#for no reason it reminds me of when i went to an art museum a couple months ago

[thisisadecisionimayregret]

hm.

[like-a-good-nbhd]

found these songs from lil videos on zach's instagram page. and after looking for the videos on youtube, i found out that both zach and mikey helped make these (they're listed as composers so i'm assuming they wrote the parts for their respective instruments)

but they're such a vibe and projects from members of the nbhd so i thought i'd share them (my favorite is make me cry). it's nice to see that they're all still making music, even if it's not together at the moment.

[skzstannie]

"Did you know?"

SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member! reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort wc: ~4,500 cw: slight violence, swearing, reader has to go to the hospital

summary: some online rumors cause turmoil within the group, and it seems the members’ concerns were certainly not without reason

A/N: Here's another angsty 9th member fic for you guys, hope you enjoy! My requests are still open, so if you have any ideas, feel free to send them in!

Likes/reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Part 2 | Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

Today was the first date of your North American tour, landing you guys in the beautiful city of Los Angeles, California. Your managers allowed you the morning to explore the city, given you had constant security. They made you specifically promise to abide by these rules, as you had a habit of sneaking off to see fans on your own. What can you say? Security could be annoying, and your fans were always the sweetest.

This little habit of yours not only made management anxious, but also your members. They knew you could be innocent and credulous when it came to other people, always wanting to believe there was good in everyone. While this may be true, people's best intentions sometimes went out the window when confronted with their favorite Kpop idols.

"Ok, first the art museum for Hyunjin, then Griffith Park, and then the nice breakfast cafe down the street from the venue. Anything else?" Chan reads off your planned itinerary, glancing upwards at you guys.

"Yea, I said I wanted to go to the Santa Monica Pier. They have the cutest attractions there," you say, repeating yourself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. You were the only one wanting to go, all the other members not wanting to risk getting sick on fair food and carnival rides before the concert.

"Yes, and I already acknowledged the fact that we will not be going there today. And we, includes you, meaning you will also not be sneaking off to go by yourself," Chan pointedly looks to you, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"What makes you think I'd ever do that?" you give him a cheeky smile, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Don't look at me like that. You know exactly why I'd think that."

You drop your innocent act, giving him a bored look in return.

Chan gets notified that the vans have arrived, so you all pack up your things and head to the hotel elevator. The boys roughhouse in the hallway, Seungmin almost tackling Jeongin to the ground. This is quickly stopped by Minho, reminding them they can't get hurt before the concert tonight. They roll their eyes at him but oblige.

Leaving the hotel, you all jump in the cars, embarking on the short drive to the art museum. Your van consists of Seungmin and Felix sitting in the middle set of seats, while you're squished in the back between Chan and Minho. The air is weirdly tense and quiet, everyone seemingly too occupied with their phones. Besides Chan describing the itinerary this morning, everyone has been quiet all day.

You feel Chan's watchful gaze slide to your screen, and you pull away, leaning towards Minho. "Do you mind?" you sass.

"I do actually. What are you looking at on there, any cute boys?"

"Give me a break, we have a dating ban," you scoff, turning your phone back off and sliding it into your crossbody bag.

You continue to sit in silence until you arrive, not wanting to deal with Chan's wandering eyes on your Instagram feed.

Finally arriving at the art museum, everyone piles out of the vans. Fans line the sidewalk, and a grin spreads across your face. You step out of line quickly, wanting to go over to a particularly young fan. She looks around 8 or 9, and she has a poster of you in hand with a black Sharpie. What's the harm in giving this young girl a quick signature?

Within your first few steps, your arm is aggressively pulled backwards, and you stumble into Minho. He gives you a stern look, and you know, especially with this many people around, not to question him. You fall back in line, looking back to give the young girl a sympathetic smile as you're guided the rest of the way into the museum.

You guys walk through the entrance of the museum, officially out of sight from all the fans. Minho gives you another pointed look, finally releasing your arm from his grasp. "We told you, no funny business today. Tonight's important, and we need you in one piece for it."

Your eyes widen at his tone of voice, not appreciating the seriousness behind it. You know you tend to break some rules here and there, but it's always light-hearted. You'd never intentionally put yourself or anyone else in danger.

You guys explore the museum exhibits in peace, security doing an excellent job of keeping the fans outside. You, not having much of an interest in art, spend most of your time watching Hyunjin and the way he admires the artwork. He really is an artist at heart, and you love the way he can appreciate each individual piece.

While staring at Hyunjin, who's admiring an intensely beautiful painting of a riverbed with flowers, you suddenly feel eyes on you. You quickly spin around to be met with the stares of Felix, Jisung, and Jeongin. They quickly look away, busying themselves looking at the statues next to them.

You give them a squinted look, walking over to them. "What is wrong with you guys today? Why is everyone acting so funny?" you confront them, furrowing your brows.

Jisung stumbles over his words, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Felix jumps in, giving Jisung a strange look, "We were just talking about how beautiful you look today." He comes over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

You don't stay there long, removing his arm from around you and walking away. "Weird," you mutter to yourself.

You guys finish up in the museum shortly after. Piling back into the cars, you're once again stuck between Minho and Chan. This time, however, Chan keeps constant conversation with you. He rambles on about the concert that night, what he had for dinner last night, practically anything to keep his mouth moving. While this is still strange behavior, you prefer this to radio silence.

Arriving at Griffith Park, you guys make your way up the hill terrain. All the guys want to take pictures, planning to post them to Instagram later that week. You think the perfect spot for pictures would be the Hollywood sign, so you start to make your way towards it.

You don't think to alert anyone, as it's within eyesight, and you prefer to take your own pictures, anyway. You came prepared, bringing your tripod in your backpack.

Before you make it very far, only walking about 25 feet away from the group, you hear your name being yelled. You turn back around, seeing an angry Minho storming towards you.

"What'd we say about going off on your own? Why are you being so difficult today?" he asks, his voice rising with every word he spits at you.

You don't know what's gotten everyone's panties in a bunch today, but you've just about had enough. The atmosphere has been tense all day, and you're officially sick of it.

"Why is everyone being so tense today? Gosh, I'm only going up to the sign!" You throw your arm behind, motioning to the spot only about 50 feet away from where you and Minho stand.

"No, you will not be going up there, especially not by yourself. Stay with the rest of the group and stop being stubborn!" Minho's overly-critical eyes stare you down. He steps toward you, grabbing you by the elbow for the second time that day.

You wretch yourself away from him. "I've had enough with being man-handled today. I'm done! I'm going to wait in the van. Have fun without me!" you yell at him, stalking off towards the parking lot.

You see everyone had stopped what they were doing upon hearing the loud yells, and they're all watching you as you hurriedly make your way back to the vans. Your face flushes, embarrassment taking over your features.

You pull on the door to the van, realizing it's locked. You stomp your foot and whip around, finding everyone still staring at you with varying expressions. "Someone please unlock this door before I have a mental breakdown," you beg, feeling the beginnings of an anxiety attack taking over your body.

The driver, just feet away sitting on a bench, searches for the keys in his jacket, finally unlocking the door for you. You climb in, slamming the door behind you.

You stumble over the front row of seats, laying down in the back away from the concerned gazes of your members and the rest of the staff. Your chest feels constricted, the air in your lungs feeling limited in supply. Tears stream down your face at the unwanted advances of an anxiety attack.

The fight with Minho paired with the building tension all day, along with the nerves for tonight's concert mixed into a deadly concoction in your brain, all too much for you to handle.

You're not left alone with your thoughts for long, the door to the van opening only minutes later. Hyunjin crawls in, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey, hey, shhh. It's ok, everything will be ok," he coos, rubbing your back. He's squeezed himself down in between the middle row of seats, his elbows resting on the armrests beside him.

"I'm sick of today," tears slide down you cheeks, your voice audibly shaking. "Everyone is being so distant and mean. What'd I do?"

"No honey, you didn't do anything. Everyone's just a little stressed for tonight. There's been some stuff circulating around online putting everyone on edge, but it'll all be fine," he reassures you, trying to roll you onto your other side so he can see your face. Your mind is too pre-occupied to register his words, letting them travel in one ear and out the other.

You allow him to turn you around, uncomfortably shifting in the small space. Your glossy eyes meet his, and he's quick to wrap you up into a tight hug, your own arms squished against his chest.

"Everyone's finishing up out there, then we're going to head to the venue a little earlier than planned. Does that sound ok?" he asks, affectionately running his fingers through your hair.

"Yea," you sniffle, pressing your face firmly into his shoulder. "I don't want to sit by Minho. Please don't make me," you cry harder at the thought.

"Alright, alright, shhh. You're only working yourself up more. You know we have to stay in our assigned vehicles, but I'm sure Seungmin and Felix will switch spots with him and Chan."

After a few more minutes of consoling from Hyunjin, everyone else has finished their photoshoots. Hyunjin leaves, but not before giving you another firm squeeze. Seungmin and Felix pile into the van first, both of them coming to sit beside you. You telepathically thank Hyunjin for asking them in passing.

Felix rests a comforting hand on your knee throughout the ride to the venue. Chan and Minho are silent, completely engrossed in their phones once again.

Once at the venue, you stay far from Minho, not wanting to deal with his negativity. You notice the security is amped up a bit compared to last tour, guards standing at every door leading to your dressing rooms. You figure it's because your band has gotten so much bigger, the Stay Family always growing exponentially.

In your dressing room, Felix occupies the chair by the mirror, your stylists brushing shades of brown and pink across his eyelids. Changbin stands nearby, the hair stylist just finishing up with a couple extra spurts of hairspray. You lay on the couch while you wait, playing Among Us with Jeongin and Hyunjin who reside in the other dressing room.

Changbin and Felix offered to go with you to your dressing room, and you gladly accepted their offer. You explained to them you didn't necessarily want to be alone; you just didn't want to be by Minho.

The stylists start to work on you once they're done with the boys. They finish your hair and makeup just in time for soundcheck, applying some last minute powder to your nose before sending you off to the stage.

Rehearsals go by smoothly. You and Minho are able to put your issues behind you for now. Your fans are so important to you, and the last thing you want to do is ruin their night because of some petty argument.

Management sends you off to the dressing rooms once again, satisfied with the quality of the soundcheck. You follow your members off stage before departing down a separate hallway in search of the bathroom.

You walk for another few seconds, taking a few random turns before your met with the door to the ladies' restroom. You do your business and take your time getting back to the dressing room as you guys don't go on for another hour. The venue your playing is beautiful, so you take a slight detour, admiring all the nice architecture.

You're startled from your peaceful thoughts once again by a furious Minho. "I cannot believe you'd go off on your own again. After all we've told you today, how could you possibly think that's ok?" he throws his hands up in disbelief, his tone snarky.

"I had to use the restroom! You guys have never had a problem with me walking around the venues by myself, why now? You have been up my ass all day. Leave me the hell alone for awhile." You push him out of the way, ramming his shoulder with your own in the tight hallway.

"Do you think this is fun for me, huh? Yelling at you all day long? Did you ever stop to think for one second that there may be something bigger going on here?" His voice sounds exhausted, leaving you slightly concerned because you still have hours of performing to do. However, your anger gets the best of you, and your concern gets pushed deep below the surface.

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't read your damn mind. If there's something bigger going on, then why hasn't anyone told me? I'm a big girl, not some toddler. I am a part of this group the same as everyone else, so why are things being kept from me?"

Minho starts to speak, but you immediately cut him off, not wanting to hear the lame excuses you're sure he's come up with. "You know what, I don't even wanna hear it. My mental health has went to shit today because of you, and if I wanna be able to perform in 30 minutes, I need to be away from you. We can talk about this later," you finish, rushing off to your dressing room, leaving Minho standing alone in the hallway.

Everyone seems to have deemed your dressing room the hangout spot until the concert officially begins, as all the other boys have gathered around, making themselves comfortable amongst the laid out furniture in the room.

You all make conversation, laughing at Changbin's cringey jokes; you're happy for the distraction, allowing your mind to wander from the fight you had with Minho.

10 minutes before you go on, management comes to fetch you to get ready, providing you all with in-ears and microphones.

Your pre-performance jitters have made themselves known, but you've been doing this long enough that you can turn that nervous energy into excitement.

5 minutes before you go on, you and the boys gather in a circle. Chan leads, knowing exactly how to get everyone hype before going on.

You're all standing now just outside of view from the fans on the side of the stage, waiting for your cue from management. Once they give it, you all make your way out onto the stage, relishing in the sounds of the screaming Stay that form the crowd.

All is going smoothly as you finish your center part during the bridge of Lalala, and you make your way to the side of the stage, waiting for the part in the song where you re-enter the choreo. With all your attenton focused on the performance, you fail to notice the commotion coming from the crowd just a few feet from you.

Your attention is pulled away from the performance when you're tackled from behind. You scream in agony and fear, having landed painfully on your wrist. If the snap you felt is anything to go by, it's definitely broken. However, this isn't your main concern at the moment. You open your eyes, and they’re immediately drawn to the shiny pocket knife the man has in his hand. He's quick to slash a small cut into your forearm before he is aggressively pushed off of you. Your attacker is taken down by security; they immediately throw a pair of handcuffs on him, taking him off stage.

The crowd has broke out into panicked cries, all of Stay wondering what happened and if you're ok.

Your members are quick to rush over to you, abandoning the remainder of the Lalala choreo. While it's felt like an eternity since you were tackled, it really only took security a few seconds to get the situation under control, and only a few more seconds for your members to surround you.

"What hurts?" Chan panics, crouching down beside you.

"My wrist," you sob, totally overwhelmed from all the commotion. The crowd is still roaring and your wrist throbbing like crazy. The cut on your arm is no comparison to the pain radiating from your wrist.

"Alright, let's move her off stage," a paramedic pushes through the barricade your members have formed around you and helps you stand to your feet. You quickly move off stage, wanting to get out of the crowd's view as soon as possible.

Once off to the side, one paramedic inspects your wrist, gently grasping your forearm to hold you steady, while another wraps the cut on your other arm.

"It definitely looks broken. We should get you to the hospital to get it X-rayed and possibly casted," he explains.

Minho steps up next to you, your earlier arguments swept from your mind. "I'll go with her. You guys finish up here. Probably should cut the setlist short anyway; we're already behind schedule."

You follow behind the paramedics, them leading you outside to the ambulance. Minho walks beside you, providing you familiarity in this uncomfortable situation.

The ride to the hospital is silent except for the beeping of the machines the paramedics have you connected to. Minho holds your unbroken hand the whole ride, your disagreements on the backburner for the moment.

The more time that passes, the sorer your body becomes. Your arms feel heavy, and your back feels like it was beaten with a hammer. You realize you've probably been in shock this whole time, and the attacker did more damage than you originally thought.

You finally find yourself in a hospital room, Minho pulling the chair up beside you.

"Well," the doctor says, pulling your X-ray up onto the screen, "This cut doesn't require stitches, just keep it bandaged and medicated. We'll give you a Tetanus shot for it, though, since it was done with a knife. As for your wrist, it's definitely broken. The good news, though, is that it doesn't look like it will require surgery. What color cast do you want?"

You're expression appears dazed to Minho and the doctor, your mind completely preoccupied. "Black," you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear you.

The doctor nods his head, disappearing from the room to retrieve the supplies to apply your cast and the shot.

You look to Minho, finally feeling like you have processed everything that's happened. "What the hell happened? How did that guy get past security, and with a knife especially?"

"Honestly, we're not sure. Management and security are reviewing the camera footage now. We were trying to be cautious; there was so much extra security tonight. It should've been impossible for anyone to get to you."

You process his words, a realization forming in your mind. "Did you guys know something about this beforehand?" Your eyebrows furrow. If they knew something, they for sure would have told you, too, right? "Is this what you were talking about in the hallway before the concert?"

"Y/N," he sighs, giving you a look full of remorse.

"No. I don't want any bullshit," you snap, "Did you or did you not know something was wrong before the concert? Is that why you have been giving me a hard time all day?" You start to put the puzzle pieces together, the day replaying in your head.

The overprotectiveness, the extra security, them not wanting you to go on your phone- they knew.

Minho looks to the ground, his shoulders slumping. "Look, we find out about some rumors going around online this morning, but-"

"Get out," you say, your voice tense.

His head snaps up, his remorseful eyes meeting your fiery ones. "What?"

"I said, Get. Out." Your unbroken hand aggressively points to the door.

"I'm not leaving you here alone. Let's just talk about this-"

"You had all day to talk to me about this, but now that I'm injured and traumatized you want to talk about it?" Your incredibly angry, and your words are filled with venom. "Get out, get out, get out!"

"Do you really think it's the best idea to be by yourself right now?" His eyes are filled with sorrow, his hands in dire need to reach out to you.

"If you don't leave right now, I will scream."

His watchful gaze rests on you for a couple seconds, before he finally gives in, rising to his feet. He walks toward the door. "We'll send a car to come get you when you're ready. There's security out here waiting, and your manager is out in the hall. I'll see you when you get back to the hotel."

He disappears out the door, once again leaving you alone with your thoughts. How dare they not tell you? There are threats going around online about you, and you're the last one they tell? In what world does that make any sense?

The doctor comes back in the room just a few minutes later. He's quick with putting your cast on, and he sends you on your way, requesting you stop by the front desk to sign a few documents before you go.

You follow him out the door, meeting up with your manager and security right outside the room.

After signing the paperwork, your manager leads you outside to the car that has been called for you.

Fans must've found out which hotel they took to you, and the outside of the hotel is flooded with Stay. Normally, you'd be ecstatic to see so many of them. However, you're exhausted and hurt, so you bring your hood over your head and stare at the ground, thankful for the security that surrounds you.

You climb in the back of the car, your manager following suit. "Why was I not informed about the threats online?" you question, your eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"The concert was going to go on no matter what, so we figured it'd be easier to get you out there if you didn't know about them."

Your jaw drops at her statement. "That is not fair, how can you just assume that? I had a right to know about this," you argue.

"This isn't really up for discussion. It's the way we chose to handle it, and that's that."

You're in disbelief at her careless attitude. "How did the guys find out about it then?"

"Nosy little shits," she laughs, but you're not sure how she's finding any humor in this situation. "They saw them online themselves. We practically had to threaten their contracts to get them not to tell you."

Your heart constricts at this new information. Emotions flood your system, and you're suddenly feeling incredibly guilty for your interaction with Minho in the hospital room. All the arguments between the two of you flood your mind, and remorse rushes your body.

They have just been trying to keep you safe all day. Trying to keep you off your phone, not letting you wander by yourself, the whispers behind your back. It all makes sense now. And you realize you've been a royal bitch all day to the wrong people.

You turn to look out the window for the remainder of the drive, knowing it's useless to argue with your manager. What she says goes. This doesn't mean you're not angry with her and the rest of management, though. This conversation needs to be had in a professional setting, not in the backseat of a car when you're by yourself.

Once you arrive at the hotel, your quick to jump out of the car, wanting to be away from your careless manager. However, you stand directly outside the door, patiently waiting for security to escort you to your room.

They walk you all the way up to your shared room with Seungmin, and you're not surprised to find all of them waiting for you when you open the door.

They're conversations halt, all eyes snapping to you. You walk in and set your bag down on the bed. Your eyes well up with tears for what feels like the hundredth time that day. "I'm so sorry," you cry, afraid to meet their concerned gazes. "Today has just been so overwhelming, and my manager sucks, and my back hurts, and I have been so rude to you guys all day-," your words are cut short by another sob wracking through your sore body. You sniffle some more, bringing your sleeve up to wipe at your face. "Min, I'm so sorry for kicking you out. I should've just listened to what you had to say. I'm such a horrible person."

All the guys are quick to stand, not wanting you to rile yourself up anymore. Hyunjin comes over to you first, gently guiding you to sit on the bed. Everyone else follows, all of you now gathered on the queen sized bed. "Listen," Minho starts, comforting you, "Absolutely none of this is your fault, you hear?" He pulls you down next to him, his arm coming up around your shoulders. "Today has been an awful day, and you don't need to work yourself up about how you treated us."

"Yea, but-"

"No buts, you need to rest. We are not mad at you."

"Not one bit. We love you so much, and we're so sorry you had to go through that. Are you ok? How's your wrist?" Chan asks from the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on your ankle.

"It hurts, but the doctor gave me some painkillers to take for the next few days. My cut didn't need stitches, but I have to keep it bandaged until it heals," you explain, your words coming out steadier than before.

Your cries eventually calm down, leaving you sniffling every now and again. Felix notices you've calmed down, and he nudges your leg, opening his arms for you. You crawl into them, relaxing into his calm and comforting embrace. The rest of them are quick to follow, creating one big group hug.

You know this situation is certainly not over. I'm sure you guys will press charges, and you'll probably have to release a statement of some kind. It seems that management and you guys have come to a silent agreement to deal with everything in the morning, and you couldn’t be more grateful for it.

~ ~ ~

Part 2

[soobnny]

voicemails nishimura riki leaves you while he’s on tour — fluff, established relationship, tiny bit of angst

heeseung | jay | jake | sunghoon | sunoo | jungwon | NI-KI

one. it’s only been a day. i miss you already.

two. the hyungs told me i’ve been smiling a lot more than usual. hm, i wonder what could be the reason why? they told me it’s because of you. what do you think? (laughing) i think they’re right. you just make me smile without doing anything. even if it’s just the thought of you.

three. goodnight—wait fuck what time is it for you right now? i keep forgetting we’re on different timezones. this is torture.

four. i listen to our shared playlist all the time. this way, it feels like you’re closer to me. whatever! love you babe.

five. all i have to do is think about you and i’m not so tired anymore.

six. hey dumbass, i got you something. but only because you’ll complain if i don’t get you anything. so, like the greatest boyfriend that i am, i bought you something from each city. i know, i’m the best, no need to remind me. just wait a little more, okay? i’ll be with you again soon.

seven. pssst loser. i’m going to the museum today, wish i could’ve gone with you. not that i’m trying to touch your heart or anything, i just know you love going to museums and you’ll be complaining to me about how i went without you. ah, but the prettiest piece of art is back home, no? i wonder how it’s doing. how are you doing?

eight. jake hyung keeps teasing me because i won’t stop talking about you. i don’t even realize i’m talking about you so much, but he told me i was down horrendous. so what if i am? i’m just a boy in love for the first time. wait, unhear that. oh my god, you’re gonna tease me non-stop, aren’t you? unhear it.

nine. we were practicing just a little bit earlier today as our surprise song, and it made me think of you. i’ll sing you a little as a lullaby so you’ll stop asking me to sing to you. just repeat this voicemail when you need it.

ten. hi, i love you. (yawning) i’m so sleepy i think i’ll fall asleep now. call me in the morning. i miss you.

[artificial-transmutations]

Anger Issues

When Owen first came to this new city, in this new and foreign country, he was full of hope. A fresh start in an unfamiliar land. It was an adventure! The world was his oyster, and the possibilities were endless! He had just finished university and had a degree in art history, which should make it easy for him to find work.

As it turns out, that was a lie.

For three long, grueling months, Owen tried everything to make a living in the big city. The truth was that his degree often wasn't recognized, and even when it was, he wasn't considered qualified to do the job, often without any obvious reason. The financial reserves he had were draining quickly and his hopes of finding good and fulfilling work in the new city were getting smaller and smaller every day.

"You need experience to get a job, and you can't get a job without experience". Owen never realized how true this saying was until he had stumbled into that very situation. Desperate to get out of it, he finally found an unpaid internship in a museum for ancient art. It was a really interesting field for Owen, but it turned out his tasks were mundane and not related to the exhibits at all. Instead, he was confined to a small office room to scan and sort invoices - a tedious job and hardly what Owen had studied for.

So, one day, in his break, when he went through the exhibition as usual, a wooden figure caught his eye that was apparently brought here this morning. It depicted the torso of a man, showing a sculpted chest. The figure was cut off below the upper arms and above the legs. The face of the man was symmetrical and angelic, although frowning. Above the hair, it showed either a thick halo or some kind of hat.

Owen was inexplicably drawn towards the figure. It was well-preserved and Owen couldn't quite assign it a region or time period. Looking at the sign, Owen realized it had no information about this either. Clearly a curiosity!

Driven by his own desire for knowledge, Owen stepped closer, hoping to get a more detailed look. It was as if a faint whisper was coming from the grim statue, but that must have been his imagination. He reached out with his hand to touch the wooden surface, only to hesitate again. It was, of course, forbidden to touch the exhibits, but perhaps feeling the structure of the wood would help him understand the piece more.

As soon as he touched the surface, the whispers grew louder all of a sudden, and his fingers felt a slight jolt - but both sensations stopped immediately again.

Someone behind him was clearing his throat.

"Ahem. Owen. Do I need to remind you not to touch the exhibit?", Mr. Hastings, the director of the museum, said, looking sternly at Owen.

"Oh, no, Sir, I just thought... it might give me some better understanding..."

"Rules are rules." Mr. Hastings said, but he was smiling again.

Owen however felt a most unusual feeling bubbling up in him. At first, he didn't quite know where to put it, but it soon became very clear to him. He was angry! The rational part of his mind tried to understand why - there was no real reason. Mr. Hastings was right of course and judging by his smile, Owen really didn't have a problem. Regardless, he felt as if he had just been insulted the worst possible way. Before he could stop himself, he burst out:

"Do you know where you can put your precious rules? Fuck them! Fuck you! Fuck this whole place! You don't want me to do real work here?! Fine! I quit!"

Head steaming, Owen removed his museum badge from his jacket and threw it to the ground with such force that the plastic shattered. With another loud "Fuck you!", he ran off, leaving the befuddled Mr. Hastings behind, as well as the museum.

Only after he had walked a few blocks, Owens anger subsided somewhat. What has he been thinking? He should turn around and apologize at once!

Then again, it was an unpaid internship. Even though the way to quit this job hasn't been too professional, what was done was done - and perhaps for the better, too. He could focus on finding a better job now. There surely had to be something.

There wasn't. Owen had no better luck then before, but inexplicably, his tolerance for frustration had diminished. After the third denied application, Owen had become so angry that he actually punched a hole into the thin walls of his apartment. Alongside the anger, there had been some changes to Owen's body, as well: He seemed overall fitter and filled out his clothes better. He also found his libido increased somewhat. Where before he had jerked off perhaps once a week, he found himself hard now more and more often, and his hand was drawn to his cock even more.

Jerking off helped to cool the red hot anger somewhat that he found himself quite often in, so it was quickly becoming a daily thing. However, being constantly torn between being angry and being horny didn't leave much space for patience. His money was running dry, too, so, Owen finally accepted a job in a field that was far below his academic standards: He started a job as a fast-food cashier.

The red "FST" uniform, as the fast food chain was called, was tight on Owen's chest, when he started his first work day. They had probably given him a smaller size, even though they said it was XL. Owen was already feeling angry about that obvious mistake, but he swallowed his anger and let himself be introduced to the cash register.

The system was overwhelmingly complex. It had like a hundred different buttons, and Owen quickly felt his head swimming. It shouldn't be so hard to understand a fast food cash register, but apparently, this one was extra complex. Just his luck!

At some point, he just nodded as the manager showed him the functions of the device. The introduction wasn't very long, only ten minutes, but Owen didn't understand a thing. You really needed a degree for that monstrosity! Still, he was expected to serve his first customer right away, pure insanity.

The first order was easy enough, a plain hamburger and a coke, and after searching the right buttons for a good two minutes, Owen managed to put in the order. However, the second customer wanted a milkshake, too, and that was the final straw. They really couldn't expect Owen to juggle such complex orders in his mind AND put them into the machine. Angrily, he shouted out in frustration and let his fist come down on the cash register with full force, again and again. Of course, the thin metal and plastic yielded to his rage and the machine broke.

"FUCK THIS FUCKING JOB!"

This was the breaking point for Owen. Everything had gone wrong since he had moved to this fucking city. No job, no money, no nothing! He tried to wriggle out of the way-too-small uniform top but ended up ripping it apart instead.

The manager ran over and pulled him from behind.

"Stop that! Stop that right now!"

"LET ME GO! I QUIT!"

"You're going nowhere! You can't leave after what you've done!"

With an angry roar, the now half-naked Owen shoved the manager against the counter with full force and stormed off. He didn't care if the manager wanted to call the police, or sue him, or whatever.

As soon as he arrived at his shabby apartment, Owen took out his laptop and started looking for jobs. He didn't get very far, though. The computer was confusing, and Owen was still feeling angry from his last job. He finally managed to pull up his favorite porn site and started watching videos.

The normal porn he usually consumed didn't do a good job of calming him down today. He needed something rougher, something more primal. The female porn stars were too weak for the sex to be stimulating, he decided.

After clicking through a few more videos, he spied a thumbnail of two guys getting at it roughly. Brilliant. When there were only men involved, the sex would be much better. They wouldn't take shit from the girls, and they'd be strong. Much more satisfying.

Seeing two men having sex brought back his cock to full erection and soon enough, Owen splattered his cum all over his muscular torso.

As the post-nut-clarity set in, Owen realized he had a problem. He needed something to channel all that rage into before it destroyed his life entirely. After some research, he decided to join a Krav Maga club.

The raw brutality of the sport helped Owen to tune off the complicated world around him and made him feel happy for the first time in weeks. He trained often and hard, quickly stacking even more muscles on his already impressive frame. Of course, Owen wasn't clever enough to grasp the techniques of the sport, so he just substituted it by raw strength. A lot of kicks and hits found their way into his face, but he was healing quickly as well. Over the course of a few weeks however, the brutality left its marks in his face. His nose looked crooked as if it had been broken and his jaw looked manly, but not exactly beautiful.

Still, joining the club was the best decision he could have made. He met some new friends, who set him up with a new job as a warehouse worker. Carrying crates and heavy barrels from one place to another was the perfect job for Owen. He didn't need to understand what he was moving, nor did he have to do any paperwork (not that he would have been able to - Owen had his trouble with letters and numbers, which left him pretty much illiterate). He just needed to do what his manager said, and he was happy for it.

Besides the Krav Maga, he found another outlet for his anger issues. Since he couldn't afford his flat anymore, Owen moved in with a couple of garbage workers he met at the warehouse. As it turned out, they, too, were gay and enjoyed it quite a lot when Owen split their cheeks roughly, not holding back one bit.

[alicerosejensen]

Another you

Warning: reader mutation (c-virus), angst, blood, slight aggression, acquired albinism, fem/reader (not an agent, an ordinary civilian who worked at the museum), Leon has plot armor, more narration than dialogue, the text contains an antagonist like Simmons (male character), Ada is helping Leon again, relatively happy ending.

Synopsis: You didn’t want to change, you loved him, just as he loved you, but against your will, your love turned into hatred and animal anger towards him. However, Leon still hopes that you will remember him...

A/N: This is probably my biggest work. Tumblr told me to fuck off a few times while editing, but I came out victorious in the fight, although I had to re-write the text into the draft a few times because Tumblr for some damn reason published it without my knowledge. I hope feedback if anyone liked it, because I have been burning with this idea for a long time!

The text also contains an excerpt from Byron's poems (I adore him)

He promised himself first of all that nothing would happen to you. That his work won't affect you in any way and you won't get hit by the corporate bastards, and you really didn't. However, something else happened...

But people whom Leon loves or simply cares about tend to leave or even die.

Everything was fine with you. Ideal in his imperfect life and you were this perfection that he valued and protected. A prudent person would not keep an expensive diamond in front of everyone, so Leon did not scatter information about you and who you are to him. You were loved and dear to him more than all the treasures of the world, he appreciated your tenderness towards him and kindness, because it was you who helped him get out of the hole of despondency in which he buried himself. His personal little guardian angel. Still, he has something to continue his fight against bioterrorism.

A normal working day, except that the museum where you work was supposed to host an exhibition of some very expensive collection for which you were so carefully preparing, forgetting about yourself. It seemed to Leon that you were burning with enthusiasm and love for the work you were doing, which made you walk around too excited, forgetting about food, so he had to remind you to eat. This exhibition had no meaning for Kennedy, but he did not belittle your efforts thrown into this preparation, especially since you were so happy that you were incessantly talking about all these paintings, historical activities depicted on them and objects: a pendant with a strand of hair of some queen - you explained to him that this is a symbol of affection that was previously used It's like you're giving a piece of yourself to your giver, a kind of connection with a loved one, but this is just one of the meanings of such a peculiar gift. Silk fans, a clock, a desk, some items of clothing that, in Leon's opinion, were very strange and he was just glad that fashion had moved far ahead.

Although he could interpret all this in one word: beautifully.

And you were beautiful too. He would have liked to spend more time with you, but you were completely absorbed in your work, and he was overwhelmed with paperwork that he couldn't stand, but anyway, at least he could come back to you and listen to excited speeches and new facts that he didn't know anything about and would hardly remember if he told him about it someone else.

And everything went to hell when there was another outbreak, less global, but most importantly - human lives. And yours.

He was trying to save you, even if someone else had survived this exhibition, he would still have saved you first and not someone else. Mini Raccoon City, that's what he called it, making his way with you to the emergency exit while you kept up with him on your heels, because today you were supposed to shine and glow and not cry with fear looking at the pale corpses of history and art lovers. The light from Leon's flashlight illuminated a small part of the space while you walked quietly thinking about Leon's words, "I wonder how much time we have before they get up?"

"Were they poisoned?" you assumed, because how could you kill such a huge number of people without weapons. Leon, watching the ventilation grilles in the rooms, suggested in his head only one quick way.

"It must be gas,"

But then you would both have died too, you decided, but you did not voice your thought, because shortly before the tragedy you were invited to discuss something by the sponsor of this exhibition. A man who managed to collect so many magnificent things with a rich history. The man who gave you flowers and flirted with you from the day you first met, despite the fact that you made it clear to him that you were not interested in any relationship with him, except for work.

However, Leon also remained silent when he saw the luxurious bouquet of scarlet roses on your work table, which filled your entire small office with their aroma. But right now that simply wasn’t the main thing. He needed to get you out of the mess that happened, and then ask about flowers from rich strangers.

You walked slowly, trying not to make any noise or cry behind him while you clung to his jacket, partially managing to wonder why Leon's gun was with him when he had no reason to carry a gun. All this, of course, was secondary, given how stress, coupled with imagination, turned the exhibits into various frightening figures that frightened, made you scream, thinking that the fallen armor, which was probably simply poorly secured to the stand was another dead man. I didn’t even want to think about what happened in the exhibition hall, much less imagine. Leon had to take you by the hand and at times drag you along with him because the panic really aggravated everything, he was afraid that you would start to go hysterical, but it seems that despite the periodic stupor, you kept yourself well under control, exactly until the moment when Leon’s flashlight went out, leaving you in pitch darkness.

“Leon?” you called out anxiously, feeling noisy ragged breathing behind your back. Was this what Leon was talking about? Until recently, you hoped that his words were just another stupid joke and the dead do not rise, but here behind you is the living embodiment of a nightmare who is ready to grab your neck and feast on warm flesh. Have time to scream? You didn’t even have time to fully scream when a strong grip grabbed you by the shoulder and roughly threw you to the side from the line of danger because you fell, hitting your thigh on the marble tiles, after which a series of deafening shots and the muffled groan of a dead man was heard, three bullets or maybe be more? You didn't count.

As if in slow motion on a large screen, it was impossible to take your eyes off what you saw. All sounds died down, leaving the silence of your own mind and the smell of blood.

All you could do was watch how the beam of light from the flashlight shines directly on the corpse and how Leon’s hands are trying to bring you to your senses, because you knew the one whom he had just completely killed. Richard, your colleague with whom you had coffee this morning and discussed the latest news, sometimes often joked at lunch... was now dead and you were crying without knowing it. Tears just flow uncontrollably from your eyes even as Leon wipes your face with his thumbs, trying to lift you off the floor and make you go outside.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know it’s hard but we have to go"

"I... I can't... why here?" You ask more into the void than from him

“I don’t know, but we need to get out of here.” Leon grabs you under the armpits, helping you get to your feet, dragging you towards the exit.

Better yet, this would all just be a nightmare. The noise from the shots makes you cover your ears with your hands while Leon once shoots people, at the same time trying to protect the slow-moving you. They scream, moan, attack and you feel like you are in a horror film with high-quality special effects and good acting, but you realize, albeit reluctantly, that all this is not a joke but an evil reality where Leon almost at the very exit asks you to pull yourself together and you don’t even you can stand on your feet. Before your eyes, everything collapsed and the world went crazy, trying to grab you with it.

"I can't... can't... I'm so scared..." your hands grab Leon and he hugs you to him, which only makes you want to cry harder and ask him to do the impossible - to return everything to the way it was. He hugs you tightly, kissing you on the top of your head, giving at least some reassurance given the fact that he has always tried to protect the little that he loves from his work, but you accidentally found yourself in the epicenter and your reaction is quite expected.

"Everything will be fine, please look at me," he asks in a soft tone, lifting your head and forcing you to look into his eyes, "It will be difficult, I do not know what is happening outside and what kind of virus it is, but you must not leave me alone. I shoot, and you stand behind me or hide if I tell you to. If you see a dead person, don't you dare approach him!"

"Is it like this everywhere?"

Leon didn't quite understand if you were talking about the whole city or just the upcoming race, in any case, he only nodded briefly, giving you a little more time to catch your breath while you listened to the rapid pounding of the heart in his chest. He was afraid too.

It could have tried better. You really pulled yourself together, but after contacting Hunnigan, Leon exhaled for a second, saying that the virus had not spread so far and in fact the appropriate measures had already been taken, she sent the two of you to the evacuation point where doctors could examine you and give you a vaccine injection in case it really was gas, as Leon said, which logically you were both breathing anyway. So the virus could have entered your body, the scariest thing you reasoned while you were following him, is that you are both alive by a lucky chance, because if Leon had not been attacked by an attack of tenderness, it would probably have been the last day of his life. You no longer even thought about the fact that that sponsor called you somewhere... Emerick. You smiled when you remembered that Leon called him a high-dimensional asshole, but he probably became a victim like everyone else, so there's no need to speak ill of him.

You thought that because you didn't think he was a bad person. You and Emerick had common topics of conversation, he knew a lot and he had a rich collection of rare things bought from auctions for a lot of money, besides, as he himself said, much of what he actually has was inherited in his family, which made you think that he probably was some kind of hereditary noble. His manners were really perfect.

It took about an hour before Leon left you in a quiet place. There were only zombies outside and a few survivors who, no matter how hard Leon tried, still couldn't help. They always died in front of his eyes, even now leaving a sense of guilt in his soul, because he should protect and not kill, but now this is the best thing he can offer them to the infected. Wide windows on the third floor of a God-forsaken warehouse protected from enemies and if you believe Ingrit, then this is the C-Virus that Neo-umbrella created, not so old, but in the terrorist market, in fact, it is already junk.

"At least there are no cocoons and lepoticas, otherwise I would have big problems"

You were sitting on the crates risking tearing your nylon tights while Leon was talking via video link on his work smartphone, waiting for his colleague Ingrit from F.O.S to plot the safest route to the plane that should pick you two up. Leon thought you were safe with him. You just sit quietly next to him trying to catch your breath while he does the main work and he was really calm until you screamed sharply falling off the box, forcing him to turn to you when he saw you holding your neck.

The phone immediately fell to the floor.

"What happened? Are you in pain?!"his eyes widened as he pulled out the dart that was the cause of everything. "Baby, can you hear me?! Everything will be fine, hold on!"

There was no one in the window. By the way, there was no time to search for the culprit. Thoughts were flying crazily in his head, Leon picked you up in his arms, hiding you behind drawers so that you would not get into anyone else's lens, noticing how quickly your breathing becomes shallow.

Was it a new virus or an improved one from before? You curled up crying from what seemed like your organs were turning into a burning cauldron causing hellish pain that made you moan loudly.

"Hunnigan! I need a vaccine, urgently! Where's the damn helicopter?!" Ingrit shot up for a moment. The women's painful moans in the background were ready to make Leon burst into tears and she was almost sure that tears were stuck in the corners of his eyes.

"It will take time to figure out what it is..."

"There's no time!" he shouted into the phone. Ingrit's fingers immediately clicked on the keyboard.

You sobbed. The bones seemed to melt, which made you literally lie on the concrete floor until Leon shifted you onto his lap, feeling your body temperature rise from normal to high.

That's probably why you threw up and blood gushed out of your nose. Your heart was pounding wildly, you didn't hear Leon screaming in panic, hugging your body to him, realizing that if you don't inject the serum soon, then everything will be over. You're dying, but Leon's brain refuses to accept it when he picks you up in his arms trying to save you because with your death, life won't make sense to him.

"You're not going to die!" the words expressed through clenched teeth echo in the spacious building as Leon picks you up in his arms and carries you outside in time. "Everything will be different"

He couldn't let this happen again. It was as if everything was being repeated again from hell to hell, only now in Helena’s place he is himself and he definitely won’t have enough strength to put a bullet in your forehead, and if he does... then he’ll shoot himself too.

Every minute was precious and if it weren’t for the infected, Leon would have instantly reached the right place and injected you with the serum, but luck was not on his side again, just like on the first day of work in Raccoon City. You were heating up so much that he could feel the heat emanating from your body, even through your clothes. Once the virus enters the human body, the incubation period varies for everyone: Deborah Harper lasted two hours before she mutated, for some it takes about a couple of minutes, even God himself does not know how much time is measured for you.

Having reached the helipad, Leon cursed everything in the world since the helicopter was not even visible anywhere. The situation was clearly not going in your favor. You again let out a painful groan, feeling like your body was literally burning and your head hurt so much that you wanted to be hit with a huge hammer. Leon stroked your back, holding you close to him. God, your temperature was already colossally high!

"Just a little more, be patient, honey" Leon doesn't believe it, he wants to, but he can. You scream and cry, trying to tear off your skin with your nails just to make this heat go away. He would like to change places with you, it would be better if he were dying now and not you, and not so monstrously.

The virus flows through the veins, attacks all defense mechanisms, mercilessly rebuilding the entire body in a new way, creating an aggressive weapon out of a person capable of mass murder without any remorse. Leon's affection does not destroy you, right now it is the only way to save yourself, but even if by some miracle an active medicine fell on your head, what is the chance that it saved you? The probability of healing, even with side effects, tends to be no more than 5-7%.

"D-don't want to d-die"

A pitiful groan, through the agony of pain you see Leon’s crying eyes, the skin peels off unnaturally under the influence of high temperature, but this is not visible under the clothes, but face...

"No no no no!"

Leon fell to the ground from your sharp push, but immediately jumped to his feet, running up to you after a wild, painful cry. Just one second and the body was suddenly engulfed in a flash of fire, turning the flesh into a hardened cocoon. You are gone.

It was all over.

Leon sees double. It shouldn't be like this, it shouldn't be like this! The gun is lying somewhere a couple of meters away, having fallen out of the holster when you pushed it away from you, and if this was a standard work situation, Leon would have tried to quickly run up to it or pick up the Sentinel Nine, but his hand did not rise. His knees hit the concrete floor painfully, along with the realization that he had lost again. The hard cocoon transforms the caterpillar inside itself into a beautiful butterfly, which is destined to fly, but Leon knows that everything human in you has burned out and only a monster will hatch from this cocoon, at best only vaguely reminiscent of you, so maybe it’s better to just tear it apart and then let him go on his own a bullet for himself?

The rain continues to pour, gradually calming down. The guys from B.S.A.A are already somewhere down there clearing the city of the infected and saving the survivors because there is a vaccine, there are ways to destroy the trash that Neo-Umbrella created. The sounds of gunshots mix with a frenzied rumble in his heart, which is why Leon doesn't want to hear anything anymore, preferring instead to stretch out his hands to your still warm cocoon, where some movement is already visible. Watching this, Leon was ready to miss even the deafening sound of the helicopter, but the light made him close his eyes and lift his head up.

Even without looking closely, he immediately realized that it was not the helicopter that Hunnigan had sent.

For the sake of love, people really do the most cruel things.

Leon immediately realized who was behind all this when the helicopter landed and several armed men jumped out of it, their faces hidden by masks. He slowly got to his feet, looking at the culprit of his suffering, dressed in a snow-white suit, with an impudent grin that Kennedy remembered from the beginning of the evening, when everything was still fine. Leon could have sworn that he had never felt such rage before, although a painful scream stuck in his throat.

No one pointed a gun at him. Everyone just froze, waiting for something.

"It's a small world, Mr. Kennedy," he said, waving to one of his assistants, and he and two mercenaries pulled a cryogenic capsule out of the plane. "But it was stupid to think that a man like you would die from a bunch of mindless zombies. I must admit, I didn't want to go to extreme measures until the last moment, I liked today's event, but because of you, I had to cancel everything. I've lost most of my collection"

"So it was you after all…" Leon muttered through his teeth, not yet grabbing the gun, realizing the risks. He is alone in the open space - a wonderful target. "I didn't see your corpse in the museum."

"A distraction," he explained, watching the capsule's preparation from the corner of his eye.

Emerick… Leon suddenly remembered how you recently confessed to him that he began to take care of you by giving you flowers, then inviting you for a cup of coffee, listening to music or general topics of which there were too many. But in the end, when the attentions began to exceed the standard amount, hinting at something more, you refused him, saying that you already have someone. You didn't notice, but Leon has been catching his obsessive glances at you all evening… How sometimes you looked at the exhibits behind the glass case, which you can not touch, despite the ban.

But you didn't even choose between the two of them. Leon always came first.

"For what?"

Emerick smiled as he looked at the cocoon and Leon's question disappeared by itself. Because of jealousy? Because a rich bastard couldn't get what he wanted, even with a giant bank account?

"You won't believe it, Mr. Kennedy, but for love. Death took away a dear person from me and I want to return what belonged to me, however, you will not understand this"

Leon grinned, clenching his fists.

"Why? Why her? If you wanted to take revenge on me, then you would have taken revenge on me and not on her!"

"Who said it was you?" asked Emerick, looking at his interlocutor as if he were an idiot. "For the most part, you just annoyed me like an annoying fly, but no more, although you encroached on something that does not belong to you."

Leon was about to answer and pounce despite the machine guns pointed at him, but the movement below and the sound of the cocoon tearing attracted all attention. He has seen it many times and your hand was reaching out to break free from the tight shackles of the past flesh, forcing its way out. Everyone is closely watching the birth of a new life, but only in the eyes of one of those present there was delight, not fear and regret. Leon couldn't bear it… He didn't understand what was wrong. The transformation was different.

"Happy birthday, Ada,"

A memory flashed through his mind.

History repeats itself. Only it turns out that besides Simmons, there is another bastard who looks like him in everything.

Leon reached out to you, as if trying to grab you, to help you get out and take you away from here. A brief moment of hope still lit up in my soul like a small smoldering flame, my mind seemed to be clouded, and yet deep inside there was a glimmer of awareness. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was wrong while you were trying to get out, muffling all his annoying voices of caution. Wrong smell, wrong body color… Leon squints his eyes, the cocoon breaks and before he can grab your hand, he freezes.

The slimy, sticky naked body lying in front of him looked more like a white marble statue with a thin network of blue veins protruding under the skin. The mercenaries looked at each other, clutching their guns tighter but still not pointing them at you. The sight is really amazing. Leon comes up to you lying down, at first glance it seems lifeless, but looking closely, your chest quietly heaves and he kneels down again, pulling you to his shoulders, peering into familiar but still changed facial features.

There are no appendages behind the back, from which ugly claws protrude, no razor-sharp claws, no fangs. But instead, unnaturally pale skin and hair… the structure is thicker, and the color merges with the color of the body. The same discolored ones, but stuck together due to the transformation in the cocoon. You open your eyes a little, and instead of the usual iris, two red lights rush at him without a shadow of anger and aggression, just fatigue, something that Leon used to see when you stayed up late at work.

"And, when the grave restores her dead,

When life again to dust is given,

On thy dear breast I'll lay my head—

Without thee! where would be my Heaven?"

Ignoring the familiar lines of poetry, Leon remains silent when he gives him an order in a harsh voice.

"You won't understand," Leon has no doubt. He doesn't want to understand these motives. "You're not even worthy of the dirt under her nails, let alone touching her!"

Leon picks you up in his arms, turning to face Emerick, meeting with loaded guns.

"Did you infect her with the C-virus so that she would become your toy?"

"A toy?!" he snapped back.

Now it already looks like a confrontation between two men for the heart of one woman, almost a joust in modern realities in all its dirty manifestations and meannesses, but Leon does not feel the advantage. A fairy tale with a bad ending. One madman decided to use a virus to change the girl's memory and her appearance, making you the one who died a long time ago, and he…a brave man with a valiant heart who somehow thinks that even after death, Simmons is also connected with this. Even indirectly. Sold the idea of resurrecting someone else's personality in another person?

The rain is hitting your body in drops, and Leon wants to cover you, hide you, hoping that this is his second attempt. It seems that consciousness is returning to you, but you are still disoriented, not understanding who you are and what is happening. You became a part of the darkness that Leon carried on his shoulders.

"All for love," one wave of his hand, and the one standing behind him makes Leon bend painfully, crying out in pain, almost dropping you, his fingers dig into your skin, causing a barely audible moan from your mouth, but you are still snatched from his hands, carried into that capsule, after that, Emerick turns away from his opponent, putting something like an oxygen mask on you, stroking your cheek gently with his fingers.

"What the hell kind of love?!" Leon knows for sure that the other person is smiling even if he does not see it himself.

"You may not believe it, but I'm one-woman man, Mr. Kennedy. It took me a fortune to improve the C-virus so that it would affect her body without turning her into a vile insect-like creature. There was only one side effect after the final result - loss of pigmentation, but this is not significant, in all other respects it completely met my expectations. All THIS is for her sake."

"You sick... "

"No, I'm a heartbroken husband who lost his wife prematurely but now we will be reunited." Emerick looked at you lovingly before closing the capsule, which they began to load back into the helicopter. “And you, Mr. Kennedy, are just one of millions. You saw a work of art and decided to grped it when you had no right to do so. Someone like you will never understand her value, you were never able to give her everything she deserved!”

It’s hard to disagree when the muzzle of a machine gun is pressed to the back of his head, but Leon still fights as he watches the cryogenic capsule ahead being shoved back into the helicopter.

Adrenaline is pumping into his head and his palm is itching to get the second gun out of the holster, but Leon realizes one wrong move and this will be the finale in his story. You will drown in a pool of false memories, considering yourself the person you have never seen or known, you will begin to be called by another name, carrying antibodies to the improved C virus in your new body and you will give yourself into the arms of a man distraught from his loss, considering yourself his true love.

Leon walks on the edge, but now the feeling that a thin rope can throw him into the abyss, from where there is no return, feels more acute. If only Hunnigan's helicopter had arrived, but intuition suggested that the delay was caused not just by technical circumstances.

"Do you think you injected her with a virus and she will start to adore you? You gave her the power to smear you like a bug on the wall as soon as she wakes up." He does not know the properties of this virus and what abilities it can give, but experience suggests that minor adjustments in appearance and lack of pigment like albinos are not the whole potential obtained.

"You've dealt with many terrorists, but I'm not one of them, Mr. Kennedy," still pretending to politely hide his hatred for some American sharing a bed with his woman, whom he considered his own, Emerick retorts: "I don't want to turn people into monsters, although I don't want the world to be on fire, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices. This virus was tested on many before my trusted person injected it to her, and before using it, I tested it on many."

Leon clenches his teeth, glaring at Emerick, letting him finish. Truly, big money creates lawlessness.

"As I said, everything is for love"

But there is no love here. Just an obsession.

Emerick no longer intends to continue the conversation, sits back down in his seat in the helicopter next to the cryocapsule, again signaling his people to get rid of the last witness, besides, he no longer intends to dirty his hands, especially about someone like Kennedy. Although he may still have the desire to end Leon on his own, but looking back at the capsule, his lips are touched with a mocking smile. The project must be completed, and the finishing touches are always needed so that the creator can enjoy his creation.

"But so be it, I'll leave her memories of you. The most bitter and unhappy, she will remember you and be glad that I saved her from you. See, I can be generous even to those who don't deserve it."

"I will refuse your generosity."

The situation was turning into complete shit. Emerick probably hoped to clean up all traces of himself, which is why he left the mercenaries to clean up after him, while he himself rose into the air with a last contemptuous glance at Leon.

"I'll find you, you son of a bitch."

He'll find him and kill and then bring you back.

Fortunately, sometimes Leon has a guardian angel with a smoke bomb behind his back, covering him with shots from a crossbow bolt while Leon quickly pulls out his spare pistol, getting rid of the last two mercenaries. A familiar style and a familiar fragrance when the haze clears allowing you to see the savior in the flesh in his unchanging red outfit and Leon would even smile at her if the plane with you did not move away from him every second. Ada is the red queen of today who postponed the execution of her former lover, smiling at him gently and a little cunningly wondering how fate brings them together and separates their paths from time to time. Leon does not thank out loud, but words of gratitude to this woman who clearly spent her personal time on him still freeze in the air.

She looks at the remains of the cocoon, clutching the crossbow tighter, roughly imagining what could have happened, seeing Kennedy's wet eyelashes, although the rain could have been to blame for everything, which fortunately had already calmed down, as well as the noise outside, although occasionally groans and shots were heard in the distance. Today, her calculated accuracy saved him again.

 "Long time no see, Leon" The velvety voice sounds soothing, but a little tired. In any case, Leon definitely owed her more than double the fare for his rescue.

A princess must have a knight in love to protect her from evil. In fairy tales, a kiss of love usually solves all problems, but what if the princess herself does not remember losing herself in the memories of her own and others? A suppressed personality cries out from the depths, not wanting to be forgotten, fighting with the one who took the pedestal and two names… two girls cannot merge into one, causing you only panic attacks and uncontrolled aggression, forcing the creator to believe that he is not so skilled even if he was filled with desire and endowed with money.

A charming man who calls himself your husband bends over her, holding out his hand decorated with antique rings to you, and you look at her with a puzzled look, pressing your back against the wall, trying to create distance between you. Because no matter how hard they tried to suppress your personality, but the feeling of uncontrollable fear, fused together with a new body, did not leave you, so you did not believe. Neither to him, nor to himself, nor to anyone else, and the dagger in the white palm hidden behind your back does not seem so heavy. The reaction is faster, the senses are heightened, and although the virus does not give the princess strength, you still resist, wounding your "husband", allowing scarlet drops of blood to bloom like roses on a white dress that has merged with the color of your skin.

Contrary to that, you have not become perfect, but you are still a passionate obsession for two men: one with pure thoughts and the other with a mad desire that has been tormenting him for a long time. It's hard to escape from the mansion, but thanks to heightened senses, it no longer seems impossible. However, it is even harder to ignore your true self, which screams and tears your head apart, as well as to separate two personalities from yourself.

You're confused. Not in luxurious rooms and corridors, but in yourself.

Something screams from the inside telling you to run away from here, and then it calms you that this place is your home, you know every corner here, every crack on the vase, these outfits in a separate dressing room tailored specifically for you, everything is familiar and at the same time alien. Your husband said that he saved you from a bastard named Leon, and after saying this name, the image of a blond man with beautiful blue eyes immediately stands in your eyes, but your heart overflows with rage, forcing you to tighten your grip on the dagger hilt.

You still have at least one sincere emotion, as you thought, however...

Leon is intently examining the analysis result from the remains of the cocoon that was sent to him. It really was what he was thinking, but Ada had already revealed a little secret to him.

"Maybe years will pass, and her real personality will somehow begin to manifest itself. I still don't know how Simmons fixed Carla's memory."

Leon puts the phone back in his pocket, looking at Ada with a slightly offended look, although she knows that he holds a grudge only against himself.

"But she's an exact copy of you," Leon reminded her, saying that when you pulled out of the cocoon, your face remained almost the same, yes, the features changed a little, but it was still you.

"But it will explain your new friend's obsession with your girlfriend," she chuckled, teasing him kindly, "If she looks so much like his dead wifey, then why would he change her appearance when they are almost identical to each other."

"And if it was an extreme measure, as he said... " Leon continues, scolding himself even more.

"You provoked him to infect her yourself. If he was hitting on her and she turned him down because of you, then it makes sense. Maybe if your girlfriend had been more mercantile and greedy for money, everything would have been without the virus."

However, was it Leon's fault or yours? Ada didn't blame anyone.

Leon may never guess at the ulterior motives, which may not have existed at all, but who else but she helped him again, however, leaving all the dirty work to Leon himself. After all, you were his concern, not hers. Although she followed you and your strange behavior a little, she finally sent him the coordinates of the place and your photo.

"I wish I could say that she remembered everything, but it seems that the virus did not affect her the way it was originally intended. Be careful, your beloved is a little aggressive."

Is it a consequence of the virus, or do you still remember who you are? Leon wants to believe in the latter when he collects equipment for the road, no longer hoping for anyone's help. But your new house looks more like one big clever trap and all the working staff have disappeared somewhere. In Leon's opinion, there should be more than one butler here, but there were no corpses either. Holding a gun at the ready, it was essentially a trespass on private property, but in the report he would later indicate that he was getting evidence. It won't be easy to find you, although you might make a little noise to attract his attention.

And you? You are sitting in a silent garden in the sweet scent of roses, standing out against the background of bright colors as a white spot, listening to the noise of the fountain, which still somehow calms you down after the last scuffle with your spouse. Alone, barefoot, you walk along a stone path, fingering strands of hair between your fingers, trying to compare in your head incomprehensible pictures from the past of two different people. You cannot love that person, for some reason you are afraid and angry at him despite his care. He took the knife away from you, letting you wander around the house like a ghost humming an annoying melody from his own past to himself, letting Emerick hope that manipulation and time will do their job. You hate Kennedy and that's been enough.

The support group is ready, but Leon still prefers to pick you up and then let the guys from the alliance work, having their own personal accounts in this matter. This could be the easiest capture of a terrorist in all his professional experience, but when his presence becomes known, the situation becomes complicated in the form of additional traps equipped with deadly devices and gas for which the anti-C vaccine is useless. In the end, Leon remains even without light and the flashlight does not save well. He looks into every room in an attempt to find at least some hint of your stay here after almost six months of absence.

And he finds in one of the inhabited rooms where only one bed occupies a quarter of the space. There is a beautiful comb with precious stones with traces of white hair on the dressing table, and Leon, picking up the jewelry, is sure that you are here somewhere, just like he is wandering among the dark corridors, although he really regrets that he did not find you in this room. However, another thought comes to his head when a thin lace pale pink negligee lying on the back of the sofa catches his eye… you only walked around in such things with him alone, and clutching the fabric in his hands, Leon can't help but think that Emerick slept with you in this bed.

The funny thing is that he's ready to forgive you everything now. He won't even remember that another man touched you afterwards because you're a victim and Leon, even if you don't remember him, wants you to at least return to a relatively normal life.

But the silence is suddenly cut short when a creak is heard behind, barely perceptible to the ear. A secret door? He does not turn around, freezing in one position, continuing to hold your negligee in his hands, feeling someone's sharp gaze on his back, but out of the corner of his eye catches a familiar silhouette, in the darkness of which two red eyes are burning.

You.

Leon tenses up. The sound of the blade breaks the silence, and your light tread turns into a sharp jerk as you rush at him with a sharp hairpin, hoping to plunge it deeper into his back. Your reaction may have improved, but Leon's reflexes are still faster, Kennedy dodges to the side, which causes you to fall directly onto your dressing table, knocking it over with you, forcing him to open his eyes in amazement.

"No, no, no, you couldn't turn into a monster," a thought runs through Leon's head.

The mirror breaks into many pieces and dig into your skin, causing the blood to contrast brightly on the light skin, which seems almost an unnatural sight. But through the pain, you hiss again trying to pounce on him, which causes Leon to fall on his back, rather out of surprise, managing to intercept your hand that aimed the clip directly at his eye. Pushing you away is not too big a problem, but the point is that you will still continue to throw at him and he does not want to use weapons at all.

"Bastard!" you growl, "Don't you like being hit back?"

"Stop, it's me!" he shouted, still holding your wrist so that you couldn't hurt him.

It was as if you hadn't heard. Leon pushed you away a little, hoping that being farther away would allow you to get to know him better, but what he didn't expect was for you to lash out at him over and over again, and honestly, if it were up to him, he would have removed the threat quickly, but it's hard to hurt someone you love. He'd had to kill Marvin and the President in the past, that in itself still weighs on his soul, but if he had to kill you… Deborah was easier. She was Helena's sister, not his, so his hand didn't shake when he pulled the trigger of the shotgun, but you're different. You're impossible to shoot at.

"Stop it!" he begs twisting your wrist so that you scream in pain and that scream tears his soul causing a lump in his throat. "It's not you! I beg yoy don't make me hurt you."

He doesn't even want to think about the estate being so deserted because of you. Leon still thinks it's just a virus, and somewhere inside you remember his, you just need to trigger it somehow. Ada said the virus affects you differently than it does Carla, but she didn't mention that you're aggressive to anyone who tries to touch you. Leon keeps his guard up, but despite your tight grip, you've apparently acquired some sort of ability that allowed you to break free and run down the hallway. He's not sure if you can throw people against the wall like baseballs, but your regeneration is enviable, because the only reminder of the wounds from the broken mirror on your body are drops of blood.

No abrasions.

So, after a little scuffle, as a result of which the antique dressing table is smashed to pieces along with all the bottles standing on it, Leon gets to his feet trying to figure out what the hell just happened. However, your trail has already disappeared. The house is huge, but despite this, Leon still puts the safety on the gun, afraid to instinctively shoot you if you attack him again. In hand-to-hand combat, you have little chance, but his reflexes can work faster than his brain. But abrasions and wounds a couple of centimeters deep, your body is able to regenerate itself. So cold steel will be the best thing, in case he meets other inhabitants of the estate besides you.

As already mentioned, the flashlight did not save the situation too much, of course, fanatics worked in some places, especially in the garden, but Leon did not find anything except small supplies, although his gut instinct encouraged him to pick up a gun to feel confident. But in the backyard, after several hours of searching among the marble statues and the damp fresh air that hit in the face, somewhere among the bushes in which some cautious movement is heard. It's like a wild cat sneaking up to its prey and Leon realizes - you're here!

Behind him again, so Leon straightens up. If it were daytime or even evening, he would have no problem finding you, but there is a starry night overhead. Rage is growing somewhere between your ribs, inside, but everything is different for him, because despite the internal contradiction, Leon is to some extent convinced that it is useless to fight with you.

There is nothing in his chest but regret and delayed words that he rarely said.

And yet at some point you look at each other continuously. You notice that he has only one knife in his hands, just like you, although Leon hides it back in the case, taking two small steps back trying to talk again. White hair is blown away by the wind and it annoys you that there is no elastic band or barrette to put it in a bun or tail. There doesn't seem to be anything in this damn house for your comfort!

The most painful thing is the way you look at him, but Leon still grins hiding his pain behind an inappropriate joke, standing in a fighting stance preparing to deflect blows.

"Well, I'm not against role-playing games, I really liked it when you were my bunny last time."

It's confusing or rather discouraging that it stops you for a few seconds and Leon uses this time to take the knife away from you, but you dodge so deftly and still more scared, almost dropping the knife to the ground.

"Come on, drop it, sweetheart" Leon asks, taking a step towards you, then you, on the contrary, retreat trying to find your advantage. "You know I'm not the one who's going to hurt you. I'll take you home."

"fucking dog," you growl in response, seeing how he swallows the insult, "Do you think I'll go with the one who made me like this?!"

Your voice is almost hoarse with hate. At the same time, Leon's face takes on a painful appearance, as if he was hit from the inside in the most painful place. That's what that son of a bitch told you! Okay, you can scold him with the most vile words, most of which he'll really be surprised that you even know, but... No buts!

"See?! I'm not afraid of you anymore! "

"You've never been afraid of me."

"You loved me, and I still love you," he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. And after all, somewhere in the whirlpool of memories, these frames sometimes pop up in your head. Not the Stotholm syndrome...

You weren't afraid of him, but of the other one... the man who is your husband calls you by a different name, although Leon calls you by a completely different one, and what you hear from the agent seems much more familiar, more correct and more familiar.

"Baby, I don't want to hurt you! If I wanted to, I would have shot long ago, right? "

"I'm not your baby!" you're snarling, and your red eyes are burning even brighter in the dark.

Bad word.

Leon wants to bite his tongue. He still doesn't know about all the properties of your mutation, but he hopes that now you won't have claws behind your back, God bless him who left him many years ago, but it seems you don't have anything like that. Although when you attack him in a fit of anger, Leon really hurts like hell, which makes him even clench his teeth trying to hold back a moan of pain.

Probably, with strong malice, the power also somehow increases... A lot of times, because it looks like you broke his rib.

"Yeah, you never liked that word, but at least you didn't rush at me with a knife before," Leon still jokes, realizing that talking clearly won't help here. He doesn't want to use force, but it seems that there is no choice. He agrees that you may never love him more, but he won't leave you here either.

It is not even necessary to move to radical measures. Your head is bursting with pain again, causing tears to flow from your eyes and everything inside screams with fear, making you want to cower into a ball. Therefore, Leon does not expect you to bend at the knees and cry and start running away from him, just as you ran, according to Ada, all over the estate from Emerick. The wind licks wet tracks from your cheeks, scratching your skin when you run along the garden path, running out into a small open space before freezing in a frenzy, pressing your palms to your chest, as they did in a previous life, before mutation, when you were worried.

Cocoons.

A nightmare come true. Your heart was pounding and forehead was covered with sticky sweat, as were your palms from which the knife slipped.

"It's scary..." an inner voice echoes. You hear Leon running up to you and stopping too, looking at something he hoped to forget someday. Tears involuntarily flow down your cheeks, as if the real you are making your way, pushing someone else's personality into the background. Fire, pain, fear, a dart... This hellish pain that turns people into monsters, you haven't seen the staff, the estates, but now you understand what happened. Just like a divine epiphany.

Maybe it's just one of the reactions. Leon remembered from his own experience that not all individuals hatched from cocoons, but this was a huge rarity, and here as many as twenty if not more, however, this was the trigger. You remembered something.

The wet paths glowed in the light of the moon on your cheeks. If the situation had been different, Leon would have immediately tried to console you, but it seems that this could have become another stupid idea, on the other hand, your stupor could have been turned into a plus and they could have simply picked you up, put you in a helicopter and then calmly dealt with this crap. A tempting thought, of course, but... Something like a phantom pain... a feeling as if the whole body was burning again and being reshaped under high temperatures. Even the same hellish headache that sends a painful pulsation into the eyes. You were again struck by a short flash of memories, how someone’s strong hands held and stroked you while your body was changing and it definitely wasn’t your husband... his hands are icy, and his voice is dry, devoid of emotion... Maybe..

"Аt least it's clear where everyone has gone," a voice sounded from behind. It was getting harder to breathe and the world was spinning wildly in front of your eyes, so an inner voice told you to find where to land or your head was at risk of injury. This is not the first attack, but the most severe in the last few months. Anyway, your vague consciousness leaves you for a while, turning off, allowing you to get lost in fragmentary memories, but Leon's hands manage to catch you in time, carefully laying you on the grass.

Leon checked your pulse, the main thing is that your heart was beating and your chest was heaving smoothly. Apparently, it was an ordinary fainting fit against the background of a spectacle that caused you psychological trauma. He picked up your knife with which you tried to stab him a couple of minutes ago, was ready to take you away from this place as he had hoped earlier. Those guys who were still alive from his group proved that Emerick was not in the estate, but Leon did not believe.

And it's good that I didn't believe it. Leon didn't believe in miracles at all.

Well, right now he was definitely aiming to just pick you up before you regained consciousness, because trying to explain where the truth is and where the lie is clearly not the best idea. Calling a helicopter for evacuation and picking you up in his arms, hugging you closer to him, Leon quickly jumped up but heard a painfully familiar click to his right, which froze him in place.

“In the past, hands were cut off for theft, but I’ll assume that a colossal imbecile like you doesn’t know that.”

Leon grunts as he turns around. A tactical vest will protect his back and chest, but his head remains open for a shot.

"Then you should have been walking without hands for a long time," Leon retorts, putting you on a bench while delaying your rescue. "Looks like you didn't run away after all."

"I don't like unwanted guests, because of you, my wife and I will have to move to another place. It's a pity, she liked this garden."

"She's. Not. Your. Wife." Leon almost hisses, reaching for his gun, but jumps aside after a burst of three shots that were meant for him. "Bastard"

"I was informed that they did not get rid of you and I assumed that you would look for me at least out of a sense of duty to the country you work for, but please note that there are bigger fish in the sea. You seem to have a weakness for women with Asian features, so maybe you'll focus on your own preferences and not mess with my wife, whom, as I told you earlier, you just don't deserve. You have no idea what a valuable diamond she is, a nugget! One in a million!

Oh, this conceit! His measured and calm tone is annoying, Leon tries to suppress his anger at the fact that the bastard dug up information on him somewhere, but his attachment to Ada is in the past, although they still care about each other in some sense, but now there is you. And you are you, not the woman that Emerick considers his wife. Leon hides behind one of the cocoons and the bullets hit the non-dense flesh, after which a kind of ugly embryo that was once an ordinary person falls to the ground, forcing him to quickly take a better position behind the statue of the goddess Aphrodite.

"You've been living a lie for so long that you've come to believe it yourself!"

"Oh, sure, you know better!" sarcastic laughter makes anger boil from the inside, but Leon looks out of hiding just to look at you and make sure you're still where he left you. "We past even though we always knew that we were made for each other, and only by chance and then you got in my way! "

"I would have felt sorry for you if in your grief you hadn't tried to make an innocent girl into a copy of your dead wife and killed a lot of people in the process."

Leon pulled the safety off the gun. Now the main thing is not to catch a stray bullet and hope that this bastard does not turn into a giant mutated creature, because apart from four spare clips and another pistol, he has nothing and the space is not spacious enough to maneuver, besides, you could also get hurt. He has already forgotten that you can regenerate wounds, but nevertheless, there is no time to find out what is your Achilles heel yet.

"All for the sake of love"

"This is not love"

Leon pulled the trigger but Emerick dodged. There was a smell of gunpowder and something sickeningly acrid in the air, as if something had died somewhere and even the scent of flowers could not completely drown out this smell. You opened your eyes, but your head still continued to spin and the sharp noise of the vystreds only mocked your brain, forcing you to involuntarily pull up your arms and clap your ears with your palms, just like... Like when you were protected from zombies in a museum"

It wanted to hide, curled in a dark corner and not get out until everything resolves itself, although life knows how to throw surprises. You hear someone else's conversation, you hear how the one who came for you says that your husband is a sick cretin who considers it normal to infect people to make a copy of a dead person out of them, whereas he explains his reasons only with grief. The puzzle is not fully assembled and there are still many white spots in your memory, but some fragments have connected to each other despite the fact that you still do not understand who you are.

This shootout will continue for some time, and unnoticed by these two, you will slowly slide off the bench and see Leon and Emerick engage in hand-to-hand combat after they ran out of bullets. It is noteworthy that after losing your knife in battle, which is now proudly stuck in a tree post, he used his own, which he did not plan to part with, but since they are busy with each other, you calmly grabbed the handle and pulled out the blade, looking at your own reflection of scarlet eyes in steel.

You don't love any of them and you don't want to choose someone's side at all, but you also don't want to be tied to someone who actually infected you, having put so much effort into driving you crazy. You need to make a choice, and whether it will be right, only time will decide. Two people are fighting for one woman, although it looks like you are not a princess in trouble at all, and as Ada said, despite the effect of the virus, the real personality will still take everything back under his control, but the old life will never be. All dreams burned down along with that body, so you're also quite sincerely stabbing the family knife into Emerick's back.

The princess does not need a knight to kill the dragon, because she herself is able to stab him when he does not expect it. This is the simplest from the point of view of Leon's combat missions, but at the same time the most difficult. A scarlet stain spreads on the snow-white suit, but that's all. Emerick had not infected himself with anything, although his fate could not be called terrible. It was all for love, and he died at the hands of that love. A stupid death, which is even insulting, but not for you. And walking with you to the helicopter in the living room above the fireplace, Leon really understands why such an obsession arose...

You really look like the smiling girl in the portrait like two drops of water.

He was told that rehabilitation would take a long time, possibly years. You never spoke to him, you didn't even say a word, but you didn't attack him either. You just withdrew into yourself, allowing the doctors to conduct tests and identify whether you are ready to mutate into other stages when you receive any damage, but I was glad that you did not. In their opinion, all your physical data remained at the same level before infection, although perhaps you just deceived everyone well just so that they would leave you behind and not make you an experimental rat, allowing them to drain blood from you, but this allowed Rebecca's team to make a new improved vaccine. A dubious achievement for Leon, given the fact that you persistently ignore him.

He brings clothes, books, even begged for a TV for you to let you kill time and still nothing. You didn't even turn it on until the moment when, with fighting and shouting and after a bunch of official papers, Leon was finally allowed to take you home. They said that you don't have any regeneration and your injuries heal like on any other person, you don't rush at people in attempts to devour them, sometimes you still talk for more than five minutes a day (but not with Leon) and you don't have any unusual abilities. Nothing that would be of interest to the bigwigs of the government. You'd think that you'd literally become a black sheep, people would just start mistaking you for an albino, which is basically true now.

It's good when you can control some of your body's processes. This eliminates a lot of problems. At home, you curiously look at all these little things from your past life, thinking about what it was like to share this apartment with Leon, you look at the bed in which you must have slept with him, and it seems incredibly comfortable, although right now sleeping with Leon causes rejection. He does not climb into your personal space, no longer clings like a puppy, although he whines in the corner from the lost affection of a loved one. He gave you the bed, but he sleeps on the couch, brings breakfast and after a couple of months you get in touch.

It took Jill Valentine several years before she returned to the barn. Chris is so comforting, telling him that everything is still fine, but if necessary, he will let you go. One way or another, of course, he will check if everything is okay with you, but he will let you go if you still do not accept him back into your heart. Leon believes that therapy will help and you will remember your real self by separating the grain from the chaff. You don't have to love him again, although he will be happy if you ask him to stay by your side on a stormy night, hugging you after a nightmare. Then he will wrap you warmly in a blanket and press your face to his chest, gently stroking your back and comforting you with words.

Therapy will help and one day everything will be fine again. Kissing the top of your head, Leon wants to believe it as much as you do. At least you're willing to try.

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] Sakuya Sakuma | [SR] A Creation Come to Life | Artistic Appreciation in a Certain Village

Izumi: Thanks for coming shopping with me, Sakuya-kun.

Sakuya: It’s nothing! I’m glad I could help.

Izumi: That reminds me, you’re supposed to take PR photos that pay homage to the paintings for an exhibition at an art museum, right?

Izumi: Have you decided which painting you want to go with, Sakuya-kun?

Sakuya: They gave me a list of the paintings in the museum and I’ve looked at a lot of them, but I’m still lost.

Sakuya: As I went through the list, I was like “That one’s nice” and “This one’s nice too”...

Izumi: There are just so many works it’s hard to decide, isn’t it?

Izumi: I hope you find a painting that you like, Sakuya-kun.

Sakuya: Yeah! I’ll try to look for one.

???: Ohh! May I have that one!?

Sakuya: …Hm? That voice…

Izumi: Citron-kun?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: I knew it, it’s Citron-kun.

Sakuya: It looks like he’s playing a game with some kids.

Citron: Sakuya! Director! Come over here!

Sakuya: Hello.

Children: Hello!

Citron: Were you two out shopping?

Sakuya: Yeah! What game are you playing with everyone, Citron-san?

Citron: It is a game where you build a village that we have been playing for a while now!

Izumi: Ah, that was a fireworks display just now!

Citron: Yes~. We will have another fireworks display next time because I would like you two to see it!

Citron: I am still playing back and forth between everyone’s villages.

Child A: He was just showing us some of the paintings from the art museum in the Village of Citron!

Child B: Citron’s collection is amazing!

Citron: It is thanks to everyone that I have been able to gather all of these! Everyone was giving the things that I had not collected yet to me!

Sakuya: Waah, it’s just an art museum within a game, but those are really authentic paintings! 

Izumi: They really are, it’s incredible.

Child A: Anyway, this is probably the only one I can give you right now, Citron~.

Child B: Me too.

Citron: Thank you! That is perfect!

Sakuya: …

Sakuya: Um, Citron-san. Can you show me that art museum when we get back home?

Citron: Of course!

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Sakuya: There really are so many different kinds of paintings!

Citron: I am glad to see you looking at them with such enthusiasm~. Is there any reason for that?

Sakuya: Actually, I need it for an upcoming art museum exhibition I’m participating in.

Sakuya: I’m supposed to take PR photos that pay homage to a painting, but I haven’t decided on one yet…

Citron: So that is why!

Citron: Then you may look at these paintings here whenever you like, for as long as you like!

Sakuya: Really!?

Citron: It is for your sake too, Sakuya!

Citron: In exchange, there is one painting I have not found yet.

Citron: Sometimes there is a merchant that shows up to sell paintings, so while you are looking at the paintings, if the merchant is there, please look at the paintings they are selling.

Citron: Paintings that I do not have in the art museum will be marked with a star, so if you see one, I would like you to buy it for me!

Sakuya: Got it! We’ll keep an eye out for it.

Sakuya: Oh, right. Can Director look at them too? She seemed like she was interested in the art museum too, so…

Citron: Of course! I would be very happy if you and Director looked at it together~.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Door opens*

Sakuya: Ah, Director!

Izumi: What’s up, Sakuya-kun?

Sakuya: I’m borrowing that game from earlier from Citron-san, so do you wanna look at the art museum with me?

Izumi: Really? I was a little bit interested in that too, so I’d love for you to show me.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: Even though we’re just looking at it like this, it really feels like we’re actually going around an art museum.

Sakuya: It really does. It almost makes you forget that it’s a game world.

Izumi: …There, now we’ve finally seen the whole thing.

Sakuya: It was really impressive!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Choose!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Option 1: Thanks for looking at it with me.

Izumi: Thanks for looking at it with me.

Sakuya: I had a really great time going around the art museum with you, Director.

Izumi: Haha, it’s almost like we went to an actual art museum.

Sakuya: I’d love to go around some other places too.

Izumi: Why don’t we ask Citron-kun to give us a tour next time

Sakuya: Yeah!

Option 2: It really makes you understand why someone would want to collect them, doesn’t it?

Izumi: It really makes you understand why someone would want to collect them, doesn’t it?

Sakuya: That’s what I was thinking. I really get why someone would wanna collect all the paintings and put them in the art museum.

Izumi: Even though it’s only a game world… Though I guess it probably makes you feel that way because it’s a game world.

Sakuya: I bet it’d feel really nice to have all the paintings in one place.

Sakuya: That reminds me, earlier, Citron-san asked me to check if the merchant that sells paintings stops by, so I’ll do that now.

Izumi: Ohh, so merchants just come in at random, then. That seems like the kind of thing that’d make you want to collect even more.

Sakuya: Ah, the merchant’s here! Let me talk to them.

Izumi: Why is this painting marked with a star?

Sakuya: That’s… I think that’s the last painting that Citron-san said he hasn’t found yet!

Izumi: Huh!? Really!?

Izumi: (There goes Sakuya-kun’s crazy pulling ability again…)

Sakuya: Now I just need to buy the painting and…

Sakuya: …I think this is the painting that I’ll go with.

Izumi: You mean the one for the PR photos?

Sakuya: Yeah. I found the last one Citron-san needed, so I guess I kinda feel a connection to it… …Is that too simple of a reason to pick it?

Izumi: Not at all.

Izumi: I think it’s very like you to choose to feel a connection to something even for seemingly trivial reasons.

Sakuya: Director… Thank you so much!

[crplpunkklavier]

there is something to be said about how i really barely feel disabled anymore once i'm in a truly accessible space. because the space is no longer disabling me.

so, we went to see the @montereybayaquarium for our honeymoon. we didn't make it through the whole aquarium on our first day, so we went twice. on day 1, i came to the ticket desk with my cane and said i'd like to have a wheelchair. on day 2, i didn't bring my cane, and once again requested a wheelchair. there was absolutely no difference in the employees' reactions: i didn't have to ~look disabled~ to be immediately met with a nod, and a wheelchair that 1) was my size and 2) i was able to move myself.

this is going to seem like a list of things that clear a very low bar, and i suppose it is. but i have been to bookfairs that attempted to take my cane from me because they didn't believe me i needed it, as if cane users carry cane prescriptions around with them (NOT A THING.), and who only let up when my friends and i explained to them (not reminded. explained) that what they were doing was illegal. the cologne zoo only has visitor wheelchairs that can be pushed by a companion, not wheeled by the user themselves. the art museum needs me to bring my own. so, you see where i'm coming from.

the aquarium was fully accessible. (at least for me as an ambulatory wheelchair user - i of course can't speak for people with different disabilities.) there was no exhibit i was cut off from by stairs, because all of them either had reasonable ramps (not too steep), or elevators that were quick and roomy enough not to make me feel like i was missing out. every exhibit was at a height/level that someone sitting down could still see. some of the active touch exhibits (like getting to pet certain animals or feel kelp) were trickier, but staff always came forth unprompted to ask me (not forcibly, just ask) if i could reach everything okay, and if i couldn't, they leaned down and over to help me get where i wanted. there was a walk-through bird enclosure where a staff person followed us, and explained that the doors need to open and close somewhat quickly, so she'll just stay around us while we're there, and as soon as i'm ready to exit through the door i was to let her know. she was fully in the background while we were in there, and at no point did i feel like i was under any pressure to get out soon, or like i was inconveniencing her.

literally the only difficult thing about going through the aquarium with a wheelchair was that at the very end of the day we weren't entirely sure where to give it back. the only difficult thing about going through the monterey bay aquarium with a wheelchair was getting rid of the wheelchair!

am i just advertising the monterey bay aquarium in this post? maybe. yeah. they're good in general and i'll give them as many free ads as i want. they were just also a really good example for accessibility that made me feel like a completely normal aquarium visitor. like i wasn't disabled, because the place enabled me to visit it.

and it's on my mind now that i'm back home in germany, because yesterday i had to take a train from a station that had me crawl up 4 flights of stairs with a cane and a suitcase around crowds of people that didn't help. and it wasn't that the elevator was broken or anything. it's that plenty of train stations even in large cities like cologne simply are not accessible for anyone who can't climb stairs.

and the aquarium was a good example for how it's not just things like ramps and available wheelchairs that are necessary, but how their staff also clearly knew what they were doing. there is an etiquette to learn for people who had never worked with disability before (you will at some point!), and they'd learned it. my needs never stumped them. and i got to spend my honeymoon feeling like an easy customer and only ever weeping because i got to see the ocean.

[nekoannie-chan]

Museum

Title: Museum.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 375 words.

Square: 2 “Locked in an abandoned museum.”

Rating: Teen.

Summary: A mission in a particular museum.

Major Tags: Abandoned and enchanted museum.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @seasonaldelightsbingo Language of flowers bingo. 63.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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You had met Steve during a recent mission and immediately started talking and spending a lot of time together. So, when you went on a mission to an abandoned museum in the nearby town, Steve offered to accompany you without hesitation.

At dusk, the two of you slipped through a broken window in the back wing of the museum. The light from Steve's torch illuminated the dusty corridors. You had decided to go at that hour as you knew no one would be watching, but for some strange reason, in the daytime, people were watching.

“This place used to be amazing," you said, your voice echoing in the void.

“I can imagine," Steve replied. “It's a shame they left it like this."

You walked together for a few minutes until, as you rounded a corner, you heard a loud creak followed by a crash. The entrance through which you had entered was blocked by debris.

“It looks like we're trapped," Steve said, trying to remain calm, though he now feared it was an ambush. "Let's find another way out."

You spent hours looking for a way out, but the building seemed like an endless maze. Finally, you found a large room with a glass roof, where the moonlight came in faintly, and you told him about the rumors about the place and about the strange things that were said to happen.

“Let's rest here for a while," suggested Steve. You both sat on the floor, staring at the faded pictures that adorned the walls.

“Steve, how do you manage to stay calm in situations like this? “you asked, breaking the silence.

“I guess I've been through worse," he replied with a tired smile.

There was a moment of silence before Steve spoke again. "You know, there's something about this place that reminds me of the old days. Before the war, I used to visit museums. It was my escape."

“Your escape?" you asked, surprised.

“Yes," he said, looking at a painting. "The art and the history made me feel part of something bigger. It gave me hope."

“I'm glad you're here with me, Steve."

“And so am I, Y/N."

A few minutes later, you lay there asleep, while strange things kept happening in the place.

[thepreposterousprequel]

Chapter the First

M: July 8, 1934. This interview is being recorded on reel-to-reel audio tape and will be lightly edited for grammar. Nothing will leave the premises of Prufrock Preparatory School. B: Understood. M: To begin, by way of identification, please state your favorite word. B: Cosmopolitan. M: Noted. First question: what would you change about Prufrock Prep if you were in charge? B: I'd invest more in the arts. We have so much talent here; now we need to let it amalgamate and acuminate and organically spring up into some beautiful, bizarre creation. With funding. Now, may I ask you a question? M: That's an unusual request during an interview. I'm not saying no. B: Aces! First of all, will this interview be published? M: Well, this interview is only our warmup, so while your story may be useful within our organization, it won't be published, no. The chapters after this one will be in the school newspaper. So, ask whatever you'd like, B. B: Alright, to be clear, are you calling me “B,” as in the first letter of my name, or “Bea” as in the nickname for “Beatrice?” M: It’s… whatever you want it to be, B. But I had the former in mind. We’re part of an organization that speaks in initials. B: I see. Roger. I mean, R. M: Right… And the final question. If you had to be shipwrecked— B: I thought you were going to ask me about— M: Yes, of course! But I meant the final question before the real reason I'm interviewing you. If you had to be shipwrecked on a remote island, who in our organization do you wish you could have by your side? B: I'd take D. Or maybe J. But I think I'd go with D. M: I see. Now, B, please tell me everything you know about Lemony Snicket. B: You mean L? M: Sure. B: L and I have been through many courses in rhetoric together, as you of all people well know, M. That was before I switched departments, of course. It all started when I went searching for bats. I’m a baticeer, you see…

In the Master Class for Advanced Rhetoric at Prufrock Preparatory School, Professor Caliban often reminds us of the importance of beginning a story well. Only an amateur writer who hates either rhetoric or themselves would write a bad beginning, after all. And that's why this story of our organization begins in darkness, intrigue, argument, betrayal, omens of death, and fire. I imagine it will end that way, too.

It was an odd sort of night at Prufrock Preparatory School. Most students were away. Waves crashed against the island’s shore feistily, as if they were eager to grind the pointed rocks into sand. In that sand, a cast of horseshoe crabs, each one with their ten eyes, glowered at me as I intruded into their territory. Like the equine footwear after which they are named, horseshoe crabs often look ancient, like they ought to be dusted off and placed in a museum. And like horseshoes, the crabs signify good fortune: the fortune of having survived whole for hundreds of millions of years. Horseshoe crabs have lived to see more than any living being would ever wish to, from volcanic catastrophes to asteroid impacts. Who knows what they see in me.

I felt a whoosh of air right over my head—so close I could touch it, if the whoosh had stayed. As I searched the sky above me, I realized it was filled with bats, squeaking and swooping. And don’t let me begin describing the eerie cries of lonely marine creatures like the Dolorous Dolphins. They punctuated the air each night like melodious but grieving sirens. And by "sirens" I'm referring to fire engine sirens, which have nothing to do with the sinister creatures of mythology. Or so I thought.

I was out alone tonight in the darkness. I was on a trail: the trail of a juicy story. It was also the trail of Lemony Snicket's footprints. The trail of Lemony Snicket's footprints leading me on until I was at an ancient stone amphitheater by the beach. I thought of all the tedious performances I had been forced to attend as "evening entertainment" here. But something looked different about the stage tonight. As I scanned past the innumerable rows of cramped and highly uncomfortable seats, I saw the small horizontal door where actors sometimes came out to surprise us—as if they thought we had somehow forgotten since the night before that it was there. Tonight, the trapdoor lay open, like certain wounds. From its pit, the dark haze and pungent smell I recognized as smoke wafted into the night sky. Further, as I listened past the noise of waves and wildlife, I thought I could hear an eerie sort of chanting coming from deep within. Now I had a choice: to stay in the dark or to follow the flame deep into the abyss.

It was the smoke that guided me. I had never been down this trapdoor before. As it turned out, there was much, much more down here than I expected. Chamber upon chamber, passage upon passage, and ladder upon ladder brought me farther down into this newly discovered serpentine system of caverns.

Finally, I was close enough to understand the noise. The words of a chant echoed out through the mouth of the final cavern that lay in front of me. The mouth of the cave felt like the mouth of a creature—a creature who was speaking to me, gloomily repeating two rhetorical questions:  

“If not us, then who? If not now, then when?”

“Moxie Mallahan!” cried Beatrice, waving a small torch at me. She was the first to notice me as I slowly angled my head of curly hair into her line of vision. “I knew I’d see you down here eventually.”

"Beatrice!" I cried, running into the cavern. "And Lemony!" We ran to each other and hugged. It wasn't something we did ordinarily, but it felt right in this unordinary moment. And there was another girl in the cavern whom I'd never met but recognized immediately.

“Kit! We’ve never met,” I began hastily, “but I am an enormous fan. I read the newspaper article about the heist, and how you managed to flood the—”

“Who let you in?" Kit asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Sometimes, it's better not to meet the people you look up to. "I think I should be the one asking questions," I said defensively. "You're out of your tents after the optional but extremely suggested curfew, chanting and waving torches at the bottom of a labyrinth. And you know how much Ish hates fire."

Kit looked unphased. "Our fire is well contained in an area where nothing's flammable."

"Except each other," pointed out Beatrice solemnly.

"Right," Kit continued. "And we're gathered as a... clandestine coterie. There's nothing suspicious about that."

"It sounds too French to be menacing," pointed out a fourth student in the shadows who appeared to be yet another Snicket.

"You mean a secret organization?" I asked, providing a synonym and propping up my typewriter. "That sounds like it could be very sinister indeed. What would the readers of the school paper have to say about that?"

“They will say nothing because they will read nothing," said Kit firmly. "The most important rule of any secret organization is to not say anything about it to anyone on the outside. You know that because the word ‘secret’ is in the title.”

“And the most important rule of any rhetorical question,” I retorted, “is to not reply to it. You know that because the word ‘rhetorical’ is in the title.”

“What does a question without an immediate answer have to do with rhetoric?” asked Kit genuinely.

“That's the wrong question,” Lemony answered.

“You led her down here on purpose, didn’t you Lemony?” Kit asked, enraged now. “I know every detail of your specialized training, and it never would have allowed for such a simple breech in safety.” I’ll admit that I’d been intrigued all summer where Lemony could have been going so often this late at night. But it was an unfair accusation.

“That’s an unfair accusation,” I began.

"Maybe we could discuss this privately," Lemony suggested to Kit. "And maybe we could also install a vertical flame diversion. It's true: I was aware Moxie might have the moxie to follow me, but tonight was all about introducing her to the other volunteers at the school. It wasn't about our higher purpose."

“She absolutely cannot know our higher purpose," Kit said tensely. "We cannot risk the greater good simply because you want to introduce me to one of your friends, little brother.”

“And what,” I interrupted, typewriter at the ready, “might that greater good be?”

“That’s my point exactly, Moxie,” said Kit. “You cannot volunteer to put yourself in danger without knowing the information first, and you cannot learn that dangerous information without volunteering first. It’s a paradox.”

“Moxie and Cleo know plenty about danger already,” Lemony told his sister. “You can read all about it in my reports from Stain’d-by-the-Sea.”

“Effectively, we’re volunteers already," I pointed out.

“ 'We?' ” Kit looked at Lemony in shock and dismay. “Exactly how many volunteers are you expecting us to take in?”

“Only her and Cleo Knight,” Lemony said in a hurry.

“And Ellington,” I added.

“Yes, and Ellington,” Lemony agreed. “But she’s still in training. I wouldn’t expect any of you to trust her.”

“Exactly,” agreed Kit. “We don't even have our own trio of trainees here tonight. And for that same reason, I also wouldn’t expect anyone here to trust another such trio,” she continued, talking about me as if I wasn’t standing in front of her.

“If not us, then who?” I quoted back at the five volunteers who had recently been chanting those words. “And if not now, then when?”

“When the wicked actors of the world cease to act,” replied Kit in monotone. "That's how the chant finishes."

“Okay, I feel we’ve discussed this enough now,” said Beatrice. “And we’ll never be in agreement. So, in place of a consensus, why don’t we do how Ish prefers: why don’t we hold a vote? It’s the compassionate thing to do, Kit.”

Kit sighed. “It’s the democratic thing to do, as well. And democracy is the only way out of a schism.”

“Precisely. All in favor?” asked Beatrice. I started raising my hand. “No, no!” said Kit, batting it down. “Official volunteers only.” “That’s an oxymoron, practically,” mumbled Lemony. The only hands up were his and Beatrice’s.

“All opposed?” said Kit, raising her hand. A second hand raised itself much more slowly, as if it hadn’t slept well that night. It belonged to a second brother of Kit’s I hadn’t met. “I’m sorry, Moxie,” said Jacques sympathetically. “But our organization has rules and protocols for a reason, and that reason is to protect genuine and noble people like yourself. There are plenty of training programs in the city. I’d be happy to put in a good word for you there.”

“The city? You mean Marseilles?” I asked.

“It’s not even a day's train ride west of Stain’d-by-the-Sea,” said Jacques with a slight smile.

“Aaaand with that” said Kit, lengthening the “A” at the start of her sentence to draw in our attention. “It’s a tie. Aaaand a tie means the motion doesn’t pass. I apologize, Moxie, but we are not accepting new volunteers at this time.”

“Wait a shake,” said Beatrice, using an expression that Lemony is fond of. “One of us didn’t vote.” We turned all ten of our eyes at once, as if we were one large horseshoe crab gazing at the final taciturn volunteer in the corner.

Duncan Quagmire IV flashed us a cheeky smile. By this, I don’t mean that Duncan was impudent, exactly. And I don’t mean his cheeks were particularly bright or flashy. What I mean is that he had pleasant facial features, and that they showed well when he smiled.

“I don’t know you, Moxie,” he began. “But I recognize you from tapdancing. You also defined the phrase 'clandestine coterie' correctly. That doesn’t mean much, but it has to mean something."

"Defining words is a literary device Professor Caliban encourages us to use as we write," I explained. "You can thank her for my vocabulary and shameless in-text definitions. Maybe you could join Lemony and me in one of her master classes one of these weeks."

Duncan smiled kindly, again. "I have the feeling you’ll be a fantastic volunteer. I might even call it an aura, and—"

“Is your vote ‘yea’ or ‘nay’?” interrupted Kit.

Duncan paused, only for a moment. “Yay.” I don’t place an exclamation point after the word “yay,” because when Duncan said the word ‘yay,” he was not exclaiming with joy. Instead, he was using a fancy word for “yes.” He meant that he agreed I should be allowed to join this clandestine coterie, which in turn meant that soon, I would be an official volunteer.

Kit sighed. "Welcome to the training program, Moxie. I'm sure Lemony will tell you everything you need to know. And more. Waaaay too much, in fact."

Lemony smiled mysteriously. He was good at that. I had seen that smile waaaay too often in Stain'd-by-the-Sea.

"I just have one simple request," Kit continued. "Never use our organization’s real name. Please just call it something mundane.”

“A word which here means, ‘not an organization anyone would voluntarily join,' " clarified Lemony.

“Like the Geography Club?” asked Duncan. “I would want to join that, but I can’t imagine anyone else would.”

“What about the Drama Club?” suggested Beatrice. “I know everyone in our department. Not many are interested in theatrics. The ones who are, like Olaf, are unlikely to get involved in extracurriculars.

“I like it,” said Jacques, pensively. “We could be Vaudeville’s Finest. And given our age range, Vaudeville’s Finest Denarians would suit us well.”

In that moment, Vaudeville's Finest Denarians came to life: an official volunteer organization. Cleo, Ellington, and I began our training alongside the other three fresh volunteers the very next morning. Jacques graduated not long afterward and started a mission as a taxi driver in the city. That left Duncan, Beatrice, and the other two Snickets to keep the mysterious torch aflame.

There was a school. There was an island. There was a clandestine coterie. And there was a labyrinth. In that labyrinth, I now realized, the eye of a snake carved into the ancient stone was staring right back at me.

“Moxie,” said Lemony, “This is VFD.”

Immediately, he put out the torch, closing our meeting in darkness.

[cladinivcry]

YOU GET ONE WISH.

"You want me to grant you a wish? An angel to a djinn?" It was rare for Klaus to ask Indigo for anything, but even rarer for him to seek them out to GRANT a wish of all else! You can only imagine why Indigo was as surprised as they looked. What was even more surprising? The man in Klaus' arms reminds them of the one famous painting Indigo has seen at the museum during their date with Marcille. It's ironic because, in that painting, the two in the art were also angels.

"Yes, please. I--I understand if you don't want to. I just thought...." Klaus looks so exhausted. The whole world weighs down on his shoulders. He probably feels so drained. "I need help. I'm sorry. I need...I need help." Klaus didn't know what to do or who else to turn to. Seeing the kid like this, damn...Indigo can't turn him away and it isn't like they wanted to either.

"I don't have to tell you the implications of what happens if you're not clear in what you want, right?"

Klaus nods. He's desperate and Indigo can tell. Indigo sighs and flips their braided hair over their shoulder, "Alright then. Follow me." This was obviously a very personal and private wish that Klaus wanted to grant. Indigo will give them the privacy and space to speak them without the concern of eavesdroppers!

"I couldn't kill him like they wanted. Even after everything he did...ALL the horrific pain he's caused...I couldn't---," Klaus begins when they are away from any prying eyes. His voice trembles and cracks. He's nearing tears. The seraph drops to his knees, holding Aurelius SO TIGHT in his arms, "I couldn't do it. So many people were hurt because of him, Indigo. My father...Dar'khol, Fiyero...Eiden. So many have been subjected to his judgment, his wrath, his fury and I couldn't even do one thing for them. Please. " The way he pleads for Aurelius' life. Indigo knows what went down at the sky-strewn isle. Knew what went down in the location before. Such was the way of being what Indigo was, really.

Indigo places their hand on Klaus' shoulder and kneels down in front of him, "I'm sure there are a couple who'd be pissed that he's alive, but....we already know that he'd just be brought back anyway. Sure, maybe it'd give them some closure to see what happened to them was happening to him, but I hope--- I think they'd also understand why you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Maybe not now or tomorrow....but as the time goes by, they'll understand. I don't think anyone could come to make that kind of decision. NOT when it comes to someone they love and cherish dearly." If Indigo had to do something like that to Marcille for whatever reason...Indigo would rather lose everything. They wouldn't be able to do it.

"So, uh," Reaching out, they lift Klaus' chin up, and with their other hand, a finger wipes away his tear, "how about you tell me your wish?" They had an idea, but they had to hear it from Klaus.

Klaus's teared eyes make it hard for him to ACTUALLY see Indigo. It's like looking at her from underwater. Indigo wipes a tear and only new ones are replaced. As he holds Aurelius' body close to him, he runs his fingers through golden locks.

"I need a place to keep him safe. I--I want him SAFE w-where he can rest for as long as needed. Unharmed. Away from people's eyes. I just WANT him safely stored away." Indog waits for Klaus when the angel places his forehead against Aurelius'.

"...."

"He won't wake up. Not until he's ready. So...everything else is already taken care of. I took care of it. I just need him safe," he repeats, "just...just a safe place for him where he can rest okay."

Klaus was loosening at the seams. He always carried such lost vibes with him, but it seemed he really didn't know where else to go. Man, Indigo can only hope that he'll find his path back.

"If this me came to visit the past me and said an angel of all beings was going to find me and ask for my power, I wouldn't have believed them."

And just like that, Indigo's granted Klaus' wish. "And done." They catch the confused teary look in Klaus' eyes when he looks up at them. Aurelius is still in his arms. "That's it?" He asks, sniffing.

"Mm. Yeah, go home, kid. Get some rest. You need that sleep. When you wake up tomorrow...Everything will be as you asked. I promise." Klaus believes them. Doesn't doubt them for even a second. He gets back to standing and shifts Aurelius so he's not slipping.

"Thank you," he says and before he can fly off, Indigo's wiping away the angel's tears once more. "Get some rest, kid. Don't stay up waiting for something to happen. Go to sleep." The Seraph nods and takes off.

Indigo doesn't move until Klaus is out of sight. Probably would have stayed there longer if Marcille hadn't called them in for dinner.

"Coming!"

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] || Also on AO3 and my personal website

Chapter 9: And what you spurn, I'll wear

The weather for the week was bitterly cold, but mostly clear. Once Gerry had a day to recover, they ventured out into the streets of Chicago to see the sights. Gerry had never done the tourist thing—even when he’d gone to Italy to get out of the country for a bit after getting out of prison, he’d been trying to avoid people and therefore hadn’t done much more than hide in out of the way cafés and bookstores, and most of the time when he traveled it was with a purpose. Tim, the veteran of dozens of family vacations and solo trips, was determined to give him the full experience, even if it did have the specter of the upcoming appointment looming over it. He didn’t exactly plan it down to the minute, but he had a few destinations in mind, and he was determined they would hit as many as they could.

Gerry went along willingly. His breakdown in the shower seemed to have done him some good—which was more or less what Tim had expected, God knew he needed to let himself have emotions sometimes—and he seemed calmer, lighter even, as they walked or taxied around the city to various can’t-miss destinations. They visited the Art Institute of Chicago, where Gerry gave Tim the history of almost every single painting and waxed surprisingly poetic about the artistic techniques and Tim surprised him by quietly singing a song from a musical that was loosely inspired by one of them, and the Field Museum, where they had a lighthearted debate over whether SUE could have been an avatar of one of the Fears in life. They strolled the Riverwalk, visited a jazz club that was apparently world-famous, and dined at restaurants Tim had solicited recommendations to from the staff, stressing as he did so that they wanted to try where the locals ate, not where the tourists went. They even managed—somehow—to get tickets to a game played between the local team and a team called the Buccaneers, and while neither of them understood the rules to American football, they agreed it had been worth the visit, if only for the experience. An usher, overhearing their conversation, had suggested they come back in the spring to see a baseball game, and they’d politely agreed to try, even though both of them doubted they would make it.

The stress had returned the morning of Gerry’s follow-up appointment, and Tim had simply held his hand on the taxi ride to the hospital, but in the end there was nothing to worry about. Dr. Greene removed the stitches and declared that Gerry was healing remarkably well. He asked a few questions about Gerry’s pain level, decided he could finish up the current round of medications and not need to renew them, and released him with a reminder to follow up with “your regular doctor” when he got back to London. Another admonition from Debbie—who had, as she promised, popped in to say hello—about staying away from the cigarettes, and they were free to go.

“So I guess we’re heading to—what’s it called—O’Hare, then?” Gerry asked as they stepped out of the front doors into the biting cold. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing a puff of steam. “Heigh-ho and off for home?”

Tim was reaching for his phone when a nearby church tower began chiming, tolling the hour. He counted the strokes, then shook his head. “Well, we missed checkout for today, anyway, so I guess we’re leaving tomorrow. And no, we’re heading to Union Station.”

“Why? You’re still on about me not flying for a bit?”

“For another five weeks, yeah. So not until after Christmas at the earliest. And anyway…” Tim hesitated. They hadn’t actually discussed what came next. “Come on. I was saving this one for today because I thought we’d need a bit more time. We can talk there.”

Gerry sighed tolerantly, but followed along without argument. Tim knew that the only reason he was getting away with this was that Gerry trusted him absolutely—that he knew Tim would explain everything, and that if he wasn’t saying it now, it was for a very good reason. And it was—primarily that standing in front of the hospital wasn’t the place to talk about things like this, but also that he wanted to get at least a start on a good day before they discussed it.

Their destination was the Navy Pier, which, according to the concierge at the hotel, was just one of those places you had to visit when you went to Chicago. Tim had picked up a brochure from the lobby, but he hadn’t done much more than skim it, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect other than water of some kind. It turned out to not be that different from Brighton Pier, save that Tim couldn’t see an arcade of any kind. Still, there were a number of rides, including a giant wheel looming over the space, plus shops and restaurants, the tantalizing odors mingling pleasantly in the air. Even as cold as it was, and even though it was the middle of the day on a Monday, the place was still bustling. Beyond the crowd they could just make out the masts of a tall ship, probably some kind of reenactment or museum, as well as a more modern boat steaming back to dock. Past that was a vast, sparkling world of water.

“Huh,” Gerry said, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. “I can’t smell the sea from here.” He paused, then added, “Actually, I thought Illinois was landlocked.”

“That’s not the sea. It’s Lake Michigan,” Tim told him. “It’s one of the Great Lakes, and the only one that’s fully in the United States instead of being shared with Canada. Second-largest by volume, third-largest by surface area. Anyway, it’s a freshwater lake, so you wouldn’t smell any salt.”

“Seriously, how do you know that?”

“It’s in all those tourist guides in the hotel lobby. I had to do something to keep myself sane when they kicked me out of your hospital room, and I didn’t bring any books with me.” Tim looped his arm through Gerry’s. “Where do you want to start? We’ve got all day.”

Gerry gazed up thoughtfully at the wheel. “Think that’s too high for my cracked brain to handle?”

Tim grinned. Perfect. “Please. Our hotel room is probably further up than that. C’mon.”

They took their time getting to the wheel, which they really didn’t have much of a choice about; a large horde of children, evidently a school group of some kind, got in their way and they had to work to avoid them—and avoid getting trampled by them. At last, however, they made it to the ticket booth, joined the queue, waited patiently, and eventually climbed into a bucket. The attendant lowered the bar onto their lap, and they were off.

To his credit, Gerry waited until they had risen slightly and the car had stopped briefly, presumably to let the next set of riders on, before he turned to Tim. “So. What’s the plan? I assume you have one. We can’t exactly get to London without flying.”

“We’re not going to London.” Tim patted his coat and hoped Gerry could hear the muffled thunk as he hit the folio Gertrude had given him. He was afraid to leave it in the hotel room. Maybe Gertrude’s paranoia was rubbing off on him a bit. “Not for a while yet, anyway. Gertrude told me before she left that she wants us to keep looking for those answers you two were after. We’re going to Pittsburgh. She left me her notes on what she was planning to do when she got there, and she’s gone back to London herself. We’re going to pick up where she—where you—left off, and…go from there.”

Gerry blinked, then clutched at the bar as the car got moving again. “She trusts us that much?”

“Yeah. She does. Not just to continue the work, but to figure out where to go after, which tells me she doesn’t think we’ll be coming back to London any time soon. I can’t imagine this will take that much longer, you guys had already been gone five months when she called me out here, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I guess so.” Gerry slid his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Just…it’s been two weeks. I’m worried that whatever we’re supposed to be finding…what if the trail’s gone cold? What if we’ve lost the chance?”

Tim shrugged and leaned into Gerry’s side. “Gertrude’s not stupid. She had to have known we’d be stuck here a bit. Even said I would ‘officially be on leave’ until we set off for Pittsburgh. If it was really time-sensitive, I don’t think she’d have told us it could wait. She’d have kept going, waited until I called to say we were ready to leave Chicago, and told us where to either meet her or pick up the trail, and then gone back to London.”

“Good point, as always,” Gerry admitted. “Okay. If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I guess it’s on to Pittsburgh tomorrow night.”

The whole trip on the wheel, including a spectacular view of the city and lake when they stopped for a few moments at the apex, lasted about seven minutes, and the sparkle in Gerry’s eyes told Tim he’d enjoyed himself. They walked the Pier hand in hand, trying a few more of the rides that appealed to them and browsing the shops. The river cruises had apparently stopped for the winter, but they got drinks, sat on the end of the pier, and watched the sunset together. Once the lights came on around them, they made their way off the pier in search of dinner, then went back to the hotel. Gerry, who was after all still recovering, fell asleep almost immediately with one arm flung across Tim, but Tim stayed up a bit longer with his laptop. He booked two train tickets to Pittsburgh, found another extended stay hotel in the same chain as the one they were in now—since it was a national chain, he’d signed up for a rewards membership, figuring it would probably help in the long run if they were in the country for a while—and reserved their room, then forwarded the information to Gertrude.

Somehow, even though it was well past midnight in London, he wasn’t surprised when he got an email from her almost immediately, welcoming him back to work and telling him to be careful.

They checked out the next morning. As they stepped out into the sunlight, Tim turned to Gerry. “We don’t have to be to the station until after five. There’s only one train out of Chicago and it doesn’t leave until five after six. How do you want to spend the day?”

Gerry actually smiled mischievously. “Funny you should mention that. There is one thing I’d really like to do.” He took Tim’s hand. “Come on. We can stop at the station on the way and check our bags for the day so we don’t have to carry them around.”

Tim was thrilled to see Gerry looking so…normal. He’d have done anything he asked at that point.

They duly paid twenty dollars to have their bags stored, and then Gerry led Tim out into the streets. He’d evidently gotten directions from somewhere to…wherever they were going…or else he was making a pretty damn good guess. Either way, they stopped along the way for breakfast, then took a leisurely stroll along the streets until they reached an open park in the middle of the city, labeled Millennium Park.

“I can get behind this,” Tim said, smiling at the sign. “Love a good bit of green space. Even if it’s mostly white now.” It had evidently snowed in the night; the grass sparkled, even in the low light from the overcast sky, with an icy crust.

“Just wait,” Gerry promised. “There’s something here I really think you’ll like.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Not sure why. It just seems like your thing.”

“Okay, now I’m intrigued.”

They ambled through the park. A lot of people seemed to be heading in one particular direction. Tim found out why when they emerged on a large plaza and discovered an enormous sculpture that could only be described as a mirrored bean. He blinked. “What the hell is that?”

“You don’t know?” Gerry said. His tone was incredulous, but there was a teasing grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know everything in the world. Just the important stuff,” Tim shot back, making Gerry laugh. “Hang on, there’s a sign.”

The sculpture turned out to be called Cloud Gate. Tim had never heard of it before, but he was surprised that he recognized the artist, Anish Kapoor. He turned to point this out to Gerry, then noticed the look on his face as he stared at the artwork. Instantly on edge, he asked, “What? What is it?”

“Just…look at it,” Gerry murmured, tearing his eyes away and staring at the ground. “Tell me if I’m imagining things.”

Tim looked. Cloud Gate’s reflective surface was mostly flat matte clouds, the day being so overcast, although the vague impressions of the various tourists and visitors clustered under it taking pictures were much in evidence. He was about to ask for clarification when he found his gaze drawn to the inner arch of the shape. Two reflections seemed to cross, and for just a moment, he felt disorientated and…sideways. As though Cloud Gate was showing him the real world and he was the reflection.

A reflection turned, and seemed to make eye contact with him. Tim quickly cut his eyes away and stared at his and Gerry’s joined hands until the weird almost vertigo and headache dissipated. He slowly loosened his grip; he was squeezing so hard that his finger had puffed up and was straining at the ring beneath the gloves, so he had to be hurting Gerry.

“No,” he told him. “I don’t think you’re imagining things. I should’ve guessed from Kapoor’s other works that he’s at least seen the Spiral.”

“Yeah.” Gerry took a deep breath and tightened his hand around Tim’s, then tugged. “Come on. This isn’t what I wanted to bring you here for anyway.”

Tim followed without too much complaint. The sculpture wasn’t super involved with the Spiral; it was just that Kapoor had obviously been Marked by it, and he’d just as obviously put a bit of it into his work—wasn’t it said that all great artists put a bit of themselves into their art? Still, he made a mental note to mention it to Gertrude. If it was going to be used in a ritual, she’d probably like to be aware of it.

His mood lifted the further they got from the plaza where the sculpture was, and from the way Gerry straightened, his obviously had as well. They continued ambling through the park for a while, and then Gerry let out a soft, satisfied-sounding ah and quickened his steps. “There it is. Come on.”

Laughing, Tim picked up the pace, letting Gerry drag him forward. He laughed even harder when he realized what Gerry wanted him to see. A low fence with clear plastic set in the gaps of the frame surrounded a large, flat area that had been turned into an ice skating rink. A booth off to one side proclaimed that skates were available for rent.

“You want to go ice skating?” he asked, unexpectedly delighted.

“Mostly I want to see you ice skating, but yeah, I’ll get out there with you.” Gerry grinned at him. “So you do like the idea?”

“I love it.” Tim tugged Gerry around and kissed him.

It turned out that while the rink was free, they were supposed to reserve a time, and the first skate was completely booked. Tim pulled out his phone and booked them both for one o’clock, and they found a bench where they could sit and watch the skaters. It proved to be a pretty good mix of what Tim took to be university students, older folks who were probably past retirement age, and parents with small children likely too young for school. Some of the littlest ones were leaning on props shaped like penguins to keep themselves from falling face-first on the ice. Tim couldn’t help but grin as he watched them stumble around the ice.

“Too bad they don’t have those in adult sizes,” Gerry said dryly, watching a tiny child of indeterminate gender that seemed to be mostly comprised of snowsuit and hat. “I am definitely going to be terrible at this.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You might be surprised.” Tim nudged him. “Also, this might be a good time to tell you I’ve never done this either.”

“What, never?” Gerry’s eyebrows shot up.

“No, never. Been skiing a few times, snowshoeing once or twice, and one year Danny talked me into trying snowboarding, but I’ve never done ice skating.”

“Well, that’s more than I’ve done, so you’re up on me there.”

“Good. Then we can look like idiots together.” Tim dodged Gerry’s playful swipe and put his arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

“I know.” Gerry leaned his head on Tim’s shoulder.

They got up when the rink stewards ordered the current crowd off the ice, went over to the booth, and rented their skates. It probably should have been at least a little embarrassing for the pack of schoolchildren on some kind of field trip to almost literally skate circles around them, but Tim was too busy laughing and holding onto Gerry to keep himself from falling over while Gerry did the same thing with him to care. Somehow, they managed to keep from actually tumbling to the ground. His legs were aching well before their hour was up, but he didn’t want to stop, not while Gerry was still going strong. He kept powering his way around the rink, but silently, he thanked God that they would have at least three or four hours to make it to the train station from here. It might have only been about a twenty-minute walk, but he was probably going to need at least a short rest first.

Finally, the rink stewards called that time was up. The two of them stumbled off the ice, nearly fell when they hit solid ground, and wobbled over to the bench where they’d left their shoes to get the skates off.

Gerry groaned, rubbing at his calves. “You’re a machine, you know that? I was having a hell of a time keeping up with you.”

“What? Oh, no.” Tim started giggling. He couldn’t help it. “I thought I was keeping up with you!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Gerry threw his head back and laughed, too.

It did, at least, give them time to recover, so they were a bit steadier on their feet when they finally got their boots laced back up and returned the skates. Still, they took their time getting back to Union Station. Retrieving their bags was easy, and they still had time to grab a bite to eat before heading to the platform. Once there, Gerry hesitated for just a minute, then led Tim purposefully over to one of the benches.

“Strategic view of the incoming train?” Tim asked lightly. He glanced at the arrival board. They still had close to an hour before their train pulled in.

“Something like that.” Gerry pointed to the bench on the extreme opposite end of the platform. “Did Gertrude tell you we’d made it all the way to the station before she took me to the hospital?”

“No.” Tim’s stomach flipped. “You didn’t tell her you weren’t feeling well?”

“They were just headaches. Never really thought anything of it. And it didn’t occur to me that I was having seizures with them—”

“Gerry!”

“It didn’t! I just…thought the pain was so bad I was twitching to make it stop.” Gerry sighed. “Anyway, I’m not sure Gertrude really noticed at first either, but something suddenly made her pay more attention, and the next thing I knew we were on our way to the hospital.”

“There was some supposedly inspiring news story going around about a basketball game that got moved up because one of the players is dying of brain cancer and really wanted to play before she died,” Tim said quietly. “It got her worrying. Which, you know Gertrude, just irritated her.”

“Yeah, God forbid anyone knows she cares.” Gerry sighed. “Still. I’m glad she did. And I’m really glad she called you, mate. I couldn’t have got through this without you.”

Tim put his arm around Gerry’s shoulders, then took his hand with the other and kissed his knuckles. “I’m glad she called me, too. There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

Gerry leaned his head on Tim’s shoulder, and they sat in silence, listening to the bustle of the station around them. Tim was peripherally aware of a woman glaring disapprovingly at them from further along the platform, but he ignored her. He’d been out and proud as bisexual since he was thirteen and he had the scars to prove it, and if he was likely to let the opinions of others bother him he wouldn’t have lasted this long. Besides, he’d just come damn close to losing Gerry. However they defined their relationship, he was the most important person in Tim’s life, and he wanted as much reassurance as he could get that he was alive and here. Other people could fucking deal with that.

Finally, Gerry spoke quietly. “What’s the plan when we get to Pittsburgh?”

“There’s something Gertrude wants us to check in the Hall of Records.” Tim patted his coat again. “It’s all in here. We can go over it on the train.”

“You don’t want to wait until we get there?”

“Train gets in at five in the morning. We can’t get into the hotel until the afternoon. And Thursday is some kind of government holiday, apparently, so everything will be closed until Monday, and they might close early tomorrow. Rather at least get started than hit a brick wall and get delayed entirely another week.”

“Fair enough,” Gerry admitted. “Leave it to the Americans to decide to add a holiday in the middle of November for no damn reason. What is it, anyway?”

Tim snorted. “They call it Thanksgiving. It’s a whole day to celebrate turkey and football.”

“Oh, joy. I suppose there’s a football team where we’re going? Seems like everyone has a football team.”

“Yeah, the Steelers, I think. But they’re not playing until Sunday.” Tim smirked down at Gerry. “And I’m not particularly interested in going to another game.”

“Good,” Gerry replied. “So we’ll get what answers we can tomorrow, hang around until Monday if we need to, and get out of town as soon as possible?”

“That’s the plan.” A low whistle sounded in the distance, and Tim glanced down the track. “Aha, our chariot approaches. Come, my prince, let us fly.”

“If this train starts flying, I’m setting it on fire.” Gerry bent to retrieve his bag.

“Nah, the Heartland Flyer operates in Texas.” Tim dodged Gerry’s halfhearted swipe and caught his hand, laughing. “C’mon. Maybe boarding first won’t get us to Pittsburgh any faster, but at least we’ve got a better chance of getting good seats. God only knows how many people are going to be taking this trip home for the holidays. And then once we’re settled, we can look at this damn notebook and figure out what’s what.”

“Sounds good.” Gerry squeezed Tim’s hand. “Let’s get going, then.”

[jasminebutintaiwansojiemin]

July 30th, 2024 星期二 - Hiking Monkey Mountain, Art Museums, Rock Pizza but not Dwayne the Rock Johnson Pizza

For some odd reason, I decided to climb a mountain full of monkeys today. It was very cute seeing all the monkeys and their babies, but never again. I literally slept MAX three hours the night before and woke up to get some fruit before meeting to go on the hike. I swear I’ve been telling people this whole time that some fruits have worms in them and everyone was like nooooooooooooo but I quite literally found SO MANY worms in the dragonfruit at the hotel breakfast. We eventually headed out and took an above ground train closer to the mountain.

Climbing that mountain made me wanna helicopter home to the U.S. BUT I powered through and it was a good experience. It was very very very hot and a lot of the ground was muddy but it was worth it seeing all the cute little monkeys. So many had babies and I even say a few moms that had twin babies. The little noises they make are so cute and I had to avoid getting bonked on the head by a few monkeys who were sitting in trees and throwing fruit down. I did also see a monkey absolutely yoink someone’s food from them and unwrap the plastic with its little fingers. Throughout our hike, we got a lot of help from older Taiwanese people who were also hiking. They were super sweet and even took pictures of us. Also the view of Kaohsiung from the highest point we went to was pretty cool. The descent of the mountain was LONG but less dangerous than the route we took for the ascent. As soon as we got off the mountain we hit up at 7/11 and I bought a Melona popsicle. I devoured that think in the minutes tops. Then we took the train home where I showered and changed for class.

Our first stop for class was a fine arts museum. It had 5 floors and was full of many different types of art, from sculptures to paintings, to even a live art session. I inserted a few of my favorite art pieces from that museum. One of the ones I liked the most was the painting of the Chinese style doors with the talisman papers on the front. When I saw it, I immediately thought of whether it was meant to represent somewhere in Taiwan, or maybe the feeling of being an outsider to the majority of Chinese culture as a Taiwanese person. After the fine arts museum, we headed to a contemporary art museum. This museum was much more modern and contained art of non-Taiwanese and Taiwanese artists alike. There were a lot of pieces that utilized aluminum and glass work to express their art. This museum also contained a really cool cafe that I saw quite a few people working in—though I’m intrigued on whether they paid to get into the museum just to go to the cafe lol.

After this museum I went home and took a nap for a few hours. Upon awakening I headed to a pizza place nearby for a taste of home. I, of course, ordered a pepperoni pineapple pizza and ginger ale. It was a pretty good pizza and reminded me of Blaze pizza in a way. After dinner some of us took a stroll across the pier to look at the water. Then we switched and explored the city side, where I found a stationary store! We looked around there for a bit and it was so cute! I definitely will head back there tomorrow since it’s open until 10 pm. Then I headed home and knocked out.

Academic Reflection

For today, I initially decided to do some research on the prevalence of American restaurant chains in Taiwan. When we were in Taipei, I noticed the heavy prevalence of the most random U.S. chains—such as Starbucks, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Burger King, Subway, TGI Fridays, Texas Roadhouse, and the omnipresent 7/11 convenience stores. However, I realized that there are actually quite a few Taiwanese chains that we have back in America.

One chain is Happy Lemon. I didn’t even realize this was Taiwanese until I saw one whilst driving down the street today. This type of restaurant serves boba tea and a wide variety of bubble waffles. I remember when it opened in Orlando, it was one of the first of its kind. Here in Taiwan however, I see bubble waffle shops everywhere, from actual store front to stalls at night markets. Happy Lemon opened in 2006, and by 2014 was deemed the world’s most recognized and respected tea culture brand. They accredit themselves with “bringing an expanding the tea culture to Mainland China and Hong Kong” as “elite pioneers”. They have over 350+ stores in places such as the U.S., Canada, the U.K., Dubai, and the Philippines. Through my research, I found out that they apparently created the cheese foam topping for boba tea, which is honestly a really popular topping even in the States. I thought this was interesting because not only did I not know that Happy Lemon even sold tea, I also didn’t know they pioneered so many staples of modern bubble tea.

[eowynstwin]

this is me asking for the monastery gelato story :)

I feel like this might be underwhelming lmao. So in May 2018, I went on a month-long study abroad trip to Florence, Italy to make art, eat pasta, and as it turned out sweat my ass off because Europe for some reason does not believe in the miracle of air conditioning.

The curriculum was VERY rigorous, not just academically but also physically by necessity of the fact that we had to walk fucking everywhere to get literally anywhere. I walked all over central Florence to get to museums, art galleries, various historical sites, and the international art school hosting us for in-studio classes.

One of the historical sites we visited was San Miniato al Monte, and I figured out the hard way that "al Monte" meant "at the top of a big fuckoff hill".

This is not my photo. The phone I took all my photos with for this trip shat itself in Venice when I left it next to a running sink. I have very few photos of this entire trip, and none of this story.

Luckily, we had a bus to drive us there! Just kidding. The bus took us from the station and deposited us at what I swear to god was the very base of the hill. We proceeded to walk up that hill for the next forty-five minutes.

Here's a fun fact about me: the heat makes my brain melt. I think it's an autistic thing. My brain also doesn't function when I'm hypoglycemic, which in Italy I always was because I'm a sensitive eater and didn't have enough time to figure out any safefoods (which I'll point out that at the time I didn't know was something I could or should do). Likely at that point in the day all I had eaten was a croissant and an espresso.

So I don't actually remember a lot about this day trip. I remember sweating like a whore in church (ha, get it, because it's a church), I remember a graveyard with old weathered statues, and getting eaten alive by mosquitos. We went inside, and I vaguely remember the interior.

Fun fact about churches in Italy, you have to cover your shoulders if you're a woman. I have a corny Venezia scarf from that trip to Venice that I had to buy last minute. But that's a story for another time!

So, after we got the tour we were set free to explore the grounds. Personally, I was not interested in exploring the grounds, on account of being near death by way of mosquitos and starvation and sweating every fluid from every pore. So I went to the gift shop. It was the only air conditioned building in the vicinity.

I remember there being a gorgeous rosebush outside the shop, heavy with pink blooms. I distinctly remember snapping a photo of the biggest of them, but that photo is lost to time and Apple products' vulnerability to singular drops of water. Before the gelato, that rose was the best part of my day--I've always loved flowers, and even when you're tired and hungry a pretty rose is going to remind you that life is not in fact horrible.

In the gift shop were displays of handmade little gifts directly from the monks that lived in the monastery. Little ceramic doodads and figurines, all hand painted and signed, lined the shelves, and in one corner of the shop was a waist-high freezer filled with plastic-capped paper cups.

I remember the pattern around the cups was green and pink and probably floral. I was of course minutes from death so I picked out the one that looked the fullest. It did not look impressive--just some chocolate ice cream, about the same size as little single serve cups you can get at Walmart or any gas station.

I paid maybe two euro for it, bought a little ceramic ewer to go with it (I don't have a picture of it but I'll post one later if I can find the thing), and found somewhere on the grounds to sit and eat.

I am an ex-Baptist and very passionate about that. I do not believe in the Christian god nor any of its associated divinity. But reader, when I took that first bite of gelato, Jesus Christ Himself floated down on a shaft of sunlight to stroke the hair away from my face and smile at me in the way a gentle parent might. The best ice cream I had ever eaten did not compare to how good this gelato was, on that hot Italian morning, in a quiet, weathered graveyard, with a rosebush swaying nearby in a breeze that finally seemed to be picking up.

I had gelato many, many times again on that trip--even from a very famous gelateria, Amorino, that you will probably find all over social media because they sculpt flowers out of gelato on a cone.

Not my picture. Venice must always have its pound of flesh. Apple products are more suicidal than lemmings.

But nothing, not a single scoop, compared to that little paper cup of gelato. I will likely never be able to find that gelato again, because to be candid I'm not even totally sure it was the San Miniato monastery we went to. Time, mental illness, and trauma have stolen a lot of memories from me. But I will never forget that little moment of piece and sweetness for as long as I live.

[readychilledwine]

Hi! You seem so nice and super sweet. I have some questions to know you! You remind me of a big sister, oh my god something about you is so comforting. :) Anyways, I live in California but I've only lived here for around 7 months. You mentioned before you love coming here, but can I have some places that would be nice to go on vacation? I feel super cooped up in my apartment and want to have a fun time outdoors or something. Thank you! <3

That's seriously so sweet and made me tear up a little bit! Thank you ❤️

We've spent a lot of time in a few different spots in CA, so hopefully, I mention one location near you! The obvious to all of this is beach and book. We are two beach bums when we can be, but I'll hit a few of the cities we've stayed at!

Oceanside is our go to. We like the location, due to military relations so its kind of the perfect spot for us because ✨️family✨️ If you are near that area, the beach at night is so quiet and perfect if you love seashell hunting. Oceanside also has street food/fair events, several cute metaphysical shops, and a few really good restaurants. One of them is a rooftop/desktop outdoor situation, it overlooks the docking area there, and at sunset is stunning.

In the San Diego area, I love going to Balboa Park. There's several gardens that are cheap or free to go to. During November to December, one of them is filled with gorgeous variations of poinsettias. There's also a ton of museums there, cultural houses to peep at, and gorgeous architecture. There's also a shopping area that's cute for giggles to just walk around. It's called Seaport Village. They used to have a shop just FILLED with coffee mugs. I loved it 😅

Heading north a little bit to LA where my partner is from. He grew up near skid row and has pretty vivid nightmares still about his kidhood there, so we tend to avoid the downtown area. When we do go, he always takes me to The Last Bookstore (some of you may recognize the name, it is the one you're thinking), it is just an experience. They sell antique books, collector's editions, and rare first editions along with new books. They have MAGICAL displays made from books. Griffith Park is also very beautiful with lots of things to go to. I'm a fan of anywhere with a botanic and butterfly garden 😅 and that brings me to our favorite spot in LA (minus the beach and hiking in Griffith Park) The Huntington Library. It's a library, botanic garden, and art museum all in one. It is 100% for me and not for him. He loves me dearly, and I am spoiled. There's obviously a lot of other things to do in LA (Disney, Orlando studios, ect), but we've been waiting to explore and experience those things until we had Littles to enjoy them with.

Popping between LA and San Fran is Sequoia National Park. If you are going to go and have never been, plan for a few days. It's... almost like breathtaking how small you realize you really are there.

San Francisco is kind of just... I wish I could describe it as something other than home feeling, considering I'm a midwest farm girl, but it has this magical home calling. We have a main thing we really like to do, and it's a little pricy (but not as pricy as the next location ive been treated to). He loves to see Alcatraz. 😅 he's obsessed. Otherwise it is a LOT of hiking and just trying new food places there. I just really love the vibes there for some reason.

Napa Valley I consider its own place, and it holds the most special place in my heart. He took me there for my 25th birthday. It is pricy, but wine country is so just relaxing. We stayed at this hotel, and we literally just walked out of our rooms patio door and into the vineyard. Im not 100% sure how much our week there was, but he told me not to expect anything for Christmas or valentines that year 😅

If you want really hot and in land Cali, my brothers and baby daddy went to Death Valley for a few days. They started the trip there, then went to Vegas (youngest brother's 21st birthday). My older brother said it was unbelievably hot (literally duh my sweet summer child), but he said the 4 days the 3 of them were there was a lot of fun. They did a lot of trail hiking and drank a lot of water. They all do not regret the choice to check it out. I was not invited on the boys' trip, so I didn't get to go 😑 I'm not salty AT ALL I didn't plan the trip for them or anything 🤣

If you're looking to get out of California, Colorado. Find your soul in Colorado. I highly recommend Georgetown. Not too far from Denver, not so high up in the mountains you have to anxious about snowfall and getting trapped, and I'll just attach the view from the hike into the mountains we went on.

I will push Colorado to anyone needing to get away and get into nature if it is in their budget ❤️ I've never found a town in Colorado I didn't think was stunning.

If you want to stay on the West Coast, Oregon. We went to Crater Lake National Park. One word, Ethereal. A little busy, but so so worth it.

No matter where you go, if you're getting into nature and needing to re-center your soul, find a creek with running water and just put your hands or feet in it, or get into the ocean (to where you're comfortable) and just let yourself have a moment of silence. Water is purifying and healing. It's one of the most powerful elements in our world, and it is where I find the strongest connection to Mother Nature ❤️

Let me know if you want more travel spots!

[cupcakes-and-pain]

So here's the thing... shortly after we left off from Riley's story he had a mixup with a girl and long story short, he's in desperate need of a babysitter 😕 turns out they don't really teach the birds and bees to the pets in the state home and Eddie never thought he'd have to either.

***

"Ollie, You remember Collette? She's almost three now if can you believe it." Riley readjusts the toddler propped on his hip and shrugs the diaper bag higher with his opposite shoulder. It looks sort of heavy so Ollie takes it from him, knowing that Riley still gets sore from the incident in his past, and invites him in.

"H-hi Coco," he waves to the cherub faced girl, "it's okay, I don't think she'll remeber m-"

"Lollie!" Coco lisps, bouncing at her poppas side with excitement, "Poppa! Lollie!"

***

Rileys gotta go but he'll be back pretty soon, Charles won't mind right? It's a big enough house and he trusts Ollie with his most prized possession 🥰 what could POSSUBLY go wrong??

Yeah, haha, no clue if anything CAN go wrong. Nah, everything will be happy and peachy today :D (sarcastic) (it can and will go wrong) (Ollie is in danger) (I will hurt the boys) (no one can stop me)

- - -

Ollie’s heart melts when the little girl not only recognizes him, but is excited to see him! His small, polite smile widens into a joyful grin. He leads father and daughter into the living room.

Master Charles wasn’t there right then, having ran downstairs last minute to talk to his secretaries. Ollie knew the real reason. Although Master Charles definitely did not hate children, he wasn’t particularly fond. Especially babies and toddlers. Whenever Coco came over or Ollie went to see her, Master would fuss over the details and make sure he had enough stock to feed ten babies (while also consistently underestimating how many diapers she’ll need), despite Riley packing a diaper bag. But after trying to ensure that anything that Coco might need is provided for, Master Charles is quick to leave and interact with small human as little as possible.

But all of that was okay. Today would be fun! Ollie was responsible, he didn’t need Master or Riley to watch over him. He was a good babysitter! It was fine.

He took a couple deep breaths to soothe his never-ending anxiety, and set the bag down. After a few proper greetings and reminders were exchanged, Ollie took the toddler from him and waved goodbye to Riley.

Walking to the dining room, Ollie sat Coco down and pulled out some crayons Riley had mentioned. He didn’t have any paper besides a little notepad he knew was in the junk drawer, and even then he felt guilty about taking that. What if Master Charles needs it? What if Ollie was being greedy and annoying?

But no. No! It’d be fine. And even if it wasn’t, if this was the last straw… he could take it. He knew it wasn’t good to ever assume anything about how an owner would react, but he felt safe thinking that Charles wouldn’t toss him out for this. Hurt him, maybe. Strip him off all of his undeserved care and privileges, sure. But Ollie would be okay in the end.

He had to be careful at first to make sure Coco drew on the paper and not the table, but she seemed to get it. On the paper, not anything else.

“Oh, that’s very pretty, Coco!”

“Pitty? Pitty! Pitty, pitty.” Coco babbled to herself as she drew, unable to pronounce the “r” in pretty. Each time she stopped to show him, he smiled and assured her it was still pretty.

Of course, no art could ever compare in beauty and talent to his Master’s. His wonderful Master, who can only create art so marvelous it is worthy of being preserved in a museum for centuries. But Coco didn’t need to hear that right now. She was only three. It would be mean to compare her to the best artist there ever was.

After a while, her stomach growled and she pouted.

“Oh! Of course. I’ll got get us some snacks. Stay here, and remember! Only on the paper. Can you say paper?”

“Papey.”

Close enough. He patted her head and headed to the kitchen, humming to a song he heard Master play when he was in a very good mood .

Master Charles kept fruit in a bowl on the counter, and a bag of berries in the fridge. Those were free for Ollie to take, and so he pulled some out and started cutting them up for they’d be perfect for a little toddler. One can never be too safe. And he had to be very careful with knives, but it was okay. Everything was okay today, because Coco was here. Master didn’t like children very much, but he trusted Ollie. Ollie was very responsible. This will be fun! And Riley will be back soon.

Sighing, Ollie continued his cheerful humming and picked up the nearly cut slices and arranged them beautifully on the plate. His own art in a special way.

The delicate arrangements didn’t end up mattering, because he dropped the plate in shock when he turned around to where they were sitting earlier.

Coco was gone.

Panicking, he didn’t even clean up his mess. She was gone, completely gone. Master’s home was very open, so he could see all of the kitchen, dining room, entry way, living room, and down into the halls where the bedrooms and stuff were. He could even see into the bathroom and part of his room, since the doors were open.

And no little girl in sight.

Running down the hall, and threw every door open and called out for her, eyes scanning each room rapidly as he lightly searched and then moved on. His heart was beating out of his chest and his head was alight with terror. Where could she have gone so quickly? He feared that he had already missed her, that she was hiding much better than he gave her credit for and that he would be able to find her at all.

Riley would be furious, he trusted Ollie, his friend, to watch his daughter. And now she was gone. Never mind what Master will say. A baby loose in his house is asking for disaster.

Oh god, Ollie was in so much trouble.

It wasn’t until he got to four rooms in that he found her. The door was open just a crack, and he could hear his giggles and babbling coming from inside.

She was in his Master’s studio.

He rushed in, filled with relief that she was found, though it wasn’t without apprehension that it was the studio. But it’d be fine! It’d be-

“Lollie, papey!”

Ollie registered what he was looking at. She hadn’t drawn, she finger painted. And that wasn’t paper.

That was the canvas that held Master’s newest painting, which he had finished today and it was not at all dry yet. Especially not the newest addition: bright green baby handprints pressed and smeared onto the bottom of the picture.

As his terror rushed back with full force and gave way to cold, unyielding, undeniable terror, he didn’t even registered the little girl trying to ask if he thought it was pretty, much less his owner’s footsteps right behind him.

- - -

Oh dear! That’s not good!! 😈😈

Also, recreation featuring this picrew here (the artist said it was okay to edit as long as you don’t do anything “morally unjust”. I hope this is okay!)

[Image ID:

A picture of Ollie sitting or laying curled up. He’s bottom is not in the picture. Ollie has fair skin, green eyes, and light brown hair long enough to border on the edge of shaggy as it hangs past his ears and into his eyes. He looks towards the viewer with a worried yet resign expression. He is naked except for bloody bandages across his chest, around his neck, and around his arm. He also has some scrapes on his upper back and arm. His knees are bruised.

The background of the picture is mostly white, but they’re are shadows around him as is he’s lying on sheets or a bed of some kind that dips under his weight.

This picture is surrounded by a gold picture frame that was clearly not originally apart of the picture, as it’s drawn with less detail and zero shading.

At the bottom, slightly obscuring the bandages on his arms, there are two tiny bright green handprints. One has been smeared, as if the person doing it dragged their hand along the canvas instead of simply pressing down. There are also three stripes of the same green to the right of the handprints.

End of ID]