace treaty has been extended for a period of time?”

“I hope so,” you accept the bar from him and peel it open. “Otherwise I’d have to question your motives all over again.”

“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” Leon flashes you a look you can’t quite decipher. “We’ll leave when the blizzard stops and we can get to the motel’s laundry mat so you’re not trekking out in the snow with sweats.”

“So considerate of you.”

“I try to be.”

The two of you lapse into your own separate worlds as Leon goes through his supplies and you begin doing checks over your equipment. Your knife glints under the low light and J.I.E.’s logo shines proudly on the hilt. You scowl, sheathing it and tossing it carelessly back into the bag.

You really need to upgrade a few things. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The night is crisp, cool, and calming.

You never expected the cold to be comforting, but here you are. After the rollercoaster of emotions the past few days have been, you were eager to find someplace to be alone. Of, course, it’s not because of anything Leon did, but it was nice to just be by yourself with your own thoughts from time to time.

A windbreaker jacket is all you have to shelter yourself from the frigid temperature, but you find that it isn’t as intrusive as you expected it to be. 

You sigh and a cloud of breath spills from your lips, puffing up into the air and floating away like less elegant smoke rings. Your eyes follow it until the miniature clouds disappear, your body leaning back into the wooden wall of the motel. One thought springs after another and with nothing but the wind whistling in your ears, something akin to peace stirs in your chest.

It's quiet out here.

While tension still ran between the both of you since Leon had stitched up your back, you’d be lying if you said nothing has changed. The atmosphere has drastically shifted within the motel room from simmering hate ready to boil over to something much milder. Obviously, old habits die hard and you can’t help but be cautious every time he gets closer to you than usual, but he never does anything out of line.

You can’t tell if that’s more alarming or not.

Snow cascades like white q-tips, gently fluttering to the ground rather than swirling violently as it had just yesterday. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch and in this space of solitude, it’s nice to know that nature takes its course no matter what may be happening. Despite all the B.O.W.s and corrupted companies, places like this stay safely hidden away from all that drama and exist like an external part of the earth. 

A safe space–or haven, even.

Out in the distance by the gap in the fence where you had come in is a street lamp with two lanterns positioned symmetrically on each side of the pole. While one shines proudly and sheds light onto the snow below it, the other stays dead and dark. You wonder if it had just broken one day or gotten too old, but nonetheless, it's sort of a sad sight altogether.

The door creaks open and you perk up.

Leon comes out slowly but his shoulders relax upon seeing you as he shuts the door gently behind him as he says, “I thought you might’ve booked it.”

“Don’t be silly,” you chastise lightly, though not really mad at all. “I thought I would come outside to watch the snowfall before I have to jump into all the action later.”

He comes to stand beside you and together, you watch the flurries fall. You haven't been able to enjoy a moment like this in a long while since the J.I.E. always held you on such a short leash. When one mission ended, another began, and you'd been stuck in a loop ever since they found out that using physical means kept you fighting to stay alive.

Leon clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't remember the last time I just…watched the snow."

You glance at him and a smile threatens to tug on your lips, knowing that he's trying his best but all too unfamiliar from being emotionally constipated. It's not like you're not the same way, but it's nice to know he's at least trying. "Yeah. I remember last Christmas Eve when I got to, but it didn't last long. Got a damn email telling me I'd be dispatched the next day."

He seems surprised. "You didn't spend Christmas with anybody?"

"Nope." You pop the 'p'. "The night I got to my destination, the receptionist at the hotel I was assigned to looked like I kicked her puppy or something when I told her it was just me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh," you snicker. "It's alright, though. I got to walk through the town square at night and it was really pretty. Had all those fairy lights crossing overhead and it gave it this almost golden glow to it."

If you tried hard enough, you could remember it all. The sight of dim lights illuminating shops and hearing the sound of people conversing with each other enthusiastically. The snow had covered the ground in a thin layer and the sound of a rushing fountain had run in the distance, standing as the centerpiece of the town with colored bricks in a perfect circle. 

A breeze sweeps through the air and you shiver, trying to curl into the material of your windbreaker that provides no heat at all. "There were so many people there. Friends, families, couples…and then there was just me. It was pretty funny."

"Did you get to do anything?"

You finally look up at him only to find him already staring down at you. Your heart seems to kick harshly in your chest before returning to its regular pace, and you don't give your brain time to dwell on it before answering. "Well, I got to help a little boy find his parents."

"What?"

"He came up to me crying," you reminisce, shifting your gaze away from him and back out to the road that led up to the motel. "Grabbed me by the pant leg and started telling me about how he lost his mom in the middle of a crowd and now he couldn't find her."

"Jesus Christ."

A small laugh escapes your throat. "I walked with him on my hip for about three hours looking for her until we finally found her and his dad at a café. They tried paying me but…" The toe of your boot digs mindlessly into the floor beneath you. "I refused. Helping someone who's lost their way shouldn't be a monetary gain, y'know?"

Leon doesn't answer you on that, and you lock eyes with him once more as you try to discern what has him in such a stupor. You don't get to ask when you catch sight of his dusty blue irises that seem to shift in shade with every expansion and contraction of his pupils. He looks like he's trying to find something in your expression, but whatever it could be, you don't know. It's nearly unnerving. Nearly.

"Is that really your philosophy?" He finally asks after an extensive lapse of only quiet filling the spaces between your bodies.

"What do you mean?" You shake your head before rephrasing, "What do you really mean?"

A breathy laugh escapes him and you realize that in all the years you've known him, you don't even know the most basic things about Leon. You know how to read the undertones of his questions, can interpret his body language better than any lover he's ever had, but you don't even know what his favorite color is. You don't know his favorite time of day or what type of foods he likes or what his favorite subject in school was. 

You don't know what his laugh sounds like or how his lips will pull when he genuinely smiles or how he expresses joy to any capacity. 

You've only seen an agent, devolving into something darker as he lost his dirty blonde hair along the way and gained a  deep brunette that made his eyes all the more electric. He's gotten careless about the stubble that peppers his jawline and you realize that objectively, he looks good at his age, though you'd take that realization to the grave.

The two do you have really let your lives slip away that easily, huh?

"You'll understand one day," he says vaguely, and though you're unhappy with the response, you decide to let it slide just this once. "You're shivering–let's go inside."

"Sure," you murmur, giving the landscape one more forlorn look before following him inside. 

The heat encapsulates you and immediately, the cold drifts away into something warmer. Leon's already there in the middle of it all as he heats up something on a pan over the fire, claiming that since it's your last night, he'd use the better food he brought so that it wouldn't go to waste. After all, he's already set sights in an actual hotel in a real city that he plans on traveling to and has already run through the possibilities with you and what to expect. 

Something about the whole scene is oddly domestic, though you push down the feeling to go join him by the roaring fire. Since you've been here, the sound of wood splitting beneath the flames and the smell of smoke have become a comfort that you know you'll miss once you get out of here. 

The night drags on as you eat and discuss your next plans with Leon, out in the middle of nowhere with nobody but each other to confide in. Two incredibly unlikely allies working in tandem after years of a heated feud–truly a sight to behold and even more so impressive considering that you've been at each other's throats for such a long time.

Outside, out of sight from you and him, the dead lantern on the street lamp sparks once, twice, then illuminates just as strongly and brightly as its counterpart.

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter!

Part 8, here’s the LINK to part 7, how tf have I got so far already? Pls comment guys to let me know what you’re thinking or if you have any conspiracy’s about what’s gonna happen, I love the engagement, keeps me motivated lol. Also just a quick shout out I don’t dislike Kelly, I just used her for the story as it’s FICTION, if ya’ll hate desperately on peoples partners for no justified reason then leave pls cos it’s weird. Only a short chapter but I wanna get more of a build up before we reach more deeper into the story :)

Leni wakes up with one of the worst hangovers ever, plus, she’s on the bathroom floor? That would be the worst part of the night, but when her memory pieces back together and she has to deal with what happened the night before going back to sleep on the bathroom floor seems fine… Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @callsignwidow @fangirl125reader @norassimpingzone @roseseraj @eugene-emt-roe @copper-boom @its-elias-world @cassiopeiia24 @larastark3107

“Ugh.” My voice cracked, eyes momentarily opening only to squeeze shut again when a blinding light, sunlight, stung my eyes. My first thought was, fuck, I’d left my contact lenses in, my second, why on earth was on the bathroom floor?

Momentarily I was dazed, my eyes feeling like they had cheese shredders in them. I peeled the dry lenses out of my eyes, dropping them in the toilet. Thankfully it was a clean toilet and I didn’t wake up to my own vomit. With a groan and a slight grace, I sat up straight, blinking around the room. My phone laid besides me, and shakily, I reached out to unlock it. As I did I wanted to curl up and DIE. A drunken text from Max only caused flashbacks from the night prior. We kissed, and I really fucking enjoyed it. Me and Max kissed. Max Verstappen and I, my long time FRIEND kissed. My heavy head dropped into my palm, groaning again. I’d broken every single rule I’d set myself, NOT to go there, or at least wait a few months. Drunken me seemingly had the control of a horny 18 year old. When I realised I had 0 underwear on that’s when I became even more confused.

We hadn’t had sex? No, no. For sure we hadn’t done that. I don’t think he fingered me? Turns out they were stuffed in my bag for some bizarre reason, and I couldn’t quite piece together why on earth they weren’t actually on me. I don’t even know if I wanted to know, thinking about it too much gave me a serious case of hangxiety, and my poor stomach couldn’t tolerate it. Pathetically, I wretched over the toilet and threw up even more contents from my nights intake.

Please God, stop me being sick and I will never drink again. Ever!

It was crazy how such an extreme hungover could bring an atheist to become religious, right? With last nights actions I couldn’t even bring myself to respond to Max, plus, his message made no sense, something about being too drunk and his birthday. I felt too much shame, he probably only kissed me because he was just as fucking plastered. I was confident he’d never want to do that sober, surely not?

The only thing I could do was sit down in the shower, contemplating every single action from the night before, letting the water cleanse my skin of the pure sins. What would my dad say if he knew I’d been snogging his golden boy? It would make it awkward to say the least.

I laid in bed, hair dripping onto the pillows but I didn’t have it in me to care. I’d added too much embarrassing shit to both my private and public Instagram story which had already been viewed and most likely screenshotted thousands of times. Mortified wasn’t even the right word, if it wasn’t for my empty stomach I would’ve vomited from that alone.

Max: sorry that made no sense, hope you’re not feeling too rough this morning? thank you for coming yesterday I had such a good time Max: I hope nothing makes you feel weird from last night, it’s fine between us right?

When I awoke at 2pm I felt my chest tighten at Max’s texts. I even smiled that he had acknowledged last night, a little weird of me seeing as I wanted to pass away earlier, but with my hangover relatively slept off, my feelings for Max were coming on strong.

Leni: hey I just woke up again sorry, I had such a good time, hope you had a good bday

Leni: I don’t feel weird, we’re all good Leni: do you? I caught myself smiling a little too hard, awaiting his reply, when I saw the speech bubble of him forming a response and started giggling, I knew that I was already a goner. I was so deep down afraid of getting my heart broke seeing as Max was fresh out of a relationship (even if he’d mentally checked out) I had to push myself away from any kind of intimate interaction. It had already gone way too far.

Max: no, no not at all

Max: probably the best birthday I’ve had I hated how hard I smiled, my heart kinda sunk when I began overthinking everything I didn’t need to. It all seemed fun now, but how would something between Max and I ever work. What if he decided one day this was all too soon, or if he didn’t actually like me? Our friendship would be screwed forever. I hesitantly locked my phone, staring off into space as I began imagining every scenario possible. I’d have no option but to revert whatever happened between Max and I back into how it was before, if that was even possible. What if Max suddenly thought I was super obsessed with him and I was bugging him by texting him too often?? I scratched my head uncomfortably at the thought, cringing down to my bones at the idea I could possibly be a nuisance to him.

One way to fix this??? Cut communication online from slim to nothing- or as least as I possibly could without growing attached or seeming rude. It was a plan, and it was a plan that commenced today, as much as I didn’t actually want to do it, as long as I didn’t have a sip of alcohol I’d be fine… right?

What could go wrong?

[tinydefector]

https://www.tumblr.com/tinydefector/754346508078415872/i-was-just-interested-if-you-were-a-suckered-for?source=share

This is just GALAXY BRAINED! And it can be expanded :3

I can just imagine some of the more artistically inclined Transformers learning how to design their own outfits for their holoform or having a human friend that designs one for them! Having them learn about all types of fabrics and the history of how humans dyed fabric for centuries. That, and the history of certain clothing types and how their use evolved over time. The possibilities are endless!

(I'd make this ask longer, but my model won't rig herself, so have this little tangent :3)

I love the idea of some of the Bots taking the time to watch old weavers as they work, watching the intricate detail. To ask to help with the process of making dye and even helping to hang out large sheets of fabric to dye. To admire the colours that now stain their servos but they wear it as a badge of honour to be given the opportunity to learn such an important part of human culture.

Rodimus adores a demin jacket with patches covering it. He loves the history and story behind the punk, metal, and music culture and covers a jacket in your favourite bands name.

Prowl admires how human police wear uniforms to show their dedication to their work. His prize possessions is an old police hat given by a retired officer. (I don't like the police but this hit close to home over my own police hat I own).

Starscream, despite his dislike for humans, loves royal fashion, such beauty and stunning fabrics decorated in gemstones that sparkle in different lights.

Beachcomber, who carries a keffiyeh to honour, a friend he lost. Each part of the fabric tells a story that he holds close to his spark. He's too afraid to wash the blood stain from it because it is the last piece of a friend.

Optimus prime, who has a worn flannel which means the world to him, it was the first piece of fabric he ever owned of his own, and sometimes he will put it on his holoform. It's his most prize possession.

So along with this I also tend to like finding face models on pinterest for the bots Holoforms. So here are some of my face models for some of the Bots even if they already have holoform models. And I'm hoping to do some art of the Bots holoforms.

Megatron

Rung

Optimus prime

Drift

Ratchet

Rodimus

Whirl

Tailgate

Cyclonus

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

[olderthannetfic]

I know about the origins of the Bechdel Test, but I do think it's inaccurate to say it's not meant as a criticism of movies that don't do that. I think that when people stop thinking in binary terms of "is this feminist?" or "is this anti-feminist?" and instead look at things more holistically, that you can recognize both that a character like Mako Mori is great, a step in the right direction for female characters in action movies and especially WOC, go forth and stan her and write all the fanfic you want.... but yeah, it is also a valid criticism of the movie (and many others like it) that she doesn't talk to or have relationships with any other woman in the film.

I think one thing to help people realize just HOW much of women's lives are being left out of media representation when we never talk to other named women about something other than a man in movies, is to just think about your own life. I talk to my mom every day, and if we are not talking about my stepdad or my brother-in-law (and I don't think we've ever had a conversation that wasn't at least IN PART not about them or another man), then it passes the test. I'm a professor and when I talk to a female student about her homework or project (which is, again, something that happens pretty much every day I teach), that's passing the test. If I order food from a female cashier and she has a name tag, that's passing the Bechdel Test! It's literally just constant for the vast majority of women on the planet, and that's what's being left out of our stories.

Like, I like the takes I've seen about how part of the joke in Dykes to Watch Out For is that this is *particularly* alienating to lesbians - as a lesbian myself I agree - but I also think it should be frustrating to straight and bi and ace women as well, because like unless you are like exclusively interacting with your husband or male relatives every single day + you work in a workplace where you are literally the only woman, you are almost certainly passing the test constantly. That's a pretty big part of women's lives that Hollywood is leaving out!

But I think it's important to view it as just one piece of the discussion about feminism and women's representation in film, not the final judge on if a film is feminist or not. Which it wasn't intended to be - as you said, it was mostly a joke on the extreme maleness of 80s action movies. Honestly, I do not miss those days on Tumblr where people were obsessed with declaring certain movies/TV shows/other fandoms they liked as "feminist" or "anti-feminist" and the really bizarre granular discussions people would have between two works that BOTH had a long way to go in terms of representing women. I remember people in the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom would use this to argue about if the original anime or Brotherhood/the manga was better - when both have some fantastic female supporting characters, but are ultimately male-centered stories where even a lot of those women's lives and stories are centered around their male love interests and family members. It's better than a lot of shounen, but if that's your bar for feminism - either version - you have a long way to go (and need to watch WAY more anime because there's sooooo much of it that is female-centric). I also remember people coming up with other tests that were blatantly silly: like I thought the Mako Mori test about "if a woman has a motivation/story that isn't centered on a man" was fair because it did point out a legitimate criticism, but there was that ridiculous "Tauriel Test" where it was "a woman who is good at her job." And it was entirely about someone just disliking that movie critics and feminist commentators alike were down on the Hobbit movie trilogy, which a) were bad movies, sorry you have bad taste, b) are absolutely not where you should focus your attention if you're so concerned about women's representation in film, Tolkein has always been a sausage fest! And her big thing was being mad that people thought Judi Dench's M in Skyfall was a better female character, and so she arbitrarily decided she was "bad at her job" and Tauriel was "good at her job" even though that's completely subjective and can be challenged in both cases.... but also, once again, why are you looking to the fucking JAMES BOND franchise for movie feminism! There's nothing like comparing the relative "feminism levels" of JAMES BOND and LOTR to make it obvious that this is 100% about validating your subjective taste preferences by giving it a "progressive" excuse, not actually about feminism and not actually caring about women's representation beyond how it makes you look good. And yet SO many people took that transparently stupid post seriously. I'd see professional articles mention the Tauriel Test as "one of the new tests" like there was anything serious about it.

And then on the flip side, over-reliance on the Bechdel Test alone led to some clueless conclusions especially in anime fandom, given that anime has an abundance of shows that exclusively feature female characters in school clubs being cute, where those characters are nonetheless two-dimensional archetypes designed for the male gaze. Someone like fandomsandfeminism did a presentation at an anime con that called one of those types of shows "feminist" and some Japanese user eviscerated it, but that just led to the equally shallow fandom analysis of "everything a Japanese person says about anime is automatically more valid" and "any Westerner who wants to criticize anime on feminist/progressive grounds is culturally appropriating and ultimately coming from a place of ignorance, even if they literally have a degree in Asian studies."

Wow, this turned into a rant about the history of bad "feminist media criticism" on this website. Sorry about that, I think I had a point in here somewhere. I guess that the Bechdel Test is indeed a joke and those origins should be understood, but also, I don't think it's wrong to say that it identifies a real problem and one that people could probably take MORE seriously than they do - but as just one part of the conversation, not the Feminism Litmus Test, and certainly not as a dick-measuring contest about whose fandom gets them more progressive brownie points.

--

I think as long as we grasp that the joke is "The bar is so far under the ground that we might as well go home and eat popcorn there", it's fine.

The real issue with the test is that people started thinking a pass was meaningful.

If you say something like "X% of 2020s movies can't even manage this weaksauce level of women existing", that's a meaningful statistic. Even if you got a couple of data points wrong, you're not factually wrong enough for it to matter because X is going to be some massive, massive percentage, and the overall trend is so clear.

But a pass is nothing to celebrate, and that's where we went wrong.

Like you say, litigating which of two big franchises that barely do anything with women wins on tumblr points is idiocy.

I think people are so unaware of what media that genuinely centers women even looks like that it's hard for them to even begin having a discussion.

I personally have been a massive fujoshi type from adolescence, and media that centers female characters isn't actually what I typically want. (Though media that is by and for women and that doesn't give a fuck what men think of this is.) I am also not much of a fan of slice of life in general...

But when I was coming out and figuring my shit out, being able to go buy collections of Dykes to Watch Out For was incredibly valuable to me.

Ditto the other lesbian comic books that were just sitting there in the bookstore. I'm sure if I went back and reread them all now, I could find things to nitpick or ways they were more for lesbians and less for me as a bi girl, but the really distinctive thing they did was let me exist in a world where media isn't all 80s sausagefest action movies where women are not people.

In fact, they were a world where men don't matter terribly much—not because they're dramatically rejecting men in some facile and reactionary way but because... who cares? They just had other priorities... and this was normal.

It feels like people who've never taken a vacation from really mainstream media just have no concept of what it would feel like to exist in some other space.

And I think that's a pity even if, like me, they later choose to go read mostly BL later instead of focusing on female characters or they genuinely love trash 80s action movies despite everything wrong with them. It's not just sexist media that's the issue: it's that feeling like the fish can't see the water it's swimming in.

[therossgarden]

Hi, again. 👋

I found the post you were talking about. The stan's account was deactivated, but yeesh. 😬 Nice replies to them, btw.

The stan that bashed on me said I was being misogynistic, even though I'm a black woman who just wanted to see another black character get their chance to shine.

Hell, it's not just the shows and movies (I think this all started with Endgame). It's also the Steve Rogers musical too. I don't know if you know about it, but Disney made the musical real, and it really did Sam and Bucky dirty.

Sam isn't even in it. Maybe he was mentioned once, but the musical showed an image of Sam as Captain America. As for Bucky, his scene from CA:TFA, where he saved pre-serum Steve, was given to Peggy instead. Bucky was mentioned once, and the musical tried to justify Steve's ending from Endgame. All for this ship.

And, frankly, I don't hate Peggy, I'm just more annoyed that other characters get shoved aside as well as this great dynamic that Steve and Bucky had, while she and her ship with Steve has been getting propped up more and more. But, seeing some of your and the others' posts, I get why you guys don't like her.

Girl, don’t get me started on the abomination that was Rogers the musical. It could have been glorious, it had so much potential, but once again Bucky’s role in Steve’s story was given to Peggy, and Sam wasn’t even there!

I feel like Marvel feels the need to tone down Stucky or their friendship overall because it was just too powerful. We all remember the hashtag that begged Marvel to make Stucky Canon, #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend. They just couldn’t let it happen, not to a main and important character like Steve, god forbid. And so ever since civil war Stucky has always had little to no scenes together no matter how well established it was in previous projects. All their scenes and dynamic were given to Peggy, their friendship was toned down, Steve’s whole ending happened. It just feels like Stucky is so menacing to Marvel that the only way to stop us is by destroying Steve, Bucky and their relationship.

I mean, Steve is given no justice in his ending and in all the other projects he appeared in. Bucky went from a victim and prisoner of war to someone who must make amends for things that were beyond his control. And the depth of their friendship was toned down and reduced every time Peggy was involved. And then they wonder why many people in the fandom dislike Peggy or why the whole Rogers the musical initiative flopped the second it went beyond Hawkeye.

Like, even if you don’t ship Stucky you can tell that they care for each other, and you can tell there was a shift after people actually wanted Marvel to take action and do something about this dynamic. Steve can’t get even one episode as his own character because Peggy must be there. Bucky had more luck, but still… and let’s not even talk about Sam, his only appearance was as a zombie!

In another post of mine I ranted about how bothered I was that Peggy was inserted in the 1602 storyline, and i haven’t changed my mind. It would have been so nice to give Steve one episode about himself, about his dynamic with his best friend and about the relationship with himself and his fellow avengers. But no, Peggy must be there too, and for no good reason as well.

I feel like Marvel trying to erase pre-existing relationships to have Peggy shine only results in fans turning their back on Marvel and hiding in fanfiction or whatever piece of media that can actually bring justice to the characters. Once someone on Tumblr said “you gave us the characters, but once you mess them up they’re not yours anymore. You don’t understand and respect them, therefore you don’t deserve them.” and I couldn’t agree more, which is why I am currently reading and writing fanfiction rather than buying into everything marvel gives us.

Peggy was the love interest with more screen time even before what if and all that jazz, she had her own show! And I fear that the day Marvel will realize that pushing a reimagined Nazi turned Mary Sue into every single what if episode where she can fit instead of enhancing the characters that are actually relevant in-universe it will be too late.

Sorry about the rant, I get carried away when it’s about my boys lol

[aleksanderscult]

Why do you hate Mal?

(TW!: verbal abuse! slut shaming! alcoholism!)

Well, long story short, he's a huge dick.

I could write three long metas about his toxicity and why I dislike him but I don't want to tire my fingers for him. 😑

Maybe because of his slut-shaming behaviour?

Oh and what is this? Ah yes, Mal being angry that Alina found happiness away from him:

I'm so sorry Mal that Alina wasn't tortured so you could feel okay. I'm so sorry that she didn't feel insecure enough to run back in your arms, needing you and depending on you like you always wanted for her.

You know, that's the thing with Mal. He did nothing to Alina.

Not when his "friend" was mocking her appearance (and yes this is serious for me because I too have a very thin body and people from my own family have mocked me for it. So it's no joke).

Not when she was apparently sad that he fucked around girls knowing that she knew.

He did literally nothing until Alina wanted to fuck the Darkling and showed interest for him.

(slut shaming her even here)

From then on he ✨magically✨ noticed her out of nowhere and he said that "now I see you".

BULLSHIT!!

According to Mal, it's okay if he fucks girls every other night but it's not okay when Alina wants to do it with a man that....I don't know. Supported her power and abilities maybe?

And he seems constantly so concerned that she has fucked him that he apparently doesn't care if she's truly okay.

What a normal person would say to Alina: "Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I'm sorry you had to go through this."

What Mal said to Alina: "FUCK TORTURE! DID HE FUCK YOU BY ANY CHANCE?!?!"

He's so unserious FR

That's his only concern. If Alina likes or fucked the Darkling (sometimes I wish she had done the latter just so I could see Mal's face after it).

Also! He's an extraordinary bad influence for Alina and her confidence! 😍

A few minutes ago, Alina decided to return to the Little Palace to lead. To do the right thing and stand in this war.

And now we have Mal threaten her: "If you go, I might not follow!!"

And that shattered Alina's confidence. Now she feels ashamed ("maybe he doesn't want me", "maybe he'll leave me") and after that passage when Mal exits the tent, Alina starts thinking "What am I doing? I'm no soldier, or Saint. How will I make it?"

Mal is an influence that constantly wears her down emotionally by making her doubt herself, making her have guilts and making her thoughts come back to him constantly ('cause he's always "What about me?? Think of me!! Look at how shit I feel!!").

Again, he makes the whole matter revolve around him.

There is a civil war ongoing and Mal is like "Okay, but what about me, Alina??!!?!"

LIKE BRO NOBODY GIVES TWO SHITS ABOUT YOU!! THERE ARE PEOPLE DYING HERE!!

And another toxic trait of his. Apparently, if a woman says "no" to him, it's unacceptable:

(The first passage is when Mal tried to kiss her but Alina saw the Darkling behind his back and the second one is when Alina saw Mal kissing Zoya, btw)

He gets angry for the fact that Alina withdrew from his attempted kiss. And apparently he "knows what that means" because every girl he had ever kissed was willing to him.

I'm sorry, Mal, for the fact that a girl changed her mind at the last minute.

If a girl changes her mind, then you must respect that. Not shout at her. NO MEANS NO, MAL.

Mal is that type of guy that throws you in bed, you kiss him and all, and at the last minute when you change your mind and don't want to go for it (for whatever reason the girl might have of course) he gets angry and says "BUT YOU SAID "YES" TWO MINUTES AGO!!!"

He gives me the ick for real, guys.

And, of course, his fury for Alina's power and status. Because, since she gained them, she's no longer depended on him.

Yes, people. Mal wanted to take out a piece of her soul essentially, so he could have her! Romantic!! 🤩🤩

Also, the fact that he was constantly looking like shit in S&S because he was drunk every night is also selfish of him. Mal was Alina's personal guard and protector. One of her three closest ones. By doing this, by having this behaviour, he gives a VERY bad image to Alina.

Imagine what the nobles would think if they saw him this way. The power of image is everything. Nikolai knew it. The Darkling knew it. Even Alina came to know it. By having one of your protectors drinking heavily all night, get into fights and look like shit makes Alina feel embarrassed for the image she gives to the other people. And she was actually in a very delicate position at that time, because she had to gain the trust of the King, his counselors and nobles. Mal should know better than embarrassing her.

Imagine if you were in a high position for the first time in your life, trying to make an impression so everything could go alright and, in the meanwhile, your guardian walks around drunk.

This is not good. In today's world, they fire such people from their work.

And all these bullshit from him in R&R saying "I told stories of you from your childhood so they could see the real Alina" is also bullshit. Bitch, if you wanted to do something good, look respectable for the part. If you want to cry and drink kvas 24/7 then resign, lock yourself up and do it. Don't embarrass your boss.

Also, Bardugo had said that after S&S she received a lot of negative comments about Mal's character. So it's no wonder she made him suddenly all "good" in R&R. She wanted to give reasons to the readers to like him and support his eventual marriage with Alina.

Anyways, I know people will say that the Darkling was no better but, guys...

This is not a competition. Of who is better or worse.

And just like another person had once said in this fandom "The Darkling represents a fairytale character while Mal reminds you of every jerk you've met in your life"

And it's a perfect quote to describe them.

The Darkling is the type of guy we all fall in love in fiction. A fantastical character that does bad deeds but still you swoon over.

While Mal is that asshole you met in high school treating you like shit. That boy you were seeing in corridors flirting with every girl he saw and being a fuckboy. That relationship you had that undermined your value.

Mal is a character that hits very close at home for the readers (with his actions and personality).

This post about him and M*lina explains my thoughts perfectly.

Go read it when you can, guys. It's an incredible mini meta.

[hamliet]

"Pet": Pretty Woman, But Gay

So I read the Captive Prince series way back in like, 2016, and read the first few short stories and never read the fourth one because I wasn't a fan of the character it would focus on. And then through a weird set of circumstances I found myself reading this short story this past week, and it might be one of my favorite short stories ever.

I'm posting under a cut because the series is very adult, and the short story and series itself contain triggering content.

Ancel is definitely a favorite character of all time now, which is impressive especially since I hated him. But that's kind of what CS Pacat does well--she writes unlikable characters who are indeed truly flawed and not just soft babies inside, and then makes you like them by showing their development without completely changing who they are as characters. It was the main strength of the original Captive Prince trilogy, after all--Laurent's development still remains one of my favorite character arcs of all time.

So really, I don't know why I was shocked at what she did with Ancel. Especially because the whole reason I hated Ancel was the same incident that made me dislike Laurent: a scene in which Laurent uses Ancel to sexually assaults Damen. And I still do think that particular scene is the biggest flaw in the series, because it's kind of glossed over in a lot of ways. Admittedly, that's still the biggest flaw of "Pet" as a story, too: that the story frames Ancel's low moral point as what he does to Erasmus, which is portrayed as an escalation of what he does to Damen, when I'd argue it's the opposite.

Yet, seeing things from Ancel's perspective--how desperate he is to matter, how he genuinely has only ever been used and so doesn't understand why other slaves wouldn't even try to perform and enjoy the meager scraps of joy they get in life--changed my perspective on him. Not on the incident, but on him.

Ancel's a brilliantly written unreliable narrator, too. As confident and vain as he seems, he's all too aware that he doesn't matter in the court. As much as he hates Damen and Erasmus for the former's refusal and the latter's inability to play the role, it's really self-hatred projected onto them. We see bits and pieces of this seeping through in his conversations with Berenger, such as him telling Berenger in a moment of delight:

"I'd even sleep with you. I might even enjoy it for once." He stopped. "High praise," Berenger said dryly.

Ancel doesn't enjoy a lot of his life. But he'd never admit it, because he lacks control over pretty much every aspect of his life and so seeks to keep control over his thoughts by lying to himself. And yet, paradoxically, he's still one of the few people at court who is usually honest with others.

All of this is why Berenger is such a great love interest for Ancel. Berenger prizes honesty, but also freedom. He buys Ancel but refuses to sleep with him because he knows Ancel doesn't really want to, no matter what sweet nothings Ancel whispers in his ear. He respects Ancel's autonomy in ways no one else ever has, and he sees him as a person first and foremost.

Normally stoic "good guys" aren't super interesting as love interests for me. I like angsty tortured souls, Byronic bastards. But Berenger works perfectly in the story, and is no less interesting as a character than Ancel. To be fair, part of this is because everyone in Vere is insane and debauched and there needs to be one normal one there, and that's Berenger. Yet there's intrigue, too: why Berenger bid so highly to buy Ancel in the first place is never directly stated, but what he does say is that Ancel:

You took on every councilor in that room and won.

It wasn't the physical performance, but Ancel himself, his psychological performance. It serves as a metaphor for the overarching plot of the Captive Prince series, wherein the lowly and those who have everything against them end up taking on far more powerful individuals and systems and winning.

Which makes the last line of the story all the more fitting:

But if he wins?

Ancel may not be a pure-hearted individual, but all along he's showing Berenger that it is possible for those who have less to win, and to be loved and give love. He gives Berenger hope for the future, for the coming coup. And as we all know, Laurent does win, and I can only presume Ancel and Berenger live happily ever after.

My second complaint about the series is that the ending is too abrupt even if the ending line is perfect because that's my complaint about the trilogy too.

[siphoklansan]

1,000 𝐟𝗼𝐥𝐥𝗼𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝗺𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝗼𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧🍾🎉

꧁𝐏𝐢𝐧-𝐂𝐡𝐚꧂

ปิญชาน์ (ทองคำ) ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Legends say that these signs are the births of angels.”

Height : 119 cm.

Birthday : 25th of January

Age : 8

Homeland : Unknown

Best Subject : Unknown

Club : Home Economics

Talents : Can clean very well

Hobby : cleaning, reading storybooks

Dislikes : crows

Favorite Food : Asian Pear (สาลี่), honey

Least Favorite Food : seafood.

꧁𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜꧂

- "𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝗼𝐝𝐲" The ability to summon small tiny golden spirits, about the size of wisps, by blowing a conch shell into a song. The user is then able to control these spirits. However, it is a docile ability. The spirits are too small to be aggressive. But who knows if they will grow larger by the age of the user….

- 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝗼𝗺 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 : Legends say that if a child is born from a conch shell, it means that an angel has been born. The truth in this legend remains unknown. However, due to Pin-Cha being born born from said conch, he has a unique ability to contact and communicate with spirits.

- 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 : Highly sensitive to magic and can see ghosts, spirits, demons, or supernaturals of the like.

꧁𝐅𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐀𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐧-𝐂𝐡𝐚꧂

- Pin-Cha is inspired by a character from a Thai literature piece called “สังข์ทอง” (Sang-Tong). Which directly translates to “Golden Conch”. The story is about a woman who gave birth to a conch! It is also a legend that, as stated above, if a child is born from a conch (or if you gave birth to it) it means that an angel has been born! Kinda weird, but fascinating in its own way🕺✨

- That said, his name “Pin-Cha” means “Gold”. I was looking for synonyms for gold in Thai and thought this sounded kinda cute😭 his name kinda sounds like “pinch”. Gotta make a dad joke with that some day-

- I struggled a lot with his hair- it’s very different from the first draft. And his eyes were supposed to be big and round😞 but I still liked how he turned out! I’ll draw his OG eyes in comics next time💓

- In the story, from how I remember, every time the mother goes out, a young boy (Sang-Tong) would come out of the conch and start cleaning the house. He would immediately go back in once his mother comes back. That’s why I made Pin-Cha’s ability to be quite docile, so he can use those spirits to help him clean the halls of Royal Sword Academy🫶

- Pin-Cha doesn’t wear shoes. But he has these two rings on his ankles that have bells on them. So every time he walks runs, you will here TINGLE TINGLE TINGLKEKJTINGW TING TING TINGJNGJRIFJEKF yeah. That’s when you know he’s near 🔔

꧁𝐀𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐏𝐢𝐧-𝐂𝐡𝐚꧂

- He’s quite timid and shy, very soft spoken and polite. Pin-Cha is all-in-all a good boy— the golden boy of royal sword academy (some might say.)

- Pin-Cha has never known his parents. The only parental figure he’s ever had, and still has, is the headmaster of Royal Sword Academy. The headmaster is a father figure to Pin-Cha, and the boy wishes he could call the headmaster “papa” some day.

- The headmaster allows Pin-Cha to attend classes, and the boy does! Even though he doesn’t understand what the lessons are all about, he still likes to observe how a lecture works. But he usually cleans the academy most of the time.

- Although Pin-Cha is a sweet boy, he sometimes wishes he was….cool.

- Because when he was allowed to visit Night Raven College, he immediately laid eyes on a rowdy group of students. A red-haired boy with a heart on his cheek, another boy with a spade on his cheek, a young girl and a…talking cat?

- He saw how much they laughed together. He saw how much they do all sorts of weird things— especially that talking cat and the girl. Pin-Cha just wished he could climb trees and act crazy like they do.

- And then he began his “rebellious” journey….the most he did was eat pizza with a fork (he thought that was evil.)

- Pin-Cha still has a long way to go , it seems!✨

Bonus!✨ (this is the first draft a d full-body)

*cue me taking off my glasses in shock while staring at the screen* BECAUSE WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL I DID NOT EXPECT MY ACCOUNT TO GET SO FAR??? I SERIOUSLY CANNOT THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME AND ENJOYING MY WORKS!🥹💓 Seriously, though. I’m really grateful for you all! All the reblogs and comments always make my day. And thank you so much for being patient (again) for putting up with my hiatus-ass cuz damn commissions are beating my ass up (as well as school and burnout but we don’t talk about that—)

Anyway, I still have a lot- and I mean A LOT of more works up my sleeves like the late Anan birthday card, a mutual of mine’s birthday art, two big projects and many more💖💖 I hope you guys enjoy this little cutie patootie while I clear up all my commissions so I can come back online again💞💞🥹🫶🫶