#for that reason alone I hope there's a small remake where they end up being gay JUST to piss off those dudebros

[torra-and-the-toons]

It’s SO funny how many dude-bros on the subreddit get SO offended by anything even remotely suggesting a ship (unless it’s the kankers) When Danny Antonucci literally out there sharing fanart of Edd/Eddy like it’s no big deal. 

[stardustwritings]

Hi Star, I was wondering if you can write for Leon x Fem reader where the reader and Leon are on mission together to save Ashley during RE4. Leon and reader are in love with each other but they haven't confessed until reader almost dies.

If not that's okay. Have a nice day/night :)

Resident Evil Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader: “You can’t die on me yet!”

Warings: Spoilers for RE4 Remake, Violence, Guns, Drowning, Almost dying.

Pronouns: (She/Her)

A/N: Hi! Thank you so so much for requesting you’re my second request and I’m so excited!! I really really hope you enjoy this fic and I hope to get requests from you in the future. Thank you! Also I’m sorry for the wait, i’ve been so busy. I promise any future requests will not take this long 😭

Running through the graveyard, you and Leon run for the gate just ahead that lead to the church. With a grunt Leon pushed the gate open and then closed as you went ahead to the second gate in front of the door inside. You shook it a couple times trying to get it open.

“Damn it- Leon it’s locked.” You said looking at him over your shoulder. He started to walk up behind you, he had a look in his eyes as he shook his head.

“But of course. Because when would the two of us ever get a break?” He said with a sigh. His comment made you smile slightly. He was correct of course, the two of you haven’t had a break since you’ve got here. The only thing close to one is the time you’ve spent with the merchant, talking and shopping, without him this trip would of been much worse.

“Well… Let’s call Hunnigan. Might be a good idea to update HQ anyway.” You said leaning back against the gate and looking up at the sky. Leon nodded his head at your words.

“You’re probably right…” He breathed out then placed his finger to his ear and called, “Conder One and Robin Two to Roost. The church is sealed up.”

”And Baby Engle?…” ‘Roost’ or Hunnigan asked in reply.

“Negative. We haven’t found her, yet. This place is locked up tighter than knox…” You told her joining the conversation.

“I see. I can think of one reason they’d want to do so.” Said Hunnigan, they could hear light typing from her keyboard through her mic as she spoke.

“So can I. She’s definitely in there. And we’ll find a way in, one way or another. Conder One and Robin Two out.” Leon told the woman before ending the call. You looked at him standing up straight and going to his side.

“Do you really think she’s in there?…” You asked placing a hand on his shoulder. He paused at your touch and looked you in the eyes. His look made you pause in return. You loved his eyes, and his hair and his jokes and his-… Well you loved him.

You met him after the Raccoon City incident , both of you were survivors. How you managed to survive is a different story, but soon after you found yourself working for the government and meeting the blonde in front of you. Training was a nightmare, but having Leon made it so much better.

“(Y/N)?… Did you here me?” Leon asked titling his head as he looked at you. You removed your hand and gave him a nod looking away to the church.

“Yeah sorry- I zoned out a little uh… Let’s find a way inside.” Your voice was hush as you walked to the side of the church following the wall. Leon watched you go for just a moment before following not wanting you to be left alone.

It didn’t take long for you both to found a small room on the side that was unlocked. It wasn’t connected to the main church but there could be clues on how to get in. Looking around for supplies and answers, Leon’s eyes land on a map and a small note.

“This here says that the key is being held in a cave on the lake-“ He said taking it off the wall then looking at you.

“Then we’ll go to the lake. The signs around said it was just through the gate next door. It’s locked but…” Your eyes landed on a trapdoor in the corner of the room. “I think there may be a way around.” Leon walked up and opened it, shining his flashlight down the hole before looking at you.

“Well… Ladies first.” He said giving a half smirk. You playfully rolled your eyes walking up to him.

“Oh why thank you, what a gentleman.” You said walking pass him and starting to climb down the ladder. You faced him as you descended down, he chuckled softly.

“And watch your step too-“ He said as he made his way down after you, “I won’t be able to catch you from up here-“ He told you smiling.

Shaking your head you left the male on the ladder and followed the light at the end of the small cave, it lead to the other side of the gate just next to the church. You unlocked it just in case then looked to Leon.

He nodded his head down the path then started to walk that way, following you looked around at the world around you. If the people here weren’t crazy infected monsters then this would be like a vacation. Thinking about it you’d love to go on a vacation with Leon. You both needed some time together. You- Your happy thoughts were cut off as Leon put an arm over you and held you back as he peaked over a corner.

“Hostiles… Get your gun.” He whispered softly. You ignored the warmth in your cheeks as you nodded getting it ready. Leon took the first shot and the two of you went into battle. And battled and battled and battled. You were just lucky that he was here to have your back. He always is, it’s one of the reasons you loved him so much.

Throughout the whole fight Leon would warn you if someone was behind you, call out whenever something was thrown your way and freed you from anyone who laid their hands on you. You did the same for him. It’s why you were put on this mission together. It’s why they always put you both together, because you work perfectly together.

That work and care got you through the some cliff side area and through the quarry to thankfully, the merchant. The merchant was glad to see you two, welcoming the both of you in from your battles. You and Leon look at each other with a sigh of relief and buy anything that looked important. After saying your goodbyes you both continued forward.

“He’s always there when we need him.” You mumbled as you stepped out. Leon nodded a bit looking at you then smiled a little.

“Yeah I bet you loveee seeing your boyfriend~” He joked laughing a bit as you playfully hit his arm.

“Oh ha ha. Very funny but he’s not my type Leon.” You replied walking up to a fence blocking off a drop. Placing your arms on the railing you look out over the lake as Leon wondered what your type was exactly. “Hey- there’s some people in the water- On a boat.” You called to Leon as he walked over.

The two of you watched as they dumped a body in the water.

“Fuck…” Leon mumbled and then two seconds later the body was eaten by a large creature they only got to see for just a moment. The two of you stood silently knowing what would come next.

“That um… Cave we have to go there is-…there’s a walk way right?…” You were sheepish as you glanced at Leon. All he did was point to the little docking area across from them. “… Great.” You mumbled then sighed. Leon looked down to you and then gently placed a hand on your back.

“Hey… We… got this okay? In and out. As long as we’re careful I’m sure we’ll be fine.” His voice was soft and comforting, he even gave you a soft smile to reassure you. All you did was smile back and gave him a nod as you both started to make your way down to the lake side.

There was a very tiny boat it looked like it could just fit the two of you. Leon smiled and held his hand out to you then gently helped you down into the boat. Afterwards he followed suit, pulling the cord and starting the little engine.You sat in front and he drove the boat to the little building.

Light from the lowing sun made the lake shine, the whole place in a pretty orange glow.

“Hey…” Leon said to get your attention. “I actually want to talk to you about something while we have a moment… I was thinking maybe after all this… You and me could-“ He cut himself off as the boat slowed then came to a stop.

“Did um… Did you do that?” You asked looking over at him as he looked to the engine and shook his head.

“No?…” He said pulling on the cord trying to get it to start once more. You bit your lip, glancing into the dark water then jumping a little as something hit the bottom of the boat.

“Leon- Please for the love of god get it started already.” He could hear the worry in your voice as you held onto the sides of the boat. But Leon was somewhat lost in thought looking around the calm water of the lake. “Leon?”

He was brought to his senses as the lake monster that ate the body moments ago jumped from the water and over the two. Right after it grabbed onto a rope hanging from the boat and started to pull it along with it. “W-Woah-“ You let out falling a little bit into Leon but he kept you up right in a protective hold as you both were pulled. 

“Now what do we do?!?” You asked looking back at Leon. He glanced at the engine then some harpoons on the floor of the boat.

“You shot I drive- Just another mission… We got this.” He said handing you the harpoons. Have you ever used a thrown weapon? No, but it wasn’t like you had much choice. With Leon keeping the two of you away from rocks and anything floating in the water with you, you fought off the monster.

Things were looking great, with the lake filling up with the beasts blood. Bending down to grab another harpoon, the boat was rocked by the creature just enough to throw you from the ship. You fall backwards into the dark cloudy waters with your heart pounding as you try and swim up. Your lungs started to burn, it was like no matter how much you swam you couldn’t reach the top. The last thing you remember was something moving pass you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾☆.｡:*.｡.:*☆ ༓･*˚⁺‧͙

……

“(Y/N)?… (Y/N) come please? Don’t give out on me now-“ A muffled voice called as you slowly came two. “God please I- I never got to… Damnit… Come please… You can’t die on me yet. I can’t lose you too… Please… I love you so much don’t do this. I didn’t even get to tell you!” The voice continued then you gasped, all of the water in your lungs coming up and out making you gag.

Gasping for air you held your chest trying to get it out. After a moment you took in the world around you. You make it to the little dock you had seen before. By your side was a soggy Leon who pulled you into a tight hug the second he saw you were okay.

“Oh thank god! I thought I lost you.” He said as you gently pat his back to reassure him.

After a second it hit you. You were alone so the voice you heard had to be Leon’s… And what he had said… Your cheeks reddened as you remembered. Did you imagine it? Miss hear? Either way you were going to ask, you needed to know.

“Leon… What um… We’re you saying before I was completely up? I kinda heard a bit…” Your voice was quiet as Leon froze and glanced away for just a moment.

“O-Oh that uh… Damn it well… I almost lost you and I’m not going to risk it happening again without you knowing.” He said moving closer and taking your hands. “I really really love you… So much… I was even going to ask you out on the boat before that monster came. I couldn’t help it- You’re just… You’re just amazing.” He said looking at you like you were the only girl in the whole world.

You blushed and slowly grinned pulling Leon into a tight hug. He loved you! It took you almost dying to find out but he loved you!

“I love you too Leon… I have for a long time now.” You told him softly, your hug was so tight just wanting him close. Leon grinned and hugged you back just as tightly. He was so thankful you felt the same. 💜

(A/N Hi- I’m so sorry for the wait again April is always a busy month for me. Future fics will come faster I promise! In at least at weeks time if I decide to do it!)

[turtleblogatlast]

How are Mikey and Donnie doing? Since we've gotten the low down on Raph

Also, have they actually started to do worse since Leo has come back? Considering how he looks, the constant injuries, ect?

[ cw: death mention / injury mention / trauma / ]

Like I said here, Raph’s reason for believing in Leo’s survival is Trust.

Donnie’s is Proof. And Mikey’s is Hope.

More on them below

For Donnie, he’s made machine after machine, each one more complex than the last, all with the aim to tear a hole in reality to bring back his brother (his twin.) It never works, not once, and he considers, really and truly, remaking the Technodrome from the parts that have fallen all over the place (that thought is banished as soon as it hits him, and he was still shivering hours later.)

He considers stealing from the EPF. He considers getting the key and making a new portal himself regardless of the consequences. He considers many things and tries to do many things and maybe he would have if not for the rest of the family being on red alert for any dangerous actions.

It’s best he never did any of it, as the odds of finding one small turtle from a single unstable opening are low.

So he continues to search for an answer, even as it becomes more and more likely that Mikey may just be it. Donnie just can’t accept the thought of waiting around for the solution to come to them. He knows Mikey needs to train, but Donnie doesn’t want to wait.

Donnie hates to leave Leo in that place any longer than necessary. And he knows Leo’s probably there, the slider doesn’t die so easily.

There’s no proof of Leo’s death. They never saw a body, they never were contacted by his spirit.

So Donnie knows Leo’s out there. And he doesn’t want to keep him waiting.

On one occasion, Donnie swallows his pride and bows his head to the witches of Witch Town, begging for an answer, even if that answer isn’t within the realm of science.

They give him nothing.

Then. One day April makes a comment. She tells him that he’s “getting so tall.” So, of course, he immediately goes to check.

And, he is. He is tall. Tall-er at least, and getting taller still.

Taller than Leo was.

April finds him again an hour later, curled up in a heap on the floor and sobbing, sobbing, sobbing as he outpaces his memory of Leo.

It’s not like he didn’t know he’d probably one day get taller - after all, he’s a softshell versus Leo’s slider. Even considering all other aspects that may make them close, at most they’d be the same height, but most likely the end result is Donnie reigning supreme in the vertical department.

So. He knew he’d get taller. He’d been hoping to rub it in Leo’s face, considering they’d been on a back and forth with their heights for so long now.

But Leo wasn’t there.

Leo wasn’t there.

And. Then he was. And he was dead - and Donnie shut down.

But then Leo was - back? Somehow? And, for once, Donnie couldn’t - didn’t want to - question it because that’s his twin and-

Leo looks so young. So small. So hurt. And that- doesn’t change.

His shell is permanently cracked, so Donnie works on a battle shell.

He’s always cold, so Donnie makes a heat lamp.

His wounds never stop bleeding, so Donnie produces reinforced bandages.

And yet, despite all of this, Leo keeps getting hurt.

And yet, despite that, Donnie is still so fucking grateful Leo’s home.

Because finally. Donnie can breathe again.

Leo may end up alone one day, at the rate things were going.

So Donnie gonna make sure he’s got some company. Even if that company is a robot.

_____________

Mikey almost gets Leo back, that day.

He struggles and struggles, knowing he can open a portal if he tried hard enough. He knows he has it in him, he can feel it, but he also feels a sharp twinge in his arm from where the Krang snapped at it, so he’s given a brief flicker of orange before his arm falls to his side.

Before he fails in getting Leo back.

He tries again when he gets back control of his arm, but whatever he managed in the moment had passed.

Nothing but fizzles. Whiffs of uselessness.

He’s inconsolable and screaming for hours, hours, and for a while, the happy ball of sunshine he used to be has dimmed into stone. Expressionless and weary.

And then Draxum said he could teach Mikey.

And Mikey had hope. Just like Leo had said a ninja’s greatest weapon was.

Leo was always so cool, so confident. He’d play with Mikey and always got on his level. He’d protect Mikey when needed most, but let him be when not.

Leo had instilled hope in them, that day, and Mikey was ashamed that he allowed it to be extinguished so easily.

So, Mikey trains. Day after day, until he can reliably use his abilities without coming apart at the seams (and, sometimes/often/always Mikey wonders if maybe that’s okay, if it means Leo is back.)

But he acquiesces when Splinter looks at his spiderweb scars in horror.

It takes years, too long, much too long, (so long he has hair now-) but Mikey is finally able to do it.

He gets Leo out and-

And-

His brother.

Leo.

Leo was dead.

Mikey was too late. He failed Leo again.

Mikey doesn’t remember anything other than screaming, his own screaming, but he remembered Raph’s sudden change in expression, and how the snapper trailed off.

And Mikey remembered turning around, and feeling Hope flare up once more.

Leo was back, he was alive, and Mikey didn’t care how or why. He had problems, he was young looking, he was horribly wounded (always, now), he was kinda cursed, but he was home.

Leo wasn’t okay.

He wouldn’t talk about why either.

Mikey could figure some things out, off context clues alone, but the rest he’d need from the source.

But, Mikey wasn’t about to push his brother away. So he accepted the deflections and chose the next best thing - sticking as close as he could.

Gosh, he missed his brother so badly. He’d been training so much, so thoroughly, that six years came and went both agonizingly slowly and incredibly fast. He can only image it was similar for Leo.

So. So! Mikey has decided to live his life to the fullest, even if- even if Leo will outlive them. For the time he has, he will live for himself and his family.

And maybe look into how mystic spirits could stick around after death.

_____________

As for your last question - there’s some aspects of Leo’s return that are hard to deal with, undeniably so, but they’re more just. So happy he’s back. It’s 1000% more of a good thing than anything else. They missed him terribly, and weren’t the same with him gone, even if they were functional.

They weren’t whole without him. Just as he wasn’t whole without them.

[chewiedon]

SPRING | UBUYASHIKI K.

I'll make a masterlist when I post more stuff.

UBUYASHIKI X PREGNANT READER

Everything went by so quickly. It seemed only yesterday the marriage ceremony had taken place, before the couple had known a child was on the way.

(Y/N)'s swollen stomach was getting bigger and bigger by the day, more uncomfortable and making it harder to move around. Since her stomach was only going to get bigger, her kimonos have only become tighter around her swollen bulge.

"Ah," She muttered, as she accidentally pricked her finger while stitching another kimono.

"Stitching another kimono? What seems to be the issue, you've been down here for hours." Smooth, spring morning feeling words interrupted the young woman's focus

"Yes, I want to make one big one so I don't have to remake one every couple weeks. Have I kept you waiting, Kagaya-sama?" (Y/N) always addressed her husband formerly, despite his constant complaints.

"Smart idea, we can always commission someone. I don't mind asking some

of the Hashira for a recommendation of some sort," His pale eyes softened as he lowered himself onto the tatami mats where his wife sat.

The girl chuckled lightly, "The Hashira's job is to slay demons not to look for tailors,"

"I'm aware, but I want you to be happy," His eyes had softened, "My only regret is not being able to see our baby's face, I hope they look like you." Kagaya's eyes were cloudy with disease, he was officially blind when the wedding ceremony had taken place.

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) had mumbled.

"Why? This curse is not your doing," He furrowed his brows at her.

"I know, I think it's terrible that someone as wonderful as you had to deal with such a heavy burden. I hate that I'm so helpless," (Y/N)'s movements had ceased, as her gaze was fixed on the floor.

"Do you think we should start shopping for children's clothes?" Kaguya changed the subject, interjecting with an innocent question.

"More clothes? I've already made multiple articles of clothing, do you dislike them," (Y/N) inquired, cocking a brow.

"You have? Well, I guess it's only a natural instinct for a mother to provide!" He had exclaimed, a genuine smile present on his face.

(Y/N) wasn't entirely sure what he had meant, but the insecurities had subsided for now. She couldn't think to do anything but smile back at him.

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

The moon was high, and (Y/N)'s new kimono was finally finished. Usually she would've been exhausted hours ago, but for some reason she was restless. Her husband had already insisted that she'd come to bed with him, but she managed to dodge his persistent requests. She started to feel a little stressed.

This child was due in less than three months, what if she ended up eating the wrong thing and it ended up killing the baby or permanently damaging them? What if something bad happens during labor? What if the baby is weak, weaker than Kagaya?

All of these scenarios swirled inside her head, pounding her mind with anxiety and insecurities. She loved Kagaya, what would she do if she messed up? Or wasn't able to provide a strong enough heir for her husband?

"No good," She thought, "I'm no good at this wife stuff, am I?" She couldn't do much but sigh in disappointment to herself.

"There you are," Despite how soft the voice was, (Y/N) still jumped in surprise a little. Turning around and seeing her husband standing in the doorway with his signature soft smile. "I heard your little rant, I can tell you're unsettled. Does being married to me bear a heavy burden?" He sat next to her, assuming a similar position the couple were in earlier in the day.

After a long period of silence and (Y/N) staring at the floor, her swollen belly in her view.

"I know bearing an heir for me can be stressful, but you forget you are not alone." Kagaya said, leaning on his wifes' shoulder.

"Eh?" (Y/N) had muttered, snapping out of her thoughts and focussing on the warmth that radiated from her spouse. The warmth she fell in love with.

"You're not alone in this effort, I am very thankful the woman I love is able to carry my child instead of some trained stranger. I'm very lucky to have fallen in love with you, (Y/N)." Her name rolled off his lips so naturally and sweet. "I promise to stay by your side, no matter what issues we may encounter with the family we're creating together. That's my vision of a family, with you," His eyes were closed and his body relaxed on (Y/N)'s shoulder.

"I'm so happy," He said again, "My life will be painfully short, so I am very happy for any moment I spend with you. I'm very excited to build a family and a life with you, I don't think you understand the absolute joy I feel." He lifted his hand and put it on his chance, to ease the warmth in his chest.

The room was still, only the calm wind of the spring night was present. (Y/N)'s inside felt warm and fuzzy, falling in love with her husband all over again.

"Kagaya-sama, look at me please," She requested, her voice soft.

He lifted his head off her shoulders and turned to his spouse, his pale violet half lidded with sleep. Their eyes were met, despite one of them being blind. In a single movement, their lips met in an innocent kiss.

"Together, right?" (Y/N) had asked, basking in her husband's warmth in an embrace.

A small hum and a nod came from him, "Yes, always."

~

[qqueenofhades]

... Remember the Russian Revolution au? Which ended with Fedyor's sister very sick and Fedyor searching for Ivan in hopes of getting help for her from him? Fedyor finding Ivan and offering to do "anything" in exchange for his sister's medical treatment? Ivan secretly wanting Fedyor, but refusing to take what he wants like that? Soooo... I would also like the big the big 3 of your coming projects to happen, but... y'know... just.... wanted to bring this au up again... ;)

Behold, the oft-requested follow-up to the first two Russian Revolution au ficlets. Ahem.

Fedyor does not sleep that night. He does not even think about sleeping. He only leaves the army headquarters long enough to think hard about what he is proposing to do, wonder if it is worth it, and decide that it is. Katya needs the medicine, he has no other recourse, and he is categorically unwilling to return home to his family as a failure, when they have placed all their trust and hope in him. Ivan has hinted that he might be able to obtain it, and so that, no matter what it takes, is what Fedyor will have to get him to do. And for that…

He knows that he is not unattractive. He has dark eyes, dark hair, a dimpled smile, a personable and friendly manner that, in happier times, attracted the attention of many an eligible young lady who wished to ice skate or promenade around the park or take a carriage ride, as courting Russian couples are wont to do. However, while Fedyor was perfectly happy to chat with ladies, or escort them to a ball, or fulfill his essential chivalric duty, he was not otherwise interested in wooing them. It was partly for that reason that he signed up to the military, where an enterprising young man can have other opportunities in the darkness of the barracks. So long as his family was kept conveniently unaware.

For all that the Bolsheviks have overthrown the government without a clear plan as to what to do next, and accordingly plunged them all into this miserable civil war, Fedyor does secretly sympathize with certain of their beliefs on the remaking of family life. They say that marriage is outdated and bourgeoisie, that monogamy is unnatural, that women should not be subject to patriarchal systems, and that homosexuality is an equally valid state of nature. Such a possibility of sexual classification and divergence is much discussed in Europe these days, and there is even a small but growing scholarly literature, written by eminent scientists. Sexual Inversion by Havelock Ellis, published in 1896, argues that the man-loving man is indeed even a possibly improved form of human, associated with superior intellectual and artistic achievement, and that nothing about his attachment is wrong or abnormal. Two years before that, Edward Carpenter wrote Homogenic Love, and in 1900, the German Elisar von Kupffer published an anthology of homosexual poetry, Lieblingminne und Freundesliebe in der Weltliteratur. Such texts are relatively easy for an educated, French- and English- speaking young Russian intellectual, such as Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, to lay his hands on. He is not sure what can come of it, but at least he knows that he is not alone.

The question remains as to Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov’s proclivities. Unless Fedyor is very much mistaken, Ivan was at least considering the possibility of accepting his offer, and turned it down for honorable, moral reasons, feeling it unjust to sexually extort a young gentleman in exchange for his sister’s care, rather than physical horror at the idea of such a coupling. If he’s a Bolshevik, he’s probably acceptably tolerant of their philosophy on an abstract level, but it’s less clear as to whether that extends to its personal practice. If Fedyor turns up in his bunkhouse – which, come to think of it, is probably shared, curse these Bolsheviks and their dratted communality, highly inconvenient for a midnight seduction attempt – scantily clad and willing, will Ivan’s objections hold out then? Or… or what?

Fedyor doesn’t know, but the uncertainty adds to the frisson of shameful excitement, rather than detracting from it. He searches through the streets of Chelyabinsk for some bread (it does not seem in much greater supply than in Nizhny Novgorod) and waits for the sun to go down. In March, the days, though getting steadily longer, are still short and chilly, and it’s bitingly cold when it gets dark. Then he pulls up his muffler, tells himself not to be unduly precious about it, and heads for the makeshift army quarters on Kirovka Street.

The buildings in downtown are beautiful, built in the Russian Revival style of neo-Byzantinian splendor, though the onion-domed Orthodox churches have all been converted into stables and armories, and anything that whiffs of an ideology contrary to the Red one has been economically discarded. Fedyor reaches the door, knocks, and when a disgruntled sergeant comes to answer it, expecting him to be a soldier out too late and in line for a ticking-off, Fedyor raises his hands apologetically. “I’ve come to join up,” he says. “The great socialist cause of the world’s workers is the only true one for a patriotic Russian man, and I vow it my full allegiance, if you will have me. I was speaking to my friend earlier, Ivan Ivanovich, and he suggested it. Is he still here?”

The sergeant eyes him squiggle-eyed, but they cannot afford to look gift horses too closely in the mouth, or turn aside willing recruits. It takes a while, but he shouts for someone who shouts for someone else, and this finally produces the startled personage of Ivan Sakharov, who clearly thought it was for the last time when they parted several hours ago. Upon sight of Fedyor, he stops short, looking alarmed, angry, and wary all at once. “What are you – ?”

“Can we talk?” Fedyor is resolved to do this, he truly is, but he feels it best to get it over with before that wavers in any degree. Whether he wants it too little does not seem like the problem; on the contrary, he fears that he wants it too much, and if he stops to reflect on it or delude himself with any nonsensical notions of it being more than once, that can only hurt the cause. “Somewhere… private?”

Ivan hesitates, as if asking to commune out of sight of the others is tantamount to heresy (though it’s not as if these damn hypocrites didn’t plot in secret, away from their own countrymen, for months and months, Fedyor thinks angrily). Then he jerks his head. “Fine. Five minutes. This way.”

He leads Fedyor up a few narrow, creaking staircases, past closed doors that echo with snorting and snoring and coughing, the cacophony of his comrades, none of whom seem to be enjoying their glorious victory quite as much as they thought. Ivan, however, appears to be sufficiently high-ranking in the Red Guards that the room they finally arrive at, though not much larger than a closet, is at least private. It reminds Fedyor forcibly of Ivan’s room back in St. Petersburg, the one they slept in together, that first night after the Winter Palace. It sounds more intimate in his recollections than it actually was. Nothing happened, of course. But Ivan was kind to offer it, kind when he did not need to be, when a young tsarist soldier alone in the ferment of riot and revolution, such as Fedyor was, would not be likely to see the new red dawn. It is that which Fedyor keeps in mind as he shuts the door with assumed casualness, then turns around, meets Ivan’s eye in a significant fashion, and shrugs off his coat, cap, and muffler. Then, unmistakably, starts to unbutton his shirt.

He has almost gotten to the bottom by the time Ivan, who is staring at him as if he’s lost his marbles (it is unclear if this is an encouraging fashion or not) finally recovers his sense. He strides forward and covers Fedyor’s hands with his own large, callused rifleman’s fingers, sending a shock of attraction burning through Fedyor from head to toe, along with the death of any more illusion that he could continue to be casual about this. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fedyor’s throat is as dry as a bone, but he forces himself to speak. “I said that I would do anything for my sister’s care, if you would help.”

He lingers suggestively on the word anything, just as he did before, in case there was any doubt (as if the undressing wasn’t enough) what he means here. Ivan looks like a cornered bear, but as his eyes catch Fedyor’s and flick across the lean, muscled torso thus revealed beneath the shirt, he swallows hard and has to glance away. The attraction trembles silently in the air between them, tense as a piano string, tuned to snapping. In the old days, that is, when people played pianos, and did not burn them for firewood, as Fedyor’s parents were preparing to do with theirs when he left home. It chokes raw and painful in his throat. He is attracted to Ivan – desperately attracted, in fact – and yet he still hates what the Bolsheviks have done, even if the Romanovs and the Provisional Government were no better. The deposed Tsar Nicholas II is under house arrest with his wife and five children, the four tsarevnas and the tsarevich, in Yekaterinburg. Little sick Alexei Romanov, whose hemophilia opened the door for Grigori Rasputin to control the queen, the royal household, the government of Russia, and so bring about the end of their house. He was like something from a fairytale monster, that Grisha. The rumors of his death, not quite two years ago in December 1916, is that it almost did not happen, he was so hard to kill. A demon. A beast.

“You cannot do this,” Ivan says, his voice too rough, his eyes still struggling to remain decorously averted. “It is not – it is not right.”

“Not right?” Fedyor flares. “So a little spot of armed treason and overthrowing the man who, however deficient he might be, was the heir of one of the oldest and greatest empires in the world? That part was entirely aboveboard, but this, when you want this – don’t lie to me, I’m well aware you do – to help my sister? That would be a sin?!”

Ivan backs up a step, glancing around shiftily. These walls are thin, and he clearly does not want his beloved brothers-in-arms to hear this. “Fedyor Mikhailovich – ”

“Have me.” Fedyor is done playing games. “I’m here, I’m yours for the taking. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you give me the medicine at the end.”

For a long, spellbound moment, he thinks Ivan is on the brink of agreeing. Then once again, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I could not in good conscience consent to this. But I will fetch you the medicine. You do not have to give me anything in return.”

Fedyor gawks at him, shocked – and, it must be confessed, more than a little disappointed. “I thought it was fair trade,” he says. “Tit for tat.”

“It is…” Ivan shakes his head, eyes once more straying to Fedyor’s bare chest. “Button your shirt up,” he says, half-laughing, not angry, breathless and soft. “It is very distracting.”

“Good.” Fedyor takes another step. “I think you deserve it, you obnoxious bastard.”

“Be that as it may.” At least Ivan has the good sense not to dispute it. “I cannot do this,” he repeats, more gently. “You are a fine young man, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Perhaps in another life… but it would not be honorable to trade your virtue for this.”

“My virtue?” Fedyor has to laugh. “What makes you think I have that?”

Once again, Ivan wavers. But to give him (loathing) credit, he will not be swayed. “Button it,” he repeats. “I will arrange to have the money and medicine sent by your lodging by tomorrow, if you give me an address in the city.”

“I don’t have one.” Fedyor folds his arms. “Only here.”

Ivan looks even more startled. His lips part, he takes a step forward, and for a brief, wild, exquisite yearning of an instant, Fedyor thinks he is actually going to kiss him. They’re almost close enough – not quite, but almost – for it to happen. Then Ivan says, “Your family must be very proud of you.”

“I…” It catches in his throat. “I don’t know. I hope.”

“I would,” Ivan says. “I would be.”

And that, somehow, is all that seems to matter. Even as Fedyor spends a night in Ivan’s narrow camp cot of a bed, Ivan insisting on taking the hard floor out of an excess of gallantry, an echo of their first night in St. Petersburg. Ivan does as ordered, gives Fedyor some rubles and some medicine and a train ticket back home to Nizhny Novgorod. He personally escorts Fedyor to the train station to make sure he does not come to grief, then stands on the platform, staring after him like Vronsky watching Anna leave one more time. The train begins to huff and puff, spitting soot and embers, and Fedyor keeps his nose pressed to the glass, leaving a smudge, until long after, as it seems he is never destined to do anything but, Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov has vanished into the mist.

[nellpire]

[2109xx] Nell - Dazed September Issue 2021 Interview (translation)

Q: Four years since we last met, now Dazed is greeting you again like this. As a "Nell kid" who grew up listening to your music, speaking to the four of you feels surreal. What's new with you? Jaekyung: We've been continuously working on our new album.  Jongwan: We've worked on it for about a year and a half and finally concluded our work the day before yesterday. Like COVID, we worked non-stop and immersed ourselves in composing.

Q: When will we get to meet it? Jongwan: Looks like it'll be somewhere between the 1st and the 3rd of September. 

Q: I heard you're also in the midst of shooting a Nell documentary.  Jongwan: We've put it off for the moment.  Junghoon: There are too many variables in today's world.

Q: It's the same for all of Dazed's issues, there's no telling at all what will happen. And the same goes for who will sing Nell's masterpieces next. The band Gift did a remake of Time Spent Walking Through Memories not long ago. That's rare for them. Jongwan: It was a first for them as a band. We're well aware of their talent as we've been watching them on YouTube. We've wished they would play a song of ours.  Jaewon: We're always keeping an eye on indie bands, and Gift stood out among those hoobaes. We were very grateful when they told us they were singing our song. 

Q: Dazed readers in their late teens and early 20s remember that song so clearly too. Let's go back to that era of Nell. Do you remember each other's youth?  Jaekyung: It's so long ago that it's hard to recall (laughter). We've talked about this many times already, but one of Jaewon's aliases in elementary school was "jjang". We were close friends, played guitar and drums. Jongwan was a kid who sang and played basketball well (laughter). Jongwan: We were just students who liked music. We wanted to learn to play instruments and played in school bands. Looking back now, we've been making music for a long time, but I doubt anyone thought we'd make it this far. When we were high school students all we wanted was to hurry up and graduate, and when we were in our 20s we just didn't want to turn 30… It was that kind of common youth.  Jaewon: When I think about high school student Junghoon, he really listened to music a lot, and he still does. I remember he always had earphones or a headset on.  Junghoon: (laughter) The headset was to look cool. I loved winter back in my school days. There's the winter jackets, and you get to wear long sleeves. Then you can wear the earphone cable inside your clothes and out through your sleeve. So in class I'd always lean my head in my hand to listen to music. Jaewon: Jaekyung was really tall back then too, and he was always running or playing basketball. 

Q: The song "See you in five" from your "Colors in Black" album echoes in my mind. "Is my forced composure / fooling anyone? Let's meet in that place we used to go / If we keep this up / we won't see each other much before we die". I've suddenly reached an age where I can relate deeply to those words.  Jaekyung: You might start a family as you grow older, and as the lines between you and your friends' lives become clearer in a whole new way, you naturally stop hanging out as much. In our 20s, 15 or so of us would gather and see each other almost every day, but now it's hard to meet up even once a year. I was doubtful when I read Jongwan's lyrics for the first time; "will we really end up like that?", but we really did. If we didn't have social media, maybe we would be strangers by now.  Junghoon: And COVID only amplified that. 

Q: I can relate. The fact that, supported by music, the connecting link between the four of you has remained unsevered for 20 years and you've managed to maintain your relationship is truly remarkable. What do the four of you talk about when you gather?  Jongwan: It hasn't changed much. Current matters, events of the world. Things we found fun as kids. And when we work, music talk. To be honest, there's never enough time to talk about that alone (laughter). Jaekyung: When we wrapped up our new album not long ago, we had an after-party and talked a bit about the next album, too. Jaewon: We watch foreign artists' festival performances and envy them, and talk about past concerts.  Jongwan: Maybe it's because we've been together for so long that we still have so much to talk about even in these times. Because we've spent so much longer without COVID than with it. For example, until the year before we last we always played festivals together, et cetera, so the volume of memories we share together is so enormous that we keep having new things to talk about, even in these past 1~2 years. Because talking about the past isn't someone else's stories, but things all four of us can share on a deep level.

Q: Being unable to stand on stage as a band musician and being unable to gather people has to be a deadly thing. The fans must be more disappointed than they can express.  Jongwan: It's a given, but the fans are very disappointed. And I don't need to say anything about how we feel. Moreover we're not very good at communicating; we've always seen our fans through albums and concerts, so we feel even more apologetic now. 

Q: The Nell fandom and its love is as deep and profound as the amount of time they've spent with you. Is there a fan that stands out in your memory?  Jongwan: There are two. One of them is a person we always mention in times like these. This happened when we were all in our late 20s. Up until that point, the reason why we made music was very simple: Expressing ourselves. 100% for our own satisfaction. One person who felt very lost listened to that music of ours and told us this: "Living is so hard, but I gained comfort by listening to Nell's music. I found hope." It can be seen as something fans just say, but at the time it approached us in a heavy way. It was the first time we realized our music can have a positive influence on a stranger's life. It was also the first time we felt proud of something other than expressing ourselves. The second one is from 1~2 years ago, so comparatively recent. Someone collected all of our physical releases, CDs, DVDs and so on, framed it and sent it to us. Everything including the first albums we released as an underground indie band as well as our overseas releases. They sent it to us anonymously so we don't know who they are, but when we received it and held it, it was… what should I say? Emotional. Jaekyung: I too remember the moment I first saw it. It shone like the discography commemorations they hang in famous overseas studios. Albums are really important to us. That's what has let us promote and meet the fans at concerts for the last 20 years. How could we ever forget such a heartfelt gift? We put it up for display in our studio.  Jongwan: Since the four of us meet and work every day, we can't document our 20s and 30s and so we're not aware of the passage of time. But those albums have the dates written in chronological order. Looking at it makes us realize that it's possible to summarize someone's 20-year history like that, from our late teens to our current 40-year-old selves, and it causes this temporary hollow feeling, but it also makes us look at our fans and the members, who've spent all that time together, in a different way. Because this is clearly not an experience everyone gets to have. So that gift was very touching. And we're also really curious who sent it. 

Q: Is the essence of Nell's music still a skepticism, distrust of society or the world? Jongwan: There's still skepticism. I don't think I've ever felt this world is a good place to live. Life isn't always easy or happy, but I don't think that's a bad thing. 

Q: How so? Jongwan: I think that's nature. Even two puppies will crave more love from their owner and be jealous of each other. Would the world humans live in be extreme? I'm the type to believe human nature is inherently bad, so I think it's an issue of living while being pestered by other people and trying to find a balance within that. So having a hard time and being skeptical is a destiny we can't escape. If you think this is bad, even the meaning of life becomes something negative. It's important to find precious, meaningful things even within that, and humans being able to do that is in my opinion something incredibly brave. But as for distrust, it's not something we always channel. The more detailed theme changes with each album. 

Q: The analogy Jongwan made one time about Nell's music was very memorable to me: that Nell's music isn't a fancy restaurant, but a local place.  Jongwan: On the one hand there's fine dining where you can enjoy perfect dishes, plating and interior design for a high price, and on the other there are local places frequented by people in the neighborhood and others who find it by word of mouth, that gives people small happinesses. Old restaurants you can find anywhere on the globe. There's clearly something you can only find in places like those, and I don't think that's far off from our direction. We're not uninterested in making it big and making our name famous, but from our perspective we're putting out music we can be proud of and we have people who respect that music. If we have people who gain comfort and happiness by listening to our music, that's meaningful enough in itself.

Q: I hope more people in Korea will realize the charm of local places and that we'll gain more of such bands and musicians. Not for nothing, Nell is like a lighthouse to so many new bands and young musicians. What would you like to say to them?  Jaekyung: That if you're a band, you should try to let go of your personal greed to the best of your abilities. It's not like there was never any conflict between us four, but I want to ask you to think about whether those kinds of quarrels are important in making good music.  Jongwan: "All in." It's far from easy, going all in. Not just in music; it's difficult to maintain the things you like in any field. 

Q: By "all in", do you mean complete and total immersion? Jongwan: Making it the top priority in your life. I think if you make it even priority 1.5, you have almost no chance of succeeding. It has to be your top priority, so if it's not #1 for you it might not be worth it. You have to endure those difficulties, and if it's not your favorite thing, if it's not your #1 priority, I don't think you'll have reason to endure. There are people who are simply geniuses too, but I'm not one of them. I've seen so many cases where people thought they were all in, but they weren't really. If you want to go all in, then don't look back, don't think of anything else and throw yourself into it. Then someday something right for you will find its way to you, like a gift. 

Q: No less than 22 years. The reason why Nell exists now is because the four of you believed in the power of music. What do you each think is the power of music? Jaewon: Empathy and comfort. There are times when musicians are comforted by their own music. Even if you don't feel 100% connected to the listener, even if you're just sharing the edge of your emotions, I think that's the clear power of music. Jaekyung: For musicians, the moments of making music are the most enjoyable, because nothing else can bring the same emotions. This might sound obvious too, but music needs no special explanation. Even if our languages, sentiments and ethnicities are different, music always speaks for itself. The power of music is something transcendental that all humans can enjoy and have in common. Junghoon: To sound a bit juvenile, music has a power that explodes momentarily. The kind of power that turns anyone into the main character of a movie. If I listen to music that amplifies my emotions when I'm feeling down, I can become sadder than any character in any movie. Some music gives you more energy than the main character in a high teen movie, other music turns introverted and passive people into rebels.  Jongwan: Music can be the strength that keeps people living. An acquaintance's child was very sick with late stage leukemia. When their condition got worse, they were asked if they had one wish, and they said they wanted to meet us. I teared up when I heard about that. It made me think that music can sometimes be a source of incomprehensible strength that makes us want to live the time we have left. Of course, I'm not saying we make that kind of music (laughter). But it's because we believe that music has that potential and worth that we continue to make music even when we're at our wit's end. 

Feel free to use, but please credit Nellpire.

[silver-wield]

Hi! Can you do an analysis where after you do all the sidequests in chapter 3 and Tifa asks Cloud which outfit to wear? Thank you!

You're talking about the alone at last discovery, but you want all the dress options? I mean, the mature one is canon for her even if you don't do alone at last, so the other choices are optional within an optional scene – and the only reason it's optional is because you get the mature dress anyway.

Basically I'm just gonna do the mature dress lol

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be medium.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Please check my master post to see if I've already covered your question, thanx

Recap time!

A pouting Cloud – who will always be my favourite Cloud cause adorable af – has been convinced by Tifa to help collect money for water filters to cover his pay for the reactor job. While they're making their rounds he gets stopped by Marle for a little heart to heart and a very important life lesson that he takes with him through the rest of the game.

Once that's over and he's changed the filter in his room, he pops next door to see Tifa.

AGH SHE'S SO CUTE! She's totally being cute on purpose too! Big eyes, hands behind her back, leaning forward, she's doing everything she can to put Cloud at ease because she's about to be nosy and we know Tifa doesn't push people.

The wide eyes, surprised “hmm?” and unguarded expression show he thought she had something else in mind besides this question lol

This isn't real!Cloud btw, it's just surprised Cloud lol

This is real!Cloud. After some back and forth between them, where Cloud seems to have a small deliberation with himself what he's ok to reveal while Tifa wears an earnest and hopeful look of expectation he'll share with her, Cloud turns away and gives some basic info that's emotionless and has very little attachment to his SOLDIER persona. A part of him seems to realise that and we see a flicker of grief cross his face. His mouth downturns and his brows pull together for a brief moment. He may well be getting a reminder of Zack's death, but it's so detached at this point he can't recall it or feel anything besides the slightest flicker. He grows confused and tries to muddle it through, but there's no conclusion. It's yet another odd feeling he has that comes with no reason why.

Tifa senses Cloud's upset and apologises for pushing him. She's very aware of his feelings and the distance between them from the long years apart.

We get a wide shot of them, showing the physical distance, which highlights their emotional distance. However, between them on the rug is the pattern of the reunion flower. This imagery has likely been placed there as a metaphor for them reuniting.

Cloud gives Tifa his profile as she talks about them maybe never meeting again and it being a strange coincidence they did. Since part of him assumed she was dead the entire time, it's likely a painful association to him and that's why he can't face her when she says it. With his head down and eyes obscured we can't really read his face very well, but from the glimpse we get, he looks hurt.

The distance between them closes when Tifa takes steps towards Cloud and he turns to her. She suggests they celebrate and Cloud looks surprised. Since he's probably wanted to ask her out since forever, the ease in which she does it makes him doubt she's sincere.

Tifa clearly becomes defensive here. The potential rejection from Cloud's “really?” has made her cross her arms over herself in a protective gesture. Her expression is hiding the hurt that Cloud might not want to go out with her. She tried to close the distance between them, but then took a small step back, indicating they're not quite comfortable with each other still. They're both wary and tip-toeing around each other, being careful. In Tifa's case, it's likely so Cloud won't up and leave all of a sudden. And for Cloud, we can guess it's because as much as he wants to be with Tifa, he feels like he always fails her and has no right to be around her.  

Cloud, you're a goddamn troll and I hate you lol

Caught the smile the third time I watched this bit back. I knew he was teasing her anyway, but his micro-expressions give me life and I need to find the exact moment they appear. He wants to see her dressed up. Just the idea of her dressing up for him is making him want to smile. Cloud joking around is adorable and I wanna see more of it. This is hints of real!Cloud teasing his crush because he thinks she’s cute.

Remember during their promise scene when Cloud would try and bait a reaction out of Tifa and she'd one up him and he'd end up being the one who got stuck in his feels? Yeah, this is that.

You'd think by now Cloud would've learned not to tease Tifa if he can't handle the come back. I mean, this is a clear, check me out, pose.

When Cloud says, “Something refined,” Tifa smiles and replies “we're not kids anymore” which is definitely suggestive of her. The look on her face hints that she's got plans already and she's pleased that it seems Cloud doesn't think of her as just his childhood friend anymore. Which is why she draws attention to them not being kids any longer. She wants Cloud to think of her as a woman.

And Cloud likes the idea of them matching. It's suggestive of a couple, which he'd like to be with her, so the fact she's asked him to match her is a huge hint that she still has a crush, although Tifa's so reserved her hints are very small and take a keen eye to spot. That Cloud smiles at the thought shows how much he's looking forward to going out with her, he does this tiny little shy glance away then back to her – we were robbed of a cute date up on the plate #cries#

More Cloud smiling. He's looking forward to it, even if he replies “maybe” to Tifa saying how much fun they'll have. He was asked out and agreed. That's how dates work. We were robbed #cries even more#

It's an introspective moment for him. He's likely wanted to ask her out for years and this is how easy it was the entire time lol

Conclusion

Get married, make babies, we're getting old here!

Cloud isn't pressured into going out with Tifa, the amount he smiles during this exchange shows he's excited to have a date with her – even if they're not calling it a date. Tifa got Cloud to open up a little and they closed some of the emotional and physical distance between them. It's a step on the path to them becoming a couple.

I say a lot that they have good eye contact and this is where they begin. Before this moment, Cloud looked at her, but didn't hold her gaze as much. After Marle telling him to try more, he's putting himself out there for her and making that emotional connection. Their eye contact in this scene isn't there at the start, because of the seriousness of the conversation at times, but Tifa's very sympathetic to Cloud's needs and does her best to cheer him up. It works because he teases her and by the end, they're on their way to that moment in the corkscrew tunnel when neither of them broke eye contact even after getting up.

[crockettmarcel]

decided to remake and update this because the last one is lost somewhere on my blog! this is going to be Long because I have too many a lot of aus so if you read the whole thing please know I love you <3

#tiny love!au

— this doesn’t need much explaining (I hope) but it’s about Ava and Sarah raising their daughter Lolly, and later on, Crockett (Lolly’s father) and Ethan joining the family as well :) also they have twins later

#single dad!crockett

— essentially a reverse of the original tiny love. for reasons that I don’t have time to go into here, Sarah decided she didn’t want to be a mom, and Crockett ended up moving to New Orleans with Lolly and raised her by himself

#mafia!au

— Sarah’s the leader of a mafia/mob in Chicago, and Ava’s her girlfriend/right hand woman

#royalty!au *

— Sarah and Ava are the queens of a small country called Andenia, and Lolly is the little princess 🥰

#punk!au

— five punks (and Jimmy) living in a house together <3 also there’s a baby and Sarah’s constantly mad at Crockett

#back to school!au

— Sarah’s a popular cheerleader who wants to know more about the cute new South African girl sitting in front of her in English class

#black water!au

— Sarah’s a lighthouse keeper in a small Cornish town, who one day finds Ava wandering alone on the moors, dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. she brings her inside to get warm, and the two of them start spending more and more time together, until Ava reveals that she has to go back home to London

#bloodline!au

— loosely based on a fic I wrote back in 2018. Sarah and Joey’s relationship ended after she found out she was pregnant, and she was left as a single mom until she met Ava a few months before her daughter’s first birthday

#close encounter!au *

— Sarah experiences a close encounter of the fourth kind, and after initially trying to convince herself it was just a dream, decides to quit her job at Med and make it her goal to track down others with stories like hers

#disorder!au *

— Sarah reverts back to her old coping mechanisms from high school to try and cope with the stress of being a doctor (eating disorder tw)

#experiment!au

— Sarah, Ava, April, Crockett, and Jimmy are the subjects in a secret military project to try and develop humans with superpowers, with the intention of eventually creating super soldiers to be sent into warzones

#ghost!au

— when Ava found a beautiful apartment in Chicago with rent so low she thought it was a typo, she didn’t realise it was because there’d been a brutal murder of a med student there four years ago (and she definitely didn’t expect to have a ghostly roommate who kept her up at night and made the walls bleed)

#homesick!au

— chicago med/911LS crossover. Sarah moved to Austin when she was 7 after her parents’ divorce, where she quickly befriended Carlos Reyes, her next door neighbour. they’ve been friends ever since, and when everything blew up with her dad in Chicago, she decided to move back to Austin, because she knew she’d always have a home there

#model!au

— Nat, April, and Sarah are all models (and really close friends). after an injury, Nat was replaced in a show by a South African model, who obviously didn’t get off to the best start with everyone. the only person who’d talk to her was Sarah, who was trying her best to hide her true feelings for the new model in an environment that doesn’t exactly welcome lesbians

#pride!au

— Sarah coming to terms with being a lesbian (and falling in love with Ava along the way)

#roommate!au

— enemies to lovers reesker <3 Ava was living in a really grim apartment when she first moved to Chicago, and after a few weeks of hearing about how awful it was, Connor started getting tired of her constant complaining and told her that Reese in psychiatry was looking for a roommate. they didn’t hit it off at first - Ava thought Sarah was stuck up, and Sarah thought Ava was a bitch - but living together was what they both needed, so they decided to try and make it work

#showbiz!au

— Sarah’s a famous actress, and Ava’s a lighting technician working on the set of her latest film. once filming was over, Sarah asked Ava out, and both of them try to navigate this new normal

#suburbia!au *

— after the traumatic death of a colleague, Ava left her job at the Mayo Clinic and drove down to Burnett, IL. the town seems nice enough at first, and so does her neighbour, the ever-charming Sarah Reese. but nothing’s as it seems, and Ava quickly discovers that Sarah has a deadly secret

#tattoo/flowershop!au *

— Hannah’s a tattoo artist who keeps going to the flower shop across the street to buy roses because she “just can’t seem to get them exactly right”. Sarah owns the flower shop, and she thinks it’s adorable how flustered this scary looking tattoo artist gets around her

#teacher!au

— Sarah's a science teacher who’s just started at a new school, and quickly caught the eye of Ava, everyone’s favourite English teacher. they click straight away, but Sarah’s still recovering from her previous relationship, and is hesitant to rush into things with Ava

#wild west!au

— Ava left her life in Chicago and ran away to Blackridge, WY, hoping for safety and a fresh start. Sarah’s a cowgirl who’s come back to the town after a year spent mostly out on the plains alone. they both have secrets, and as Sarah introduces Ava to her way of life and they grow closer, they’re both able to start the healing process that they so desperately need

#yoga!au *

— Sarah’s an overconfident yoga coach, and Ava’s a cardiac surgeon with anxiety issues who’s decided she hates LA more than anywhere else on earth. after what was probably the weirdest interaction in her life, Ava found herself agreeing to go to one of Sarah’s yoga classes, and from there everything got a little bit gay

[padawanlost]

Do you think anakin might be narcissistic or might have narcissistic traits?

No, I don’t. But, please, let’s remember I’m not a mental health professional (I just like Google :P). Here are some Symptoms and behaviors someone Narcissistic personality disorder might display:

Have an exaggerated sense of self-importance: Nope.

“I am convinced, Master Yoda,” said Palpatine. “I know that, as a rule, I leave the strategic planning to you and your Jedi Council and the GAR war cabinet—but in this case I feel compelled to intervene. It was only thanks to young Master Skywalker that Kothlis—and before it Bothawui—did not fall into Separatist hands. But Anakin is only one man—and the Jedi cannot expect him to save the day every day.” Anakin closed his eyes. Please, please, stop talking now, Chancellor. Really. Just stop.[…]“Anakin, Anakin.” He shook his head, ruefully smiling. “I embarrassed you, didn’t I?” He felt heat rush into his face. “No, sir, I—” “Yes, I did,” said Palpatine. “You can say it. I won’t bite.” […] [Anakin] couldn’t speak for a moment. This is the most important man in the galaxy … and he speaks to me as though I’m his own flesh and blood. He has cared about me since I was a boy. “Chancellor …” He had to wait a moment before he could trust his voice. “Please, don’t ever doubt my regard for you. It’s too deep for words.” Eyes moistening, Palpatine smoothed the nap of his rich blue velvet trousers. “I know it makes you uncomfortable when I praise you in public, Anakin. Particularly to Master Yoda or Master Kenobi.” [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Have a sense of entitlement and require constant, excessive admiration: Nope. Anakin wanted to be accepted and respected for his achievements, nothing more.

Expect to be recognized as superior even without achievements that warrant it: Nope.

He wasn’t sure why, beyond the fact that he didn’t relish responsibility for—or power over—others. And she talked too much. And she was far too cocky, in that naive, chirpy, why-can’t-we-fix-it way, as if he and the clone troopers had never been in combat before. When it came to battle—well, he’d still take lessons from them, thanks. And she could do the same. [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

• Exaggerate achievements and talents: Nope. Anakin talents and achievements are not exaggerated. It’s a fact that he was the one of the best ever.

“So you don’t believe in it?” “I didn’t say that.” Shaking his head, Obi-Wan stared at the floor. “Qui-Gon believed in it. And I believed in him. And there’s no escaping the fact you’re the most gifted Jedi the Temple has ever seen.” He looked up. “So if Yoda’s reluctant to risk you, Anakin, it’s not on a whim. He has good reason.” [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

• Be preoccupied with fantasies about success, power, brilliance, beauty or the perfect mate: nope. Anakin’s only recurring fantasy was saving slaves:

When the war was over he’d go back to Tatooine and see. When the war was over he’d buy any child he found enslaved to Watto and find them a home where they might live and love in safety. Belonging to no one but themselves. I should have done it before now. Wasn’t that my other childhood dream? Become a Jedi and free the slaves. Instead I became a Jedi and let myself forget. Let them convince me that it’s not our job to remake the Republic. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

I know now that I should have paid more attention to his words. But I was eager to tell him about my dream of becoming a Jedi and freeing the slaves on Tatooine. [Todd Strasser. Anakin Skywalker Journal]

Believe they are superior and can only associate with equally special people: nope

“But—” Gathering his thoughts, disciplining himself, he watched Anakin scoop up one small excited boy, too young to kick the ball, and zoom him overhead like a fighter chasing a vulture droid. The boy nearly sickened himself with laughing. “Greti, are you saying—” […]Anakin’s amusement vanished. “He wasn’t heavy. These younglings are skin and bone. I look at them and—” He clenched his jaw. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Siege]

Monopolize conversations and belittle or look down on people they perceive as inferior: nope.

“I think—” Anakin kicked his heel against the polished marble floor. “I think I hate it when I can’t stop my men from getting hurt. From dying. I think—” “What?” he prompted, when Anakin didn’t continue. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” “It matters, Anakin,” he said gently. “What you think matters.” [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Take advantage of others to get what they want: nope.

She sat down again. “I understand. This is war. You have to look at the big picture. You can’t afford to see the little people.” Scurrying like rodents. Sacrificed for the greater good. “That’s not true!” Anakin protested. “That’s what the big picture is. Lots and lots and lots of little people. You matter, Bant’ena. The friends you lost on Taratos Four, they matter. We’re fighting this war so no more like them will die.” He was very sweet. Very young. Full of grand ideals and breathtaking, intuitive compassion. She looked at Master Kenobi. Now, there was a pragmatist, a man possessed of a scientist’s soul. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Have an inability or unwillingness to recognize the needs and feelings of others: nope.

“Oh. That’s right.” There was still dried blood on her fingers, and a dull, throbbing pain in her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally this stupid. I just—” And then she felt her face crumple and heard herself sob. Her knees buckled and she began to sink toward the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she choked. “Don’t mind me. I’m fine.” He caught her before she tumbled completely. Lifted her without effort and carried her to the sofa. Boneless and unprotesting, she let him. Let her face turn to his roughly shirted, dirty chest and howled her rage and shame against him. Dimly, she felt his hand warm and comforting on her back and heard his soft voice saying, over and over, “It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe now. It’s all right.” The crazy thing was that she did feel safe. For the first time since those Separatist blaster bolts seared the air and sand of Niriktavi Bay, since she saw her friends and colleagues slaughtered, she felt safe. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Be envious of others and believe others envy them: nope

The dining hall was a paneled room with soft, recessed lighting and thick red veda cloth hangings at the windows that muffled sound and cast a rosy glow on the diners. It was just like the exclusive restaurants Anakin had glimpsed on Coruscant — just like the spots the students were used to eating in, he was sure. And, like an exclusive restaurant, seating in the dining hall was subject to an unspoken code. It hadn't taken Anakin long to realize that the best tables were by the windows and he was not welcome there. He didn't know why he felt a coolness from most of the students, but he definitely felt it. When he was looking for a seat at a table, an empty chair would be pushed aside to another table, or a datapad or a pile of durasheet notes would be quickly placed on the seat. It was clear that no one wanted to sit with him. There was a power elite in the school, and everyone else fell in around it. Yet Ferus had been accepted almost immediately, and had his pick of places to sit. Was it because word had gotten out that he belonged to a powerful family on his homeworld? You can travel to the ends of the galaxy and it will be the same — those with power do not like to share. His Master had told him that once, in a voice of weary resignation. But sometimes Obi-Wan seemed to forget that Anakin had been a slave. If anyone knew about power, it was a slave. He knew about the hunger for it, and he knew about the humiliation of getting your nose rubbed in the fact that you didn't have it. He took his bowl of aromatic stew to an empty table and sat. It wasn't that he needed company. Jedi were comfortable being alone. But inside, something burned, something deep and hot that he had hoped had been long forgotten. He took a bite of stew and tasted shame and anger. It was hard to swallow, like a mouthful of sand. [Jude Watson. The School of Fear]

• Behave in an arrogant or haughty manner, coming across as conceited, boastful and pretentious: nope.

Anakin was looking relieved. “Water would be greatly appreciated, thank you. Food, too, but I’ll wait for Obi-Wan to come back before I eat.” She crossed to the small kitchen table, put down the precious holoprojector, then nodded at the commercial-sized conservator her keepers had so kindly given her. “It’s entirely up to you. The water’s in there. Help yourself to as much as you like.” He drank three full bottles, hardly taking a breath. Noticing her surprise, he shrugged. “Sorry. My manners aren’t usually that bad. It’s just—it’s been a long, hard day.” “I can tell,” she said, disposing of the emptied bottles down her makeshift kitchen’s waste chute. “You should sit down. If you don’t mind me saying so, you look tired.” He considered his filthy clothes. “Are you sure? I don’t want to dirty the furniture.” [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Insist on having the best of everything — for instance, the best car or office: nope. There’s no evidence of Anakin ever concerning himself over status or material possessions. 

[elyreywrites]

singing here’s to never growing up

more batkids shenanigans - this time inspired by a comment on a YouTube video of Avril Lavigne’s “My Happy Ending”. thank you so much to the Capes & Coffee Discord for brainstorming this fic with me, and helping me figure out ages! and an especially huge thank you to Bumpkin and Oceans on that server for being my betas for this fic!!

this fic is set in 2020. the character ages & years born are: Bruce: 37 - born 1983 Dick: 25 - born 1995 Jason: 20 - born 2000 Tim: 17 - born 2003 Damian: 11 - born 2009

title is from Avril Lavigne’s “Here’s to Never Growing Up”!

please REBLOG - DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 1,276 words Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne part of my batkids shenanigans series

Summary:

Dick is just trying to get in touch with his inner angsty teenage girl. He didn’t ask for an existential crisis. Tim is making him have one anyway.

- - - - -

“…and it’s not like most plot-driven things – movies, books, shows, whatever – where the side stories might be briefly referenced but you don’t have to read them to understand what’s going on. The side games are absolutely crucial to understanding the plot.”

Jason snickered as Tim ranted about the Kingdom Hearts series. Sure, all Jason said was that he had only played the second game and was thinking about playing the first to understand the plot better, but that was ridiculous!

“If you play the first game and then go straight to the second, you’ll end up completely lost,” Tim huffed. “It starts with totally different characters and very little explanation of where they came from. That’s why you play ‘Days’ and ‘Re:Chain of Memories’—”

“Shhh,” Jason hissed, covering Tim’s mouth. “Do you hear Avril Lavigne?”

Tim paused just before he bit Jason’s hand and listened. Down the hall, he could faintly hear music.

“’All this time you were pretending. So much for my happy ending.’” Okay, that was definitely Avril Lavigne. With a tilt of his head, Tim gestured for them to investigate.

Down the hall, one of the lesser used sitting rooms had its door cracked open as the music spilled from inside. Tim slowly pushed the door open more and poked his head in. From the line of heat along his back, he knew Jason was leaning over him. That, and the chin that rested on his head because Jason was an asshole that took every opportunity to remind Tim that he’s shorter.

Tim blinked. Above him, Jason turned a near-silent snicker into a cough. Laying upside-down on the couch – feet dangling over the back and hair brushing the floor – was Dick, lip-syncing the words as dramatically as possible without changing position.

“Dick? What are you doing?” Tim asked, giving up the pretense of being sneaky and just walking in. The quiet curse behind him told him that Jason hadn’t been prepared to suddenly lose his support.

Either their older brother knew they were there or he was too good to visibly startle – each as equally likely – but it meant that Dick didn’t jump or even bother looking at them. “I’m getting in touch with my inner angsty teenage girl,” he explained.

Jason sprawled on the other end of the couch, leaving Tim to sit on the coffee table. “Any particular reason, Dickiebird?”

Dick spread his hands in an approximation of a shrug. “It be like that sometimes.”

Here’s the thing: Tim had gone through a bit of a phase years ago, and during that phase he was curious about when Avril Lavigne’s songs were released – he was a weird kid, okay? He never expected that information to come in handy, but it was his job as a little brother to torment his siblings. “Hey Dick,” Tim grinned, “guess how old I was when this song came out?”

“Why?” Dick asked, already sounding suspicious.

“I was about a year old, depending on the month,” Tim told him cheerfully.

“Nooo,” Dick whined, “Tim, why? Oh my god, you were a baby! And now you’re a teenager that’s nearly an adult and I’m old!”

“I was twenty-one,” Bruce scoffed, leaning against the doorway and drawing everyone’s attention. “I’m thirty-seven now. Please Dick, tell me about being old.”

“You don’t understand, B! At least you were already an adult, and now you’re just a more adult-adult. Tim was a tiny little baby and now he’s practically all grown up! I was a kid, and now I’m an actual adult! With a job! I’m having a crisis right now!”

Tim hummed. “Then I probably shouldn’t mention that her song ‘Sk8er Boi’ is older than I am.”

Dick wailed as Jason started howling with laughter so much that he grabbed his ribs.

“Tim! Why would you say that?!”

Damian walked in right then, scowling. “What idiotic nonsense is Drake spewing now that has you in a fit, Grayson?” Before anyone could answer, his brows furrowed and he added, “And why are all of you listening to such old music?”

That set Jason off again and Tim joined in. Their combined laughter wasn’t nearly enough to drown out Dick’s small, quiet sob as he slid off the couch to be a human puddle of existential crisis on the floor. “Babies,” he whispered. “I’m surrounded by babies. All of you are children. Oh my god.”

“Hey! I’m not a fuckin’ child, I’m twenty goddamn years old!” Jason argued.

Dick shrieked, “You can’t even legally drink!”

“Did you know you’re older than Google by three years, Dick?” Tim said. Dick whimpered.

Rolling his eyes, Bruce lightly cuffed Tim on the back of the head. “Give him a break, kiddo.”

“I have yet to have an answer as to why you all are listening to this infernal racket,” Damian demanded.

Within a couple seconds, Jason went from wheezing for air to completely solemn as he looked at Damian. “Sometime, kid, you just fuckin’ need to get in touch with your inner angsty teenage girl, and Avril Lavigne is the shit for that.” His faux-serious expression shattered with a smirk as he tacked on, “Also, I’m pretty sure Jon’s got this album.”

Damian scoffed and stormed out, muttering about being surrounded by idiots – Dick must have shown him Lion King then – and Tim snickered again. On the floor, Dick was still muttering and moaning about children and babies and “I’m so old, I’m like the Crypt Keeper”.

Tim bit his lip to stop himself from telling Dick that Freaky Friday – which was already apparently a remake – came out about a month after he was born. That could be saved for the next time Dick had a crisis about his age.

- - -

Two weeks later, Tim stopped halfway through ranting at Dick for only playing the main titles of Kingdom Hearts to stare down the hall. Much like the last time he was on a tangent about the game series, he could hear Avril Lavigne playing from somewhere. Except the only rooms down that hall were their bedrooms, and Jason and Dick stood on either side of him. The three glanced at each other, and Dick immediately grinned and bounced down the hall. Jason was smirking as he followed, and Tim trailed after hoping this wouldn’t end with Damian trying to stab him again.

Dick burst in as soon as he reached Damian’s room, where the music was definitely blaring from behind the door. “Dami, you’re listening to Avril Lavigne!”

When Tim peaked in, Damian was face-planted on his bed with his face towards the foot of the bed.

“I do not wish to talk about it,” he snapped, muffled as it was.

“Aw,” Dick pouted, “do you want a hug?”

Snarling, Damian lifted his head up enough to glare at all three of them. “I would prefer for you to leave my room at once!”

“Alright Dickie,” Jason said, grabbing and hauling Dick out, “leave the brat to fuckin’ wallow in his anti-social, pre-teen angst. Sometimes you just need to angst it out alone, as you damn well know.”

“Aren’t you the literature nerd? I mean, really, Little Wing, ‘angst it out’?” Dick snarked.

Tim pulled Damian’s door closed and followed after. “Hey, language is fluid and always changing,” he added.

Gesturing at him for emphasis, Jason declared, “Fuckin’ exactly! All words were made up at some point, and English is already a fucking mess of words from different languages smashed together! And at least a shit ton of the rules have exceptions!”

Tim nodded, “Like the ‘I before E except after C’ rule.”

“Here we go again,” Dick muttered.

“You fuckin’ started it!”

[rosemusic18]

Spoilers Ahead for Stargirl S1 E9 (Brainwave)

 I am tempted to just start doing youtube channel, but for now I am blabbing to a post on tumblr about Stargirl episodes from Episode 7. But let me just get to everything I want to for this week. 

All the spoiler will not only this week be in my opinion on the episode but will be also just spoilers over the 41 minutes of this episode. 

Overall episode: 9/10, I enjoyed this one more than last weeks. It had more moments with some of the character, and went more in depth of some of the storyline. Along with Brainwave, so I am excited for next week to see what happens. 

Summary: Alright, so we start the episode off with Henry King not Henry King Jr. with him starting to learn about his powers in a lab full of experiments. We see him getting muggled until he reads the thoughts of the man and then gives the man a seizure and then the man falls on the ground and dies. And then we see him go in front of a camera filming or documenting about his powers after experimenting on himself. Then we see Henry pulling out the tapes from his fathers vault and starting to watch that video which was marked Day 1. Next we see Courtney talking about how she wants to recruit Henry Jr. to the JSA, and use his powers to figure out what Brainwave’s Power is. Pat at first is weary and we see a picture of the Seven Solider’s Of Victory. Which of course Pat was apart of. But he explained how the stopped Cindy’s father or Dragon King in New York once since I have forgotten Cindy’s father name. Then we see more of the Janitor which I suspect he is either a JSA member or apart of the Seven Solider’s Of Victory. Because he sees a vision of him holding the staff which is his mop. Next we see Beth looking at Cindy’s house with the goggles and it says she went to study overseas with her mom which isn’t true as her father the Dragon King locks her in a chamber in the underground tunnels are. And then she talks about how she killed her mom. Her Mom seriously. And then her father puts gas that makes her go to sleep. Bye Cindy for just this episode. Then we see more of the videos or tapes Henry is watching, and then him using his telekenetic powers. And then we see the JSA fight due to Courtney wanting to recurit Henry and Yolanda storms off after what Henry did to her. Beth agrees with Courtney while Rick sides with Yolanda. (Civil war vibes). Next we see more of the Tapes, and Henry watching them. Later to see his dad’s hate for humans. And then he talks to his maid, and after that he hears her thoughts, and then hears his dads. Then we finally see the plans of the ISA when Dragon King annonces that Henry Jr has his fathers telepathic abilities. Which then the satelite would work and would make people fall under “the perfect world” under mind control across six states to make a perfect america. Like super serious villain vibes. Then we see a moment of Jordan in his office until Barbra interrupts him on his mission that he finished, and then she invites him to dinner. Like seriously I swear he will kill Pat. Then we see Henry reading minds of people when he goes to the hospital. Then Courtney and Henry have a moment where she is trying to recruit him and trying to tell him that their is good to every bad person and their bad thoughts you just got to look deeper because everyone loves. And she told him he can come to her whenever and help her. And then leaves. And PS. yes now henry knows Courtney was the one that did that to his father. Then we see that Pat wants Beth and Rick alone to do some research about the underground tunnels. So they get alone time but Beth reads all the books, while Rick tries to see more of his father’s journal since Pat needs to go to this Dinner. Oh I already told about the whole Courtney and Henry which goes after this but anyways it happens. Then we see more of Barbara and Pat talking as he almost tells her about everything that him and Courtney are doing before Courtney stops him and the guest arrives. We see the Mahkent’s enter and I just lit up when I saw Courtney see Cameron and his father and grandparents at the door. I just love the two. And then we see Henry get pulled into a room which is Yolanda doing it because she tells him or warns him she will kill him if he messes with her friends you know who the JSA. And she will kill him, but he reads her mind and I feel like she may be the reason next episode he helps since she said she loved him, past tense. Then we skip back to the dinner seeing that Courtney and Cameron are sitting next to another and then they say a prayer which only Jordan and Cameron’s grandparents know because it is in Greek, and he could only speak French or learned it. Then we see Pat get jealous like seriously death glares at Jordan, I want to see those two fight fist fight. Because I swear Jordan wants to kill Pat because he likes Barbara who is a married women. And then we see more of Rick and Beth (Hournite)  which Beth found something calls Rick who are then sitting together really close on a couch as Beth is reading over the history of Blue Valley and the tunnel and when they are built. And then we see how both of them talk about another to each others parents. Like oh my gosh they are so cute! Then Jordan asks about Pat and let me say I swear they are trying to rival another. Then we hear about “why Pat moved to Blue Valley” which is partily true. Then we hear a small bit of Barbara hating a bit of her childhood in Blue Valley. Then they both talk about remaking Blue Valley with what they are doing for families and Jordan and Barbara smile at another. And then we hear the grandparents talk about how Courtney worries them and how they might have to kill her basically. HELL NO! I love Cameron and Courtney and two those Grandparents need to go. They are speak Norwegian. And then Courtney does go get more food since she gets up then grabs the hot pot of food, and then she gets the gloves on since it stings her. Once she goes back and hands it to Jordan it doesn’t effect him at all. Then let’s go smaller we see Courtney and Pat talking in the kitchen on how Jordan could pick that up without gloves and with his hands.Then they talk more about him being icicle and then she suspects Cameron. Like ok I get it would be hard not to since Cindy is bad. But hey I love them together so please writers don’t let them flop. I NEED THEM TOGETHER. Then they leave and we see Cameron basically asking her out to hang out again, lets hope it isn’t at his place. But they do hug which is cute but I need more. Then we see Jordan and Courtney interact as he says he wanted to meet her and supports her basically giving her his blessing to date Cameron. Hey at least even though he is a villian he supports them dating. I love that. Then she runs down grabs the staff as Pat goes after her and she is about to go but Pat says they need to tell her mom. And in the end boom! Barbra sees it and she drops the staff which stops glowing. THen we see Henry in the hospital room with someone who says about a Will that is more trying to steal his family money. Then he does the same thing his father did by killing the man. Then at the end after that HENRY KING not HENRY JR. Wakes up from his coma and talks to his son. THEN End of episode. I don’t think this a summary more than a full recap because I swear this is the whole episode. 

HOURNITE SCENES FINALLY MORE BREADCRUMBS GUYS THEY MIGHT GIVE US A LOAF OF BREAD SOON.

YOLANDA BEING A BADASS!!! Like she goes after Henry and threatens him about her friends. So can she be my friend? 

Cameron and Courtney Scenes, I don’t want her to judge Cameron based on his father, I need them together and I want him to be good. 

HENRY READING MINDS AND KILLING A PERSON. Like yes he kills someone but I do suspect that is why he helps them too not only because of Yolanda, but because he didn’t enjoy it he wants to help people and sees what Courtney means. 

PAT BEING JEALOUS OF JORDAN!!!! I loved it so much the jealousy and tension between the two at the dinner was crazy funny and I want Pat to beat him up even if it’s in his Stripe suit. 

Learning more about Brainwave was cool because backstory time. 

DID I MENTION HOURNITE SCENES. 

BARBARA FINDING OUT COURTNEY AND PAT’S BEGINNING OF THE SECRET. Not fully but she saw the staff and heard a bit of the arguements between the two. 

HENRY WAKING UP HIS FATHER. I loved that scene because I knew it would happen I guessed it. I knew Brainwave would wake up. HE IS BACK AND READY FOR STARGIRL’S BLOOD IN REVENGE. 

I DON’T KNOW IF BRAINWAVE REMEMBERS YET IDK NEXT WEEK MIGHT TELL ME. 

HENRY NEEDS PROTECTION BECAUSE I FEEL BAD FOR HIM. RUDE AND HARD ON THE OUTSIDE BUT A CONFUSED MARSHMALLOW ON THE INSIDE.

Can you tell I’m writing this at midnight my time, and I’m tired but I wanted to get this done since I watched the episode 10 my time. 

What I believe and want in Stargirl S1 E10 (Brainwave Jr,)

To see the JSA kick some butt for once and get back in action.

Did I mention Training scene before, hmmmm YES YES I HAVE. I need just one scrap of a proper one from the team. 

When the JSA enters the tunnels and finds out about the plans that the ISA has. 

Barbara and Pat fighting about everything and how she was lied to. And how Jordan is flirting with her. 

More scenes of HOURNITE even if it’s just a loaf of bread this time. 

Cameron and Courtney scene like where she goes on a date with him. 

Henry Jr. decided to be good because he didn’t like killing the person and doesn’t want to be like his father or hurt the world so he decided to join or help the JSA fight the ISA. 

See Henry apoligize to Yolanda and where she can at least stand him for two minutes to listen to him. 

A kiss scene not long but just one not saying which ship it doesn’t matter I just need a bit of romance since things will get ugly once E11-13 hits us. 

More of Dragon King. I need to know more about him, and this Janitor. 

Thank you guys for reading it. Me and tumblr on my phone are fighting since I finished this last night and it wasn’t posting. But now it’s out, and now I can stop trying to save it on my phone when it doesn’t. I have tried posting it, so they’re are no fun colors really for me to play with on my computer. Ok but for now enjoy. I’ll be back next week for E10.

[roarkecohen]

Gender: transmasc (quiet about it) Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: I don’t talk to strangers Age: 39 Birthday: December 7th Occupation: Owner of Patterns Fabric Store

@phqextras​

Bio: No one who knew Roarke knows him anymore. His parents would never have known if he went missing. They just didn’t have that kind of relationship. Not now, not before.

The divide between the person he was in his youth and the person he is now isn’t necessarily night and day, but it is a clean break. Had anyone known him somewhere in his late 20s, they might say the change happened overnight, but no one can claim that level of friendship or that kind of knowledge. The Roarke of today is a careful construction, though it’s been long enough now that the new personality comes easier than ever. It’s almost natural.

As a kid, Roarke was a bit of a runabout. There’s no real reason, certainly none of the usual ones. He never stuck to one particular crowd, never formed any tight allegiances or bonds, and never had any tough breaks either. If anything, he stood out against the rest only for being a bit odd and a bit bland. Neither hesitant nor eager in the face of new experiences and only resistant to modifications to his own body, Roarke seemed to have hardly any personality at all. He passed through lives easily as a result, always taking more than he left behind.

It was an okay childhood, all said. Roarke’s parents got along okay, though they weren’t particularly affectionate, not with each other and not with their children. There were brief moments of concern, like when Roarke got picked up by the cops for some weed that they couldn’t actually find on him. His dad went off about how it wasn’t good to get in with a bad crowd, but there was no love behind the words, not really, and they fell on deaf ears. Roarke’s mother was never particularly doting, and at every turn in his life where she could do less and not be considered a terrible mother, that’s exactly what she did. He and his sister would fight one moment and be attached at the hip the next, but even as they grew older, they went their separate ways. Roarke would never know it, not really, but the home he grew up in was devoid of love in every conceivable way, so it was no big thing for Roarke to slowly vanish off his parents’ radar as he grew older, back when they still thought he was their daughter. The transition from being a dippy delinquent to a man of the city wasn’t fast, but it was private, which is all Roarke cared about. No one knew him from before except his family, and they had lost contact with him ages ago, which is exactly as Roarke would have it.

New York City is a hard city to make it in, but it’s great for anonymity. A bigger pond than Rochester, Roarke was drawn to the ability to vanish in a place like NYC. For those few years when he was still figuring himself out, taking odd jobs here and there, coworkers would try to convince him to socialize, to join some local club or group, but he would never go, and if they got too pushy about it, he’d pick up a new job. He just. Didn’t want his life to be a big deal. It was easier to blend in socially with all the middle-ground people who didn’t aspire to much or ask many questions. With them, Roarke was a social chameleon, flexible in style and personality, running all sorts of odd jobs with ease. Less and less did he need the lowpaying wage work he’d had to take when he first came to the city. He got something of a reputation for being reliable, even if no one could say one single thing they knew about him.

Fashion and sewing came later. It wasn’t like so many of the sob stories where he was born needle in hand ready to take on the world. The desire to design, let alone construct, had never been there. It was more a hobby he came upon by accident after a bad job. His shoulder had taken a hit, something that still ached, but worse still, his favorite waistcoat now had two holes in it. The damn thing sat abandoned for months in the back of his closet until a rainy day made his aching shoulder flare, reminding him of the offending garment. He tried to look up how to sew it back up, but the garment was really a loss (the blood stains would never come out anyhow), so he took it apart, sure that making a new one would be a sitch. It was not.

Roarke invested hours and hours into learning to remake the thing, tracing the pattern and cutting new pieces from fresh cloth, adjusting the fit when he’d somehow messed it up. The whole experience, days gone by, was fucking infuriating. His perfectionist streak, a well-kept secret, reared its head as he picked out stitch after stitch, recut the fabric again and again, resewed buttons ten thousand times. But by the end, he had a near perfect replica of the original thing, with a better fit to boot. And that victory was everything. The first bloom of some kind of passion in his life. The first moment Roarke ever really gave a shit. So he held on to that. A few days later, he took the whole thing apart again and rebuilt it with a tens unit for his shoulder.

It helped that climbing social circles is more easily done when you can blend in and have something to offer. Roarke only ever designed for himself, but people seemed to like the menswear he made, a mix of punk repairs on his existing wardrobe and sleek-cut waistcoats and button-downs and slacks. Taking a few design and production classes was the second most expensive thing he ever paid for, but it paid off quick, and before long, Roarke was on the rise. The jobs slowed as he turned them down for more lucrative (legal) work, a decision that probably kept him from seeing any real time in the long run.

And eventually, the appeal of New York started to wear off. There was a major fashion industry there, yes, but LA was poppin’ too. Besides, people started to know him a little too well, though mostly in the sense that they were catching on to how utterly hollow he felt most times, how little there was to the man besides the hair and the clothes. A new place would be a safer place, and there were opportunities aplenty in LA, a place to start fresh and build a budding career.

There was a lot to move by the time he left, so Roarke sent a moving van ahead and drove himself with the stuff he didn’t trust anyone else to handle. In a small hotel in Ohio, scrolling aimlessly through craigslist ads, he saw a listing for a mannequin. A nice one, a vintage one that would be thousands today, for just a few hundred bucks. It would be tight, but it was too good to pass up. Roarke set up a good time and place and headed into a perfectly picturesque little town - Pleasance.

He’s never left.

It really was one thing after another. First his shitty car broke down. Well, ‘broke down.’ A deer jumped into the road and sent him careening and the resulting run into the ditch fucked up the axle, a repair he would later learn was expensive to fix in both time and money. Stranded, he booked himself into the local seedy hotel, had a crappy vending-machine dinner, and passed out hard from the stress of the day only to have his shit rocked in the night. Woke up the next morning to find his room torn to shreds, way more damage than should have been possible with him still in the room. Worse still, all his stuff was gone. Passport, driver’s license, wallet, important documents lockbox. Everything. He reported the theft to the police but there was little they could do. By that afternoon, his bank account had been wiped and his identity clearly stolen.

With no connections, no cash, and no way to prove who he was or who he had once been, he was truly up shit creek, the nightmare slowly sinking in. Days passed and the moving team wanted to know where he was, but weren’t willing to accept he couldn’t get the fuck out of dodge. The hotel kicked him out after a couple weeks, their apologetic hospitality for the robbery stretched as thin as the cash he’d managed to find stashed in his laptop bag. His evenings were spent trying to drum up work and avoid detection while sleeping in the local park. Roarke had tried the woods once, but got too creeped out and never went back. Eventually, he did get his car back, having paid for the part up-front, so at the very least he could be somewhere warm at night. But he was still broke as a joke, starving, a stranger in a strange land with no identity to speak of.

He’s still not sure, but either luck or charity got him a job at Alby’s department store. It seemed the old man might have taken pity on him, or maybe he really did sell himself well enough to pick up the job. It didn’t matter. What mattered is that he had an income under the table (since he had no documents), which meant cash payments he could spread thin and hoard for the last leg of his cursed trip. The hotel bill was slowly getting paid off and he was able to recover some of his documents - though even this was tricky in between addresses. Every night, he curled up in his car with the engine blasting heat for a few hours to catch the first leg of sleep. Then, halfway through the night, he’d move to some dark curb and hide under a messy stack of blankets to sleep the rest of the night, hoping to avoid detection. It had worked for months, but luck had to run out, and one night, it did.

Didn’t help when the cop woke him up that they found a gun in the car. A gun he was not officially licensed to carry, what with all his documents gone. Even so, the cop was going to pick him up on a homeless charge and look into whether any documentation existed on the gun before they added that to the bill, too, and Roarke really couldn’t face another injustice, another stroke of shit luck. Couldn’t face getting booked for the least criminal thing he’d ever done. So he lied.

“I have a home, I just fell asleep.” It was an insane thing to say. Maybe he’d hoped the cop would believe him and let off, who knows, but it was a fake as his dick in the duffle bag in his back seat, so God knows why he said it. And of course the cop didn’t let him off, but rather insisted on an escort home. Polite as can be, with the threat underwritten in that tone. Roarke was uncuffed and let back into his car and told to drive, to head to his house, and by then the lie was rolling, so he had to stick with it. Which was insane. But he did it.

Panicked and uncertain, Roarke drove aimlessly, not even familiar with the layout of the town. The cop lights flickered behind him as he went on, clearly wasting time, and eventually, Roarke had to commit. On instinct alone, he pulled into an empty driveway and stepped out of the car, kicking himself for letting such a stupid ploy carry on, knowing that with each step he was digging his own grave deeper and deeper. He stepped out of the car, smiled at the cop, apologized for getting a little turned around because “sorry officer, it’s late and I’m just so tired, let me just get my keys” and trudged toward the door. Each step added months to the sentence he knew he was going to get, but something kept pulling him forward, keeping him caught in the lie. Even as the cop followed him up the drive, even as he reached for his keys in his pocket, the moment of truth coming fast, because there’s no way he would open the door to a house that wasn’t his.

And in his hand, the keyring jingled in a way that wasn’t familiar. And there in his fingers was a key he didn’t recognize. And just like that, drawn by fear and guilt and exhaustion and something external, he slid the key into the lock of the door handle he didn’t know, and turned.

And it unlocked. He swung the door open. The officer apologized and wished him a good night, said he’d be back later with news about the gun, and to please not skip town in the meantime. And Roarke stood on the threshold of a house he didn’t know, wondering how the fuck he’d got this lucky. So he waved as the cop left, stepped inside, and flicked on the light. And he never left town.

Headcanons:

Roarke (not to be called Rory) has a quiet distrust for most technology but he is dangerously proficient at using tech that suits his needs.

The first garment he ever made, his waistcoat, is a well-kept secret. No one has actually seen him wear it. He won’t admit it, but he’s attached to it, so he keeps it at home and wears it without a shirt to soothe his shoulder, or else he hides it with another layer.

Close relationships are not a priority for Roarke. Though he can easily glide in and out of discussion with any manner of people, the effort of creating proximity between himself and another person is not something he cares to expend. On the rare occasion he grows close to someone on accident, his direct tone and persistent drive quickly re-establish distance for him.

Despite his insistence, not every part of his personality is made up.

He prefers to make clothes similar to his own aesthetic - fitted garments that accentuate the natural form of the wearer. His years moving in and out of different circles of influence have given him a pretty good handle on many different styles of dress.

Yes, all of his clothes are hand-made.

He doesn’t do much business in town other than running the fabric store, which was something he bought and took over in order to get away from Alby. He doesn’t hate the man, but doesn’t trust him, and the official story is that Roarke is grateful for the leg-up Alby gave him when he first came to town.

He’s mostly resigned to being stuck in Pleasance for the rest of his life, but he’s bitter about it. His efforts have been to survive, but not to settle down. He hasn’t told anyone the story about how he got his house or got stuck in town, simply saying that he inherited the place and had a hang-up with the property transfer.

He does frequent the movie theater at least once a week, but never at night or when it’s going to get dark during the film.

Roarke always seems out of place in town, like he’s afraid he’s being watched. He misses the anonymity of a big city and being in a small place makes his skin crawl. He’s always afraid someone will learn about him and his past and makes every effort to keep people at arms’ length.

None of his family know where he is, but also no one particularly cares. If his father knew, he might have something to say about Pleasance, but no such luck.

When he “got” the house, all the furniture was covered in moving cloth, generally a bit dusty but looking as though it were waiting for an occupant to move in… or return.

The only seemingly personal possession he ever found in the house was a picture on the mantle of an older woman from the 50s. He doesn’t recognize her, but she feels familiar to him somehow. Roarke won’t move the picture from where it sits, either, feeling as though that would be some sort of desecration somehow.

He steadfastly refuses to quilt despite the insistence of the older women who shop at his store.

He has a pet tarantula named Tranchy. It bothers him how much he loves it.

Roarke will never own up to personal encounters in the town, but he fully believes they happen to other people (though he’ll never say as much). He’s worried he spotted the so-called Strange Man one night, but narrowly avoided actually encountering him. As a general rule, he avoids going out at night altogether, though being in his own house is no less disquieting.

[zarcake-writes]

The Lady

This is a little something I wrote a long time ago. It features a goddess and a human she rescues. After some editing, it’s ready to be read. Please enjoy. 

Warnings: blood and death

She isn’t human, she is something else entirely. A goddess, a being who is so old she saw the creation of the world and has already seen the end. Her eyes are always bright, her hair is always perfect, and she is always smiling. She is beautiful, gentle, sexual, cunning, horrifying, monstrous, and violent.

She is who the broken and desperate went to. Humans, elves, orcs, minotaur’s, all the races go to her. They beg her for help, her name falling from their lips and tears running down their faces. Her followers and those she helps all pay their respects to her, they love and fear her. She is life and death mixed together. Chaos and tranquility.

She doesn’t have a name. She claims if she had one, she forgot it. Those who worship her simply call her The Lady. She is The Lady of many things, of many aspects. The Lady of Death, The Lady of Life, The Lady of Rebirth. The names vary depending on locations, but her image is always the same. A human woman surrounded by skulls and flowers.

I asked her once how our world will end. She only told me the way it was created, with fire and noise so loud it will shake your soul. I paled at that, but she took my hand, kissed it, and smiled softly. “My realm lies outside your world. You and the others will be safe. And when that world ends, I will make a new one.”

“Why? Why the destruction?”

She must have heard the fear in my voice because her face softened. She smiled at me and scooted closer, taking my hands in hers. “It is the way of things. You, mortals, say it is how life is. It’s how I am. I give life and I take. You cannot have one without the other.”

“What of the other gods?”

She scoffed and sat up in our bed. The blanket fell from her body, revealing her bare breasts. “What of them? When I decide to remake the world, they cannot fight me.”

She’s currently asleep on my chest. I relish these moments. While she will always be an immortal being with the power to destroy the world, to me, she is only my love. When her hair is a mess, and she’s snoring softly, I swear she has never looked prettier. Even when she drools on me, I don’t mind.

The sunlight is slowly entering our room. It’s still early here, but she’ll be getting up soon. For a goddess, she has a rather erratic schedule. Somedays she’s busy, visiting different parts of her realm and speaking to those who live here. Smiling and laughing with them. Kissing and holding them if they need it.

The days she needs to speak with other deities, well, those days can be incredibly stressful. If it’s a deity she likes, like Thelena, a goddess of the underworld or even Aro a love deity, then the day isn’t so bad. But if it’s a god she dislikes, well, it will be a long day. I still remember when a young god named Onir strolled into her realm. He considered himself to be the god of war, but he was more like a god of the assholes. I remember The Lady physically throwing him out of her realm.

I hope today is a relaxation day, that way she and I can stay in bed all day. No worries, no one to bother us, just her and me.

I came to her realm through a portal located at one of her shrines. It is… remote, not something that is easy to find unless you know the shrine is there. I remember when I first saw the shrine and portal. My body was beaten and bruised; my hands were bound behind my back. Her followers, or fanatics, that surrounded me were the reason I was in such a position.

I remember how those bastards charged into the village I was living in at the time. They were shouting her name, demanding everyone to get down and praise her. They required more followers and the creation of a new shrine. Everyone scoffed at how ridiculous they were being. Nothing but a bunch of crazed zealots.

The village was a simple farming village, so the people here worshipped gods of the land and of the home. Gods that would ensure a good harvest and gods that would keep their families safe. When the fanatics continued with their disregard for others beliefs, the villagers insulted The Lady. I remember how angry the fanatics got, the cold look in their eyes made my skin crawl.

At that time, I didn’t believe in any god. No god ever answered my prayers. No god ever prevented me from being sent to war for a cause I did not believe in. A war started by some king I did not like. No god helped ease the pain and guilt I felt from killing people. No god ever answered why I was alive when my friends died. No god comforted me when I woke up screaming in the middle of the night. At the time, I believed gods were only fantasies and stories.

When the fanatics attacked, it was during the night. I woke to screams and shouts. The fanatics were shouting her name, while the villagers were screaming for mercy. From my small room above the bakery, I could see a fire burning in the fields.

I remember grabbing my sword and shield from beneath my bed. There was a time I swore never to pick these up again, but there I was, picking them up again to defend the villagers. Many of them knew how to use a bow, but close combat was something they could not do.

Most of that night is a blur. I remember shouting orders, a makeshift barricade was made, and the smell of fire and blood. Every fanatic I cut down, there seemed to be two more to take their place. I watched people I’ve come to know and care about slaughtered. Women, men, children, the elderly, animals, it did not matter. The fanatics killed any they came across.

I will say though, that my efforts were not wasted. Many escaped, fleeing into the woods where some hunters were guiding them to safety. I and a few others refused to leave, we would stand and fall for those who were running.

Eventually, I was the last one alive. The others who fought beside me had died. I was alone against an onslaught of fanatics with knives and hammers.

When I fell, the first thing I noticed was the blood-soaked ground. I dimly wondered how much of the blood belonged to the innocent. The dead bodies got my attention next.

I saw the baker’s eldest daughter. She always smiled sweetly at me every morning and gave me the best bread. She was so kind, always wanting to help, and so full of life. But there she was, lying face up covered in blood. Her throat was cut, eyes staring at nothing. Opposite of her was the old blacksmith. He was a large man and had been one of the first to fight beside me. The fanatics stabbed him repeatedly, but he refused to stop fighting. He took his last breath, eyes looking up at the night sky. I saw the poor man who begged on the streets. A veteran from some old war, he suffered mentally for many years. He stayed beside me as well.

The Lady’s fanatics surrounded me and said I was going to be a sacrifice. They bound my hands, covered my head with a bag, and threw me onto the back of a horse. The ride was long and painful. By the time they arrived at their destination, it was two days later. My body ached and I prayed they would kill me soon. They pulled me off the horse roughly, not caring that I was injured. They forced me up and made me walk, the bag over my head prevented me from seeing anything.

When they pushed me onto my knees and the bag was ripped off my head, the first thing I saw was a large shrine with a life-size statue of The Lady. It was so realistic that I couldn’t help but shiver. The statue’s right hand was outstretched, palm facing up; a human skull sat in her hand. The left hand hung at her side, holding a bouquet of flowers. The statue’s face was stern like she was challenging any who looked upon her.

At the base of the statue were numerous gifts and offerings: handmade trinkets, animal bones, food, flowers, clothing, children’s toys, and candles. Old armor and weapons lay in a small pile, and there was even a baby’s cradle. There were flowers growing around the statue. I remember thinking how beautiful they were and how sweet they smelled. It was then I noticed a human skull beneath the flowers. Then a second skull, a third, and then a fourth. I grimaced as I wondered how many human remains were in the area. Would I be next?

The man that ripped the bag off my head began to speak. I glanced back and saw it was the high priest. Gods, I hated him. He had killed the baker’s daughter, with a smile on his face. I wanted to smash his head in.

The priest either ignored my look or didn’t see it. He called to the goddess, the lady of life and death, the destroyer and creator. He said I was to be the newest sacrifice, a great warrior who would serve her well. I cursed and tried to pull away.

“Fuck you and fuck your goddess,” I shouted. The fanatics surrounding me growled, and the high priest glared down at me. “Gods aren’t real. And you fuckers are nothing but murderers.”

“You will see her soon, and then you will answer for your blasphemy,” he said. He placed the knife against my throat. I can still remember how cold the blade was.

This is it, I thought. My eyes shut as I waited for death. The blade dug into my skin, the pain almost made me hiss and pull away. But I would die with some dignity. Before the high priest could finish me, there was a bright light, followed by many gasps and cries. When my eyes opened, The Lady stood before us.

Her beauty left me speechless. The gown she wore hugged her body, showing off her hips and breasts. Her hair was a mess of waves and curls. A crown of dark red flowers on top of her head. Her dark eyes roamed the scene before her, the look on her face unreadable. When her gaze rested on me, her eyes narrowed and she stepped down from her shrine. The high priest bowed and began to speak to her, but she cut him off.

“Who is this?” she asked, pointing at me.

“A warrior, my Lady,” he said. The other fanatics were down on their hands and knees. I wondered if they were afraid or enamored. Maybe both.  

“You killed innocent people, in my name,” she stated. Her hand reached down and rested on your cheek; I couldn’t help but lean into her touch. I couldn’t take my eyes off her; I didn’t want to take my eyes off her. If she asked me, I would have kissed her feet and begged for forgiveness. Part of me hoped she would ask for that.  

“They were not innocent, my Lady. They were fools. They mocked you and called you a whore. And this one here,” the man said gesturing to me. “Killed your most devout. Before you arrived, they cursed and mocked you!”

“I heard them. And it is true, I am what would be called a whore. In my realm, I have many lovers, and I’m always looking for my newest love,” she said. The hand on my cheek slid down to my neck; her nails lightly scratched my skin. When she leaned in close, her face inches away from mine, I could smell her. She smelled so sweet, so delicious, that my mouth began to water. I wanted to lean forward and taste her, just to see if she tasted sweet. Her eyes seemed to be daring me to do just that, yet I didn’t dare.

“My Lady? Do you… fancy this person?” the high priest asked. He sounded insulted.

“I do. They are a strong warrior, easy on the eyes, and troubled. My heart hurts for the pain they have endured. I could feel them calling out to me, begging me to ease the hurt they feel. But, before I can do that, I have something to attend too,” she said. She moved away from me and I nearly cried out. Her sweet smell lingered though, so that was a comfort.

I watched as she approached the high priest. He was so infatuated with her that he didn’t notice the anger on her face or the blade she pulled from her waist. I jumped when she sunk the blade into his stomach. He didn’t seem to understand what was happening.  

She made quick work of the fanatics. Cutting them down but not killing them, simply leaving them to bleed out on the ground. She ignored their cries for mercy and their questions. It was strangely sad; they didn’t seem to understand why she was angry.  

When she was finished with them, the familiar coppery smell burned my nose. Their bodies littered the ground, most of them were slowly dying. More bones to be added to her shrine. She simply looked down at the bodies, a look of annoyance on her beautiful face.

I nearly cried when she approached me and undid the rope tied around my wrists.

“W-why did you kill them?” I asked, trembling at the feet of this deity.

“They were fools. Every god has their fanatics, it’s important to get rid of them. They’re an infection, and removal is necessary to keep it from spreading,” she said. The coldness in her voice sent a chill down my back.

“Are… are you going to kill me?” I asked.

“No, you can go. Or… you can come with me,” she said. She reached her hands out for me to take. I took them and she pulled me up to stand. My body nearly gave out, but she held me up.

She was shorter than me, by at least a whole foot. While looking down at most people is something I’m used to, looking down at this goddess was a surprise. Even though she is shorter than me, she was able to support me leaning against her. While her size made her look small and unassuming, the aura surrounding her was imposing. And those eyes, those dark eyes, were unsettling.

“Go where, with you?”

“My realm. My home. I have others there. An assortment of lovers, friends, and followers who sacrificed themselves to join me. You will not be alone there,” she said.

I said nothing for a bit. Just slowly pulled away from her when I was sure I could stand on my own. She stayed close to me like she was expecting me to fall over. The worry on her face made my heart speed up and my stomach flip. I couldn’t understand why she looked so worried about me or why she helped me.

“Why did you help me?”

She smiled sadly and placed a hand on my chest. “Because of your pain for the things you have done. It is not easy to take and give life, I know.”

“I did not give life.”

“But you did. In the war, your actions kept many people safe, but you also killed and allowed others to be killed. At the village, you killed those fanatics and saved the farmers. Life and death are everywhere, and you know it intimately.”

“I never wished to know it.”

She stepped closer to me; her hands cupped my face. “I know. That’s why I came to you personally to give you a choice. Stay here, continue to give and take, or come with me.”

“If I go with you, what would I do? Would I be one of your lovers?”

She dusted off the dirt from my shirt and wiped the blood from my neck. She frowned at the bruises on my face and the way I held my side. “You can be whatever you want to be. My lover, another’s lover, a farmer, or nothing. The choice is yours.”

If I stayed, I would be alone and I was so tired of being alone. If I went with her, I’m putting my trust in a being that could kill me with a look. But when I looked upon her face, there was nothing but compassion there. Her dark eyes were soft and her smile was sweet.

I took a deep breath and swallowed before I spoke. “Can… Can I be your lover?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and her eyes sparkled. “Then yes, you can be one of my lovers. You will be my first human lover. Are you ready to go?”

She reached her hand out and I gazed down at it. As my hand slipped into hers, I realized I wasn’t afraid. Where ever I went, there was life and death. She was right, I was taking life or protecting it. It was a shock to realize that I have always been hers, an agent of her will; I just didn’t know it. No wonder no other gods answered my prayers, she was receiving them all herself.

“Yes.” I squeezed her hand, making sure it was real. She squeezed back and pulled me towards the shrine. I followed her through that portal and never looked back.

That was, well, who knows how long ago. Time is different in her realm. Sure, the sun rises and sets, but the seasons do not change. It is always spring. And the moon is always full here. It was a shock at first, and some days it still bothers me.

A soft hand on my face brings me from my memories. She’s looking at me, a concerned look on her sleepy face. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“About the first time we met.”

She smiles and nods. “I was rather angry when we met. My poor warrior was hurt, alone, and so very angry.”

“We were both angry, but only you were beautiful.”

She smirks and looks away, a slight blush on her face. When she looks back up at me, her face is serious. “Are you still angry?”

I think the answer over for a moment. “Sometimes.”

“Are you angry now?”

“No. I’m happy.”

Her smile widens and her eyes shine. “Why?”

“Because I am here with you, and you make me happy.”

“I am glad to hear that.” She presses a kiss to my lips. I moan at the softness of her lips and how sweet she tastes. When she rests her head back against my chest, and my arms wrap around her, I understand how a person could be home.

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: 24

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(on ao3)

chapter warning: alcohol, drunk kisses

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, as nonchalant as he can, “hold onto something for me, alright?” Lan Zhan turns to him with a question in his brow, but he doesn’t hesitate to offer out his hand when Wei Wuxian extends his fist. He drops the five nails in a little tinkling pile, and a small furrow develops between Lan Zhan’s brows. Wiping his hands off on his skirts, Wei Wuxian tugs the dizi from his belt and spins it between his fingers. “Yin iron,” he says by way of explanation. It’s not that he thinks he’ll go crazy and start commanding puppets again or something. He’d have to reforge them anyway, try to remake the entire Seal — but he’s never been very good at leaving things alone. For now, maybe it’s better if he’s not the one holding onto them. Lan Zhan studies him a long moment before giving a short nod. The nails disappear into one of his giankun pouches, and Wei Wuxian breathes a little easier.

The kids are still weeping, huddled around a-Qing’s little grave. Watching them, he feels hollowed out, emptied, carved. Lan Zhan stands quiet beside him, but there’s a tightness to his stillness like he’s hiding a stab wound. Taking a breath, Wei Wuxian drags up a smile and claps his hands together. “Come on, kids, enough crying,” he says. “You’re going to shrivel up like plums. Let’s go.” They’re still sniffling, but they scrub their wrists across their faces and nod obediently. Good kids, Wei Wuxian thinks a little distantly. Good kids, to cry for the bravery of a girl they never met, to lament the tragedy of men they would never know. It’s a long walk back down to the next town, and he spends it gritting his teeth against the encroaching thoughts of everything they witnessed. Lan Zhan walks in silence, his gaze downcast. Behind them, the juniors are quiet for the first part of the walk before they start murmuring amongst themselves again. “But what will Song-daozhang do?” cries the Ouyang kid. Endure, Wei Wuxian thinks, or not. He probably will. With Xiao Xingchen’s spirit, fragmented and despairing, in his care, Song Lan will probably keep walking until his feet wear down to nubs. Wei Wuxian sneaks a sideways glance at Lan Zhan, feeling his stomach sink further as he catches the pinch of his brow. He wants to reach out, wants to give his wrist a gentle squeeze or brush his hand against his elbow, draw his attention here and now and away from whatever terrible seclusion his thoughts are folding around him. His fingers curl into his palm instead. Lan Zhan looks so rigid, so brittlely strung. Wei Wuxian thinks of the cast of his eyes when Song Lan turned and walked away, and he looks away. He's been avoiding remembering his death so much he hasn't even thought about Lan Zhan at the time. Now, with the memory of Xiao Xingchen's broken spirit like a weight in his palm, he can't think of anything else. Lan Xichen had said cultivators had tried to summon his spirit with Inquiry and other rituals. He can't know for sure, won't ask Lan Zhan, but he has a feeling these weren't the half-hearted attempts of punks trying to raise a scary ghoul. And he knows the cultivator most skilled in association with spirits. There's a heavy hollow in his chest, in the space behind his solar plexus. He doesn't remember being dead, but he remembers moments of dying. He knows enough about broken spirits to make a good guess at what happened. His soul was already in fragments by the end, cracked and splintered by the Burial Mounds and the war and the Seal and all he'd done to survive. Spirits that badly damaged follow three paths: either they're completely destroyed in death and fall out of the cycle completely, they shatter and disperse till they're absorbed back into the world's qi and either repaired or simply subsumed, or they cling. Stuck to whatever is nearest, whatever is strong enough to hold onto their fraying thread: a loved one, a spiritual weapon, a project the owner spent hours pouring their intention into. Spirits like that, spirits that have been so utterly ruined, don't answer any song. Their music has been broken, the strings snapped, the bamboo split. They don't want to be persuaded, are too damaged to have any desire to pull on. The only way to bring them back is to command them. Drag them back with blood and fierce intent. Lan Zhan spent so many hours after the war searching for music to heal Wei Wuxian, to turn him away from demonic cultivation and purge him of resentment. Did he spend those same hours searching for a way to bring him back, trying to figure out why his spirit didn't answer any call? Did he play for him, waiting for a reply that never came till Dafan Mountain? How many nights did he wait, hoping into the silence? He's grateful when they get to an inn and it's serving liquor. He can't be too reckless in front of the little juniors — some ingrained part of him still fusses at making sure they're safe and keeping an eye out for them — but he can down three bottles at dinner and only feel warm, a little softer. His thoughts don't hook quite as sharply onto the same clawing spirals. Lan Zhan's weirdly permissive, the way he was when they met Nie Huaisang. It's...nice. He can imagine shijie's worried frown, but Lan Zhan is a warm shoulder against him and he doesn't even scold Wei Wuxian for drinking too much in front of his little Lan disicples. Lan Jingyi does, however, scowl at him like he's somehow corrupting their esteemed Hanguang-jun. "I don't see why we can't drink if you can," Jin Ling objects, stabbing at his pickled cabbage. "Because you're a baby, Young Mistress," Lan Jingyi sniffs. "Babies don't get wine." "You!" Before Jin Ling can lunge across the table to Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui shifts up a little on his knees to block his access. Jin Ling huffs out a breath and sits back down. "Whatever. Father’s let me try some wine at least," he says. "I bet you couldn't even hold a cup." Lan Jingyi's eyes narrow like he can tell he's being prodded but can't quite figure out an answer. Swishing his third bottle absently by the neck, Wei Wuxian leans his shoulder into Lan Zhan's and shakes his head. "Drinking before you're old enough to fly? Jin Ling, what would your mother say?" he scolds. In his periphery, he can see Lan Zhan's gaze slant toward him as if at hypocrisy, and he hides a snort by taking another drink. "Mother can outdrink Father," Jin Ling says dismissively before freezing, eyes going wide and face flushing. "I mean! My mother isn't a drunk. She'd never—" "Being able to hold your liquor is an important skill in Yunmeng," Ouyang Zizhen says with all the authority of a fifteen-year-old who's probably never been drunk. "Da-jie says you should never underestimate a noble lady with fine wine.” Biting his bottom lip, Wei Wuxian tries not to laugh at the solemnity with which he offers this advice. It's not wrong, really. Shijie had taught Jiang Cheng and him drinking games on the end of the docks when they were old enough. She'd been able to go toe-to-toe with them before the war. He still remembers the first night they all returned to Lotus Pier after the war. How they'd wound up in a pile at the foot of the lotus throne, drunk and sobbing into each other's shoulders. They'd all woken up hungover, heads pounding and stomachs uneasy at the scent of food. For a few moments, though, as he slid into sleep with shijie and Jiang Cheng's arms wrapped around him and each other, he'd felt safe in a way he hadn't in years. "Yunmeng wine is the richest," he informs the juniors now. "Emperor's Smile is the best, of course, but Yunmeng has the most complex flavors. Qinghe's alright but the mare's milk takes a while to get used to."

He pauses, contemplating the liquor he last had in Lanling before realizing the juniors are all looking at him a little funny. There were only two tables left in the room when they arrived, and so their party is huddled around them like ragamuffin sprouts. "Senior Mo, have you traveled so much?" Lan Sizhui asks, and bless him, he sounds genuinely curious. Has he traveled a lot? It doesn’t seem so. He’d always wanted to as a kid, had grown up chasing stories of grand adventures and mysterious lands, but then the war had happened and then everything else and then, well. “When did you travel so much?” Jin Ling demands. “You never left Jinlintai and then everyone said you were locked up because you went mad.” “Jin-xiong,” Ouyang Zizhen hisses, looking appalled. Lan Sizhui’s staring resolutely at his empty bowl, his face white as his robes, and Lan Jingyi’s eyes are about bugging out of his head. Wei Wuxian kind of wants to laugh, but there’s a well of melancholy rising in him, too. How horrible was this Mo Xuanyu’s life? His wrist pangs, and he reaches absently to close his hand around the hidden cut. “What? It’s true and anyway he’s my — well, he was in my sect. So,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms again. “He is worthy of your respect.” Lan Zhan’s voice is a low vibration through Wei Wuxian’s bones, spreading from the point where their shoulders are still pressed together. He doesn’t speak sharply but firmly, like it’s imperative Jin Ling listen. Wei Wuxian swallows, throat abruptly dry. It’s not like— well. He knows Lan Zhan holds him in — in some kind of esteem. He’s an idiot, but he’s not that oblivious. There was a time, once, when he was bleeding open and snarling at anyone who came close, when he thought Lan Zhan just viewed him as a project to fix, yet another example of Hanguang-jun’s righteousness. But he knows that wasn’t fair, couldn’t even hold onto that anger for too long — not when Lan Zhan got so upset when Wei Wuxian wouldn’t talk to him, not when he insisted he was still his soulmate, not when he stepped aside at Qiongqi Pass. He can’t quite understand why, but he’s accepted the abundance of evidence that Lan Zhan, for reasons comprehensible only to him, thinks he matters. It’s different to hear that aloud, to hear it in firm words and Lan Zhan’s most adamant tone. Something wobbly and warm tips over in his chest, like a jar of wine tilted precariously on edge. As fond as he is of the juniors, he suddenly doesn’t want to stay down here anymore. He wants to be able to hear Lan Zhan say his name again, the way the syllables are so soft and full in his voice. “Hey, Lan Zhan, we ought to check on our buddy,” he says, looping a careless hand around his wrist. “It’s been a while since we played for him.” Lan Zhan blinks up at him, brow wrinkling a little like he's worried something's wrong, and Wei Wuxian can't help smiling back at him. So much is wrong — the whole world's spinning on a bad axis — but he's here and Lan Zhan's here with all this stubborn loyalty and for this one instant, Wei Wuxian's greedy heart doesn't want anything else. He snags another couple bottles on their way up the stairs, and Lan Zhan's frown deepens a little but he says nothing. Upstairs, they set the giankun pouches careful distances from each other and settle into their nightly routine: Suppression, then Calming, then Cleansing, then Rest. It's not a perfect system, but the set works well enough to keep the various body parts from tearing through their giankun pouches as long as they do it regularly. It's gotten more difficult with the addition of each new body part, and now that they've added the torso and arm from Yi City, they wind up playing through each song three times before the pouches finally settle and stop rustling. Humming in quiet satisfaction, Wei Wuxian leans on his elbow and lets his gaze fall on Lan Zhan as he puts away his guqin. He does it all with such exquisite care, such unified focus. Not like Wei Wuxian, whose thoughts scatter and ricochet off each other in all the directions of the wind. He laughs a little, and Lan Zhan looks to him in question. "Hey Lan Zhan," he says, "remember when we first met Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan back in Yueyang?" A hint of sadness enters Lan Zhan's eyes, his eyelashes flicking down as his brows furrow. Wei Wuxian spins the bottle absently within the circle of his middle finger and thumb. "Back then, I thought we might be like them," he says. "You know, going off to fight evil and protect the weak."

He'd been so delighted, awed, over meeting his shishu and his companion. Looking at the two of them, their sure confidence and easy trust in each other, he'd nearly tripped over his own feet to show how he and Lan Zhan were like them. He’d felt something unclick in his chest at the sight of them, understanding like a lotus bloom unfurling. Now, he thinks of Shanghua a white gash across Song Lan's back, and he thinks of Lan Zhan's desperate voice in the rain of Qiongqi Pass. How naive, how hopeful. "Who would have thought such noble cultivators would meet such terrible fate," he remarks. “Ended so miserably for something that had nothing to do with them.” The thought makes him a little morose, dampens the pleasant golden fuzz that’s been filling him. “The world is truly unpredictable,” Lan Zhan says, flat. His fingers brush Wei Wuxian’s, pluck the bottle from his hand as deftly as any pickpocket. Wei Wuxian gapes, staring as Lan Zhan tilts his head back and downs the last of the bottle. “Lan Zhan?” he squeaks. Setting the bottle down, Lan Zhan blinks a little into space. Oh no, Wei Wuxian thinks. He vaguely remembers getting Lan Zhan drunk once in Cloud Recesses and a deep sense of exhaustion from wrangling him. This time, though, Lan Zhan makes no move to get up. His hand moves slowly to prop up his forehead, and he nods forward, eyes closing. Wei Wuxian stares. “Lan Zhan?” he prompts, leaning forward. No answer comes except for Lan Zhan’s slow, even breaths. A laugh bubbles up out of Wei Wuxian, and he claps his hands over his lips to stifle it. Oh no. This is too cute. He reaches out, smiling, to brush a lock of hair out of Lan Zhan’s face. It’s as soft as it’s always looked, sleek and silken against his hand, and Wei Wuxian runs his hand absently back against the crown of Lan Zhan’s head. “So pretty, Lan Zhan,” he hums, swaying a little as he leans against the table to study Lan Zhan’s face. “We really are lucky, aren’t we?” Relaxed in sleep, he looks so young. Wei Wuxian’s seized with an absurd urge to protect him, to bundle Lan Zhan up and take him far away from the world and its greedy, demanding hands. Lan Zhan deserves better. Lan Zhan should never look so desolate, so horribly alone as he did watching Song Lan walk away. “Young master?” Wei Wuxian startles hard enough his elbow slips on the table and he nearly cracks his chin on it. He whips around, a little unsteady and hand tight around his dizi. Wen Ning’s eyes blink at him from upside down through the window. It takes a long moment for him to make sense of the position. “Wen Ning?” he demands. “What are you doing?” A flurry of grey and black, and Wen Ning lands neatly inside the room. He’s wearing a dull blue-grey, the color some of the outer Jiang disciples pick for night hunts or training, and his hair’s been pulled up into a neat bun on the back of his head. Wei Wuxian squints. "I'm sorry, Wei-gongzi," Wen Ning says, still kneeling where he landed. Wei Wuxian frowns, crossing his arms and tilting his head. The shackles are gone from Wen Ning's wrists, which is good, though he still has — well, a lot of questions. Is Wen Ning part of Yunmeng Jiang now? Did Jiang Cheng adopt him? He tries to remember if Jiang Cheng ever mentioned wanting a little brother and finds himself looping back without an answer. "Come on, Wen Ning," he says. "Stand up, won't you?" Wen Ning's head dips lower, so that Wei Wuxian can see the plain grey ribbon wound round his hair. Well, at least it doesn't have lotuses embroidered on it. He'd have even more questions then. "Ah, well then," he says, and flicks back his skirts to kneel. "I guess this is alright." Wen Ning looks up with a jolt, brown eyes going wide. "Gongzi!" he yelps. "No, you mustn't!" He tugs on Wei Wuxian's elbow as if to lift him up to standing, and Wei Wuxian uses that to pull him up as well. He keeps a hand on Wen Ning's arm to make sure he doesn't kneel again and raises his eyebrows. "See? It's much better to talk like this, isn't it?" he prompts. Wen Ning doesn't look convinced, but he stays upright, so Wei Wuxian counts it as a win. Releasing him, he drops his hands to his hips. "Now, what's happened?" he asks. "What do you remember?" "Not much," Wen Ning admits, shaking his head a little. "I remember being chained up somewhere dark. Someone would come check on me, I think. I don't remember what they looked like, but they smiled a lot. I remember them putting the nails in my head." Wincing, Wei Wuxian swallows. He'd hoped that Wen Ning didn't remember that part at least. "It must have been Xue Yang," he says. "He also used nails to control Song Lan." "Why?" Fatigue settles into Wei Wuxian's bones like a heavy blanket. Trust Wen Ning to still question why someone would want to seize power over another, even when faced with the man who first did the same to him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he presses his palm to his inner arm till it pangs just a little. "Probably at the behest of the Jin sect. He was a guest disciple there for some time, Lan Zhan said," he explains. Wen Ning accepts this with a slight nod. There's a dismal cast to his eyes and brow, like he's about to wade into some task he'd really rather avoid. "Jie told me some of what happened since, and I heard from some others," he says. Wei Wuxian brightens at the mention of Wen Qing. For all that she maintained a horribly professional facade of indifference, she was great at gossip. She probably had all kinds of insights into the last thirteen years. "Jie said that the Burial Mounds are gone," Wen Ning says. "Our family...they're all gone." The wind cuts out of Wei Wuxian's sails abruptly, and he inhales sharply. He hasn't let himself think about this. If he thinks about it too much, he'll have to wonder if the seals he painted on their houses gave them any protection or just trapped them where the sects could burn and murder them. His stomach gives a funny, nauseous flip. "Young master, I heard that Jiang-zongzhu killed you," Wen Ning says. He sounds miserable, like he's revealing some great failing of his own. Wei Wuxian's shoulders sink and he sighs, waving a hand. "No, that's not how it is," he says. "Jiang Cheng didn't kill me. It was the backlash of the Stygian Tiger Seal." Has the whole world been left thinking Jiang Cheng killed him? Maybe it's for the best. Yunmeng Jiang had still claimed him up to the end, after all. They would have been in a tricky situation, too clear a scapegoat for the Yiling laozu's misdeeds. If everyone thought Jiang Cheng killed him, at least that would clear some of the blame. At least Jiang Cheng would know the truth. As long as he didn't blame himself, it wasn't such a bad arrangement. "Young Master, you died in such an awful way," Wen Ning says, and then his knees are bending, dropping back down to the floor. "I shouldn't have left you." "Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian gripes, tugging on his arms. "No, enough of that. You didn't leave me. I – I shouldn't have sent you away like that. I never should have threatened you." Wen Ning looks up at him with big, sad eyes that would be tear-filled if Wei Wuxian hadn't taken that away from him, too. Swallowing hard, he pulls on Wen Ning's wrists till he's standing again. His shoulders are still bowed forward, but it's an improvement. "What else have you heard?" he asks, already dreading the answer. Wen Ning looks up, his eyes brightening a little. There's such a terrible earnestness to his expression, that childish hope he'd seen first in Cloud Recesses. He can't help smiling a little reflexively at it. "Ah, young master," he says. "We have a niece! She's very kind and energetic. And jie is expecting another baby. She thinks it's going to be a boy."

Tears sting Wei Wuxian's eyes unexpectedly, and he gives out a shaky laugh. Of all the outcomes in the world, he never expected to see both sides of his haphazard family brought together like this. Even if he never gets to meet this little niece and her expected brother, he knows they're safe and happy. It's enough. "Yeah?" he says. "What are they going to name him?" Before Wen Ning can answer, there's a blur of white in the corner of his eye and then a boot on Wen Ning's chest and then— Wei Wuxian stares at the new hole in the wall where Wen Ning and Lan Zhan both disappeared before shrieking and chasing after. He was asleep! How did this happen? Outside, Wen Ning is picking himself up off the ground while Lan Zhan frowns down at him. He’s left Bichen and his guqin behind and seems to be planning on staring Wen Ning into defeat. It’s not a bad plan, really. No one has as intimidating a glare as Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” Wei Wuxian bleats, grabbing hold of him around his middle. Lan Zhan turns to him and gives a solemn nod that answers absolutely nothing except that he’s clearly still drunk. Wei Wuxian groans. “Ahh, Wen Ning, are you alright?” he asks, leaning around Lan Zhan’s side. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just drunk.” “I’m alright, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says. Still pressed close to Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan frowns and leans a little to the side as if to block his view of Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian has to stifle a laugh even as he wants to groan. Lan Zhan would be so embarrassed if he saw himself. “Will Lan-er-gongzi be alright?” Wen Ning asks. “Yeah, I’ll just take him up to the room and he’ll sleep it off,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Zhan turns a little towards him, still tucked up close, and it’s like a parody of a lover’s hold with him nestled in the circle of Wei Wuxian’s arms. His heart skips a little at the thought, at the jolt of want that shoots through his chest. To have it be real, to have a reason to hold Lan Zhan like this that isn’t corralling his drunk shenanigans. Clearing his throat, he lets himself tighten his arms around Lan Zhan and look over at Wen Ning. “It’s probably best if we talk another night,” he says. “Be careful and stay safe, okay?” There’s a hint of a smile on Wen Ning’s face as he bobs his head in an emphatic nod before turning and disappearing into the woods. A hand closes around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, and he looks up to find Lan Zhan staring intently at him. “Wei Ying,” he says. “Don’t go.” A giggle escapes Wei Wuxian and he stifles the grin he can feel slipping out. Where is he going to go? “Lan Zhan,” he teases, “what are you going to do? Tie me up so I can’t run off?” Lan Zhan blinks at him a moment, and Wei Wuxian’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Mn,” Lan Zhan says abruptly and reaches up behind his head. By the time Wei Wuxian’s brain has kicked back on, Lan Zhan has removed his forehead ribbon and started wrapping it neatly around his wrists. He watches, mouth parted in silent shock, as the white loops around and around, neatly covering his bracers. Lan Zhan ties it off in a series of knots that look almost like a braid, and Wei Wuxian tests it absently. It’s firm but not uncomfortable, the metal medallion resting just below the notches of his wrists. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian looks up. “Stay.” His eyes are honest and sad, like he really thinks Wei Wuxian’s going to leave him standing drunk in the forest without his forehead ribbon. Reaching up, Wei Wuxian pats his chest awkwardly with both hands. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” he soothes. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just go back inside, alright?” Lan Zhan nods and starts toward the door with a tug on the loose end of the ribbon. Wei Wuxian trips after him, trying desperately to stifle the giggles that keep bubbling up out of him. He feels young again in a way he hasn’t for years, like they’re still just kids in Cloud Recesses, trying not to get caught by Lan Qiren. Only it’s not Lan Qiren who catches them this time. Entering the dining room, they find all the juniors still there — now trying frantically to hide the wine they’ve clearly picked up in Lan Zhan’s absence and gawking at the two of them. “Ah! Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui greets, a little too bright, “how did you—” Right. They’d been upstairs before Lan Zhan kicked a hole in the wall. Wei Wuxian scrambles for an answer. “Lan Zhan heard something outside,” he says, “but it turns out it was just you all sneaking liquor.” He tries to make his voice sound disapproving, but he’s not sure how well it works. He is...not sober. Whoops. Lan Zhan gives a little tug on the ribbons, as if to start toward the stairs, and Wei Wuxian stumbles forward with it. There is a gasp too loud to be anyone but Lan Jingyi. Oh no. All the juniors are now staring at his wrists and the Lan juniors have gone white as death. He knows he read rules about the forehead ribbon back when he had to memorize them all. Something about restraint. Restraint, restraining— “Right! Lan Zhan was just showing me a special use of your clan forehead ribbon,” he says quickly. “To erm restrain fierce corpses when you need to take them back for further study.” “That’s not—” Before Lan Jingyi can finish, Lan Sizhui has clapped a hand over his mouth and is smiling brightly at the two of them. “How clever!” he chirps. “I thank our seniors for showing us such a hidden skill.” Lan Zhan gives another tug, this time more adamant, and Wei Wuxian gives a little wave to the juniors as he’s led up the stairs. They really look horrified, all big eyes and open mouths. Back in their room, Lan Zhan leads him to the bed and sits down carefully on the edge to face him. He’s so serious! Wei Wuxian laughs, letting his hands fall between them. “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s tone is almost helpless and his fingers are light as a feather as they brush against the curve of Wei Wuxian’s cheek. He looks up, laughter fading as he catches Lan Zhan’s steady gaze. On impulse, Wei Wuxian turns his head just enough that his lips graze Lan Zhan’s palm. There’s a quiet breath, but Lan Zhan makes no move to pull away as Wei Wuxian’s hands lift up to cradle his. “Lan Zhan,” he murmurs against his knuckles. “Lan Zhan, you’re too sweet. Too sweet, too sweet.” He presses a kiss to his fingertips, to the base of his thumb, the point on his wrist where he can feel his pulse jumping. He looks up through his lashes and Lan Zhan is watching him with lips parted, eyes dark and intent. “Do you like this?” Wei Wuxian asks, still watching as he slides Lan Zhan’s sleeve back a finger’s width to press his lips to the skin there. Swallowing, Lan Zhan gives a slight nod. Wei Wuxian hums and pulls him closer by his wrist, hands settling over his chest. His heart’s beating so quickly, like a rabbit racing under Wei Wuxian’s palms. “Lan Zhan,” he says, looking up at him, “tell me. Did you burn joss paper for me?” There’s a beat where they’re sitting there, suspended, Wei Wuxian’s fingers curled into Lan Zhan’s collars and then Lan Zhan moves. His lips are soft, form, his fingers tangling in Wei Wuxian’s sleeves. Wei Wuxian gasps softly in surprise and then presses in, crowds into Lan Zhan’s space.

Gods, Lan Zhan is kissing him. He’s kissing him, all that impossible focus bearing down on Wei Wuxian like his lips are a new field of study, the noises escaping him a new score for Lan Zhan to learn. Lan Zhan is kissing him. Oh gods. Lan Zhan is kissing him. Lan Zhan is drunk and he’s kissing him and Wei Wuxian started this and is kissing back and— He jerks away, shoving them apart with his hands on Lan Zhan’s chest. Lan Zhan stares at him, eyes wide and reddened lips parted as if he were still kissing Wei Wuxian and — and then Lan Zhan’s eyes widen impossibly and he reaches up a hand to smack the heel of it into his forehead. He collapses backwards, unconscious, onto the bed. “Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes, covering his face. In the morning, at least half the group is hungover — including Wei Wuxian. His head’s pulsing with a fuzzy thickness, like someone’s drumming cotton-wrapped mallets against the back of his eyes, and even breakfast left him feeling queasy. He can’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, but he can summon up all his unused uncle instincts and round on Jin Ling as they prepare to depart. “Stop arguing with your uncle when you get back,” he scolds. “Don’t come out night hunting alone anymore. You’re too young! Why are you in such a rush?” “I’m not a child!” Jin Ling snaps back. “That dog Wei Wuxian wasn’t much older when he killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter, wasn’t he? If he can do it, I can beat him!” Recoiling, Wei Wuxian grimaces before reaching back to rub at the nape of his neck. He’s pretty sure that’s not right. They were older than Jin Ling when they got stuck in that cave, and anyway— “Isn’t Hanguang-jun the one who killed it?” he protests. Jin Ling stops short, lips twisting to one side like he’s tasted something bitter. “You and Hanguang-jun… Whatever. I know about the Gusu Lan headband so if it’s going to be like this, then” — he swallows, two bright red spots rising in his cheeks — “just make sure to stay by his side properly. Don’t bring any more shame to Lanling Jin.” “The headband?” Wei Wuxian echoes, feeling some new horror growing in his belly. The headband just means restraint — right? It’s just an old tradition. “Shut up! Stop being so shameless. I’m done talking about it,” Jin Ling snaps. He looks away, crossing his arms. There’s something about his frown, the way his eyes have focused on the ground a few steps to his left that makes Wei Wuxian cant his head, waiting. After a moment, he looks sideways up at Wei Wuxian. When he speaks, his voice comes out small. “Are you really Wei Wuxian?” he asks. Wei Wuxian’s heart stutters in his chest, but he just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Do you think I am?” Jin Ling studies him a long moment before huffing out a breath and dropping his arms. He looks almost…disappointed? “I don’t know,” he says. “No. Cousin Yu always said he was a great cultivator and you’re clearly not. And jiujiu said he was taller than Hanguang-jun. So.”

He clears his throat and turns, waving his hand in dismissal.

“Behave yourself and don’t, you know, get yourself killed. I guess,” he says over his shoulder. A fond smile curls up Wei Wuxian’s lips at the brusque care. What a little monster. As Jin Ling returns to his own disciples, a Jiang disciple approaches. She’s the eldest of their group, tall and angular with a placid expression that nearly rivals Lan Zhan’s. He’s caught her looking at him funny over the past day, and every time, some sense of familiarity niggles at the back of spine, but he can’t quite place her. “Thank you for assisting us,” she says, saluting neatly before reaching into one sleeve. “I believe Jiang-zongzhu would like you to have this. Our da-shixiong designed it.” The talisman she hands him is familiar, the calligraphy for a different reason. His breath catches, eyes going a little wide as he looks back up to her. “Little pirate?” he asks. Sun Hai smiles abruptly, like a crack breaking through glass. There are tears in the corners of her eyes as she gives a quick little nod. “Little pirate!” he exclaims, something like grief and elation together winding tight around his chest. “Not so little anymore — you’ve grown up so much! You were as little as Jin Ling when I saw you.” The last time he saw her, she’d just hit a growth spurt that left her gangly and awkward and mortified by the lack of control she had over her own limbs. In the last weeks before the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, he’d promised to help her practice modifying talismans in exchange for her not hiding away in her rooms every time she stumbled doing sword forms. Now, she’s lean and tall and carries herself with the kind of grace shared by dancers and swordmasters: fluid, strong, and quick. With her sword at one side and other arm folded at her waist, she looks all grown up. “It’s good to see you, shixiong,” she says, smiling even as a tear slips loose down her cheek. “We’ve really missed you.” Oh. His fingers tighten a little around the tracking talisman in his hand before he catches himself and makes them relax. He gives an unsteady smile. “Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. “Yeah. Me, too.” She lingers another moment before drawing in a breath and straightening up. With another quick bow, she turns and heads back to where a little cluster is waiting for her, watching curiously. Wei Wuxian watches a moment before turning his gaze back down to the talisman in his hand. He recognizes it, though it’s been a long time. He originally designed it to keep track of a-Yuan when he went racing off around the settlement, dashing away from supervision. Had he sent a copy to Jiang Cheng? He must have. He sent so many absent ideas in his letters back then, anything he thought might be of use, anything that to help make up for the trouble he was causing. His throat feels thick with something, the headache clustering with something unsteady and unsure fluttering in his heart.

[tartagilicious]

Maybe a roommate au with fluff and the sentence starter "I wish I could relates but only a dumbass like you could do this" with Eugene?? Hopefully that doesn't sound confusing I'm having trouble wording it right--

hhhHHH

“Eugene..”

You trailed off with obvious distaste as your best friend recalled the events he’d been through. He looked sheepish enough, avoiding your gaze as you just stared, yet you still couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wish I could relate but only a dumbass like you could do this,”

He groaned as he slumped onto the table, his words muffled by his sweatshirt as he said, “You don’t have to tell me that, ___. I just want to know how to fix it.”

Your eyes went down to the coffee sitting in front of you, and you sighed. Eugene had been your roommate since the first year of college, and it was safe to say that you knew him better than anyone by now. That’s why you immediately knew that he needed your help when he offered to take you to your favourite cafe. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t pay for things, but he wasn’t someone who was keen on splurging like you were. 

“It’s up to her.” You said, taking a sip of your coffee as he raised his head to look at you. 

You rose a brow at his surprised reaction. “What? You can’t go over to a girl’s house and throw up on her! No matter how much soju you had, you idiot.”

His head dropped again, and you sighed, twirling your straw with your tongue as you said, “What did you think I was going to tell you? I’m not magic, you know.”

“You might as well be.” He mumbled, resting his chin on his arms to look straight at you with a pout. “You’re too good at this relationship stuff, while I just threw up on someone.”

You forced a smile and took another sip of your drink, putting it down again as you avoided his eyes. 

It was true, you were definitely better when it came to relationships between the two of you. But, that was only because you’d spent so much time thinking about one specific person that you would be disappointed if you weren’t an expert on them after the fact. 

Yet, no matter how many hints you gave to your oblivious and relationship-troubled best friend, he never got it. It hurt so much to go through his mishaps with other girls when the one girl that loved him more than anyone had been sitting in front of him for years, laughing with him and giving him someone to lean with through every stage life threw at you. 

Eugene just didn’t seem to get it; he never had.

“Well, what do I do? ___, I want to try again.”

“So, you like her, hm?” You teased him lightly, your lips curving up into a sly smile. “Has someone got a crush?”

Eugene sat back with a blush dusting his cheeks that was a clear as day yes. You kept your smile expertly as you rested your chin on your plan and leaned forward. 

“If you liked her you should’ve recognised your limit, Eugene.” You said slowly, not being able to help a laugh as his expression melted into an embarrassed smile.

“___! You’re supposed to be helping me, not making fun of me, you hoe.”

Your laughs both just grew louder as you sat there teasing each other back and forth, before you finally calmed down minutes later and gave him the serious advice he was looking for. 

“Seriously though, Eugene. Just text her and apologise. If she’s right for you, things will go from there. Still, don’t count on anything, okay?”

You watched his eyes light up with a smile, as if your warning simply didn’t exist. “Are you sure? Is that it?”

You shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, for now.”

“Man,” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Girls are just so hard to figure out.”

You snorted at the ironic words. 

“Yeah, girls are some confusing creatures, alright.”

His face shifted again as he whined, “Don’t say it like that!”

The rest of your night at the cafe was filled with more light-hearted things on your part, and despite the official reason for meaning, you both went back to your shared apartment feeling good. 

But, then he pulled you into the living room about an hour later to help him construct a text to the girl he’d been so caught up on. 

The mood was ruined easily, like the drop of a pin . 

So, there you sat, your face free of makeup and lightly coated with an acne mask peering over his shoulder as he typed. You were tired and began to rest your chin on his shoulder eventually, sighing at the time it took for the boy to do something so simple. 

“If it takes this long to say sorry to a girl about something like this,” You said, picking up your head and sitting back. “Do you think she’s really right for you?”

He was silent for a few moments before turning his head back to look at you. 

“I did it for you.”

You went silent. 

Eugene was right, he had done something very similar to you when you’d first met at a frat party. 

You’d gotten separated with the friends you’d come with and had quite literally stumbled across him. He’d spilled his drink on you in the clumsiest and cutest way, and you couldn’t help but find yourself curious about him even back then. 

“I hope you didn’t freak out this much about apologising to me.” You joked softly, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I definitely wasn’t worth it.”

He raised a brow as he gestured to the apartment around you and to you yourself. “You’re my best friend, ___. You were totally worth it, whether you like it or not.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but the mood was ruined again in no time flat as he said, “Which is why I have to seize this chance to remake history!” 

He grinned as he briefly flashed the phone screen to you before pressing send. But as he switched the phone off and turned back to you, your couldn’t help the confused curve of your brows. 

“You’re not even going to make me proofread it?”

“Nope,” Eugene said this confidently, sitting back next to you and slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll work.”

You smiled as you leaned into him. “Whatever you say. Wanna watch Netflix now that your pity party is over?”

He huffed. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, yes.”

Everything you did with him was always easy; after all, there was no reason for it to be anything else. Even just the way you didn’t mind your legs tangling when you sat on the couch, the way you’d casually share drinks, or how you could tell each other anything — you lived your lives together without hardships, but the things that really jeopardised it put the most weight on you alone. 

You were in love with him, but had never said a thing. You thought that you would’ve learned your lesson by then, knowing that everything you never had the guts to do had always come back to bite you in the end. But you were foolish in thinking that this time would be any different. 

“___!’

Eugene came sliding into the kitchen on his socks one morning, capturing your attention with a dumb grin as you stood in front of the stove. Your eyes flitted to the phone in his hand and back up to him as you returned, 

“..Eugene?”

“Guess what?!”

He seemed awfully happy for the early time, not catching onto the fact that you were barely even awake yet as he continued to wave his phone around. Then, deciding that he wouldn’t even wait for your reply, he walked up to you and thrust the screen in your face. 

‘don’t worry about it, really! honestly, something like that also happened to me a while back, so I understand. could we maybe meet again sometime to talk more about it?’

Your heart sank to your stomach like a stone in a pitiful koi pond as you read the texts. The woman he’d gone out with had forgiven him alright, and it seemed like your cycle of heartbreak was about to restart yet again.

But, as always, a habitual smile raised to your lips as you forced yourself to push out, “That’s great, Eugene! I told you she would come around, didn’t I?”

He grinned giddily, bringing a hint of a genuine smile to your face as he threw his arms around you in a bear-sized hug of thanks. You buried your face in his shoulder as you held him back, listening to him silently as he began murmuring about his plans with the other woman to you. 

It took all of your resolve not to break down into tears right then and there, but you stood firmly for the sake of him. You stood firmly because that was all you could do. 

Days went by after that, and you saw significantly less of your roommate with each. Knowing he was off with the woman when he wasn’t in class, you tried your best not to think about it. One night, Eugene came home only slightly later than usual, though, a change to the previous days where he’d arrive home hours late.

“___?”

His voice sounded tired as he walked inside, the sounds of him kicking off his shoes filling the small entryway. You looked up from where you sat on the couch, previously immersed in playing a game on your phone before you noticed his sullen expression. 

“Eugene?” Your brows knit delicately. “Are you okay?”

Wordlessly, he just came and sat next to you on the couch, leaning to the side into the cushion as he pulled down his cap to cover his face. You wanted to say something to him, but all you could do was stare. You hadn’t the slightest idea of what could possibly be bothering him, and even if he was your best friend, you had no idea where to start. 

“…Eugene?”

You reached out hesitantly, taking the bill of his hat and lifting it up to get a view of what he was trying to hide. Fat tears ran down his cheeks, and though soundless, his eyes held enough pain for you to feel it too. 

Wiping them away with the pad of your thumb, you whispered, “What happened?”

“I should’ve listened to you.’ he mumbled, bringing his sleeve up to cover his nose as he looked away. “I shouldn’t have counted on anything.”

“God, what did she do?”

“..She only wanted to use me to get her ex back. ___-, that’s why she was so forgiving, she, she just needed me for that. I’m so stupid-”

“No,” You cut him off. “You’re not stupid, she’s just a bitch! I don’t know how she couldn’t see anything in you, Eugene. You’d be, like, the perfect boyfriend. He sighed, his cheeks flushing. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

You shook your head, whispering, “I’m not, Eugene.”

A few beats of silence passed before he turned his head away, forcing you to let go of his cap as he took it off and put it to the side. 

“Don’t say that,” he mumbled. “You’re just going to go and get my hopes up so I can go and mess everything up all over again.”

“It’s not a lie, Eugene. Take it from someone who knows you, and also lives with you. You’d be a great boyfriend, and it means nothing that one girl-”

“More than one girl, ___. Over and over again, something like this happens.” He interrupted, his eyes flickering back over to yours as he joked deprecatingly. “You’re the only one I’ve managed to charm enough to stay by my side.”

You took his chin in your hands without thinking and pulled him back to face you before staring him right in the eyes. Making sure he was paying attention, you tried your best to convey what you needed him to know. 

“You haven’t charmed me at all, Eugene. I’m here because, well—”

You paused before you let the crucial details slip, but that answer obviously wasn’t enough for Eugene. His hands shot up to hold yours in place on top of his before you thought about moving away, turning the tables and forcing you to look right at him instead.

“Because why, ___?”

You bit your lip, nerves swelling in your throat as you laughed pitifully. 

“Because, Eugene.” You whispered. “I love you.”

His hands loosened on top of yours, and for a moment, you thought he was going to let go. But, instead, he threw his arms around you in a hug, effectively pushing you down onto the sofa behind you as your hands dropped from his face. 

“Eug-!”

The words left your mouth in a hurry, but before you knew it, his lips were on yours. A effective silencer, you thought. 

Your eyes were wide with surprise, but after feeling the odd sincerity in his actions, you weaved your arms around him and kissed him back. It was an action filled with heat; an entire person’s worth of undone fire that was begging to be unravelled. And in your capable hands, the coil was released with ease. 

Fingers began to tangle in each other’s hair as the kiss only grew to be more demanding, small gasps slipping out from you before you thought to silence them. Eugene didn’t seem to mind them, though, even seeming to welcome them as his tongue slipping past your lips only warranted more.

Breathing hard, you gripped a fistful of his hair as your tongues swirled together in a desperate tell that something still wasn’t right. 

It physically pained you to move away, but knowing it was at least better than the defining silence of your naivety, you stopped him. You wanted an explanation before anything else, because as far as you were concerned, he had just kissed you as an in the moment decision. 

“Eugene,” You whispered, your breaths still laboured. “Why..?”

He leaned his forehead against yours as he rasped, “You’re such an idiot, ___. Are you asking me why?”

You nodded hesitantly, not daring to break your eye contact.

“I love you, and I’ve been waiting so long for you and your slow brain to realise that I—”

You cut him off from the last discernible sentence he would say that night, smiling as you finally kissed him wholly. 

— 

read more of my works~ ♡

[bubble-tea-bunny]

until the night collapses

[leon s kennedy x reader]

author’s note: leon is hella good looking in the remake and my eyes have been blessed

word count: 3,056

Driving through rain, especially at night, always warrants extra caution. As such, Leon’s foot is steady on the gas, having been cruising at a comfortable speed for the past several miles. The roads have been mostly devoid of traffic, though he had passed one or two cars going the other direction. It’s an emptiness he’d considered a little strange at first, but he’s quick to brush it off. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to worry about anyone tailing him before swerving to the opposite lane to pass. A downpour still wasn’t enough for some people to slow down. But when he pulls into the Mizoil gas station to fill the tank, he learns the rain is the least of his problems.

It’s a hell of a first day, that’s for sure. He thought he was the only one at the station with a still beating heart (at least after watching an Arklay County officer get a nasty bite to the neck from… something, which left him good as dead) until Claire had shown up. A stroke of luck would have the keys still in the ignition of the police cruiser, and they were off.

If someone asked him what he would’ve expected his welcome to Raccoon City to be like, he couldn’t give a straight answer, but it definitely isn’t this. Abandoned cars are pulled over to either side of the street, and he drives through the open center, intended for emergency vehicles no longer anywhere in sight. Eventually even that’s blocked off, and in a fit of timing he struggles to say was good or not, the welcome committee arrives in the form of a fuel truck narrowly crushing the car to scrap metal. It kills any of the zombies trying to pry the doors open to get to him and Claire, but the force of the collision throws him forward, and his head collides with the steering wheel none too nicely. If he were to look into a mirror right now, he’d see a nasty bruise darkening on his forehead. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there, for light pressure applied to the offended area with the tips of his fingers and the ensuing throb let him know just as well.

This last hour had merely been the tip of the very large, very precarious iceberg. The fire caused by the cruiser exploding gave him no choice but to split up with Claire. Arriving at, and diving within, the museum turned police department is his personal journey down the rabbit hole, but this is no Wonderland on the other side. Or maybe it is and the author of the whole sick story had a fucked up sense of humor. But what did he know? If this was a book he was only a character, at the mercy of the words and whatever would follow with each turn of the page.

He’s seen more death and gore than anyone should have to see, and it’s a level of carnage he can’t help but recoil at. Being a police officer requires not only an iron will but an iron stomach, but he thinks he should be given a pass this time. Fighting his way through hordes of undead as he tries to find out what the hell is going on was not listed in the job description. When he’s trekking down what feels like the millionth dark corridor, blood and guts stuck to the bottom of his boots, he muses half with cynicism and half with fatigue, for it has been a long night, that maybe it’s because if it had been mentioned, no one would apply. And maybe there are some who would jump at the chance to play hero, but in the end logic wins out and prompts many of them to stay away, since it’s something else entirely to be thrown into the mess and realize one is vastly outnumbered, and against an enemy with nothing to fear.

At the west office, he cracks the first smile in what feels like an eternity. It’s a small one, followed closely by a quiet chuckle at the scene before him. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, and a banner stretches across from one wall to the other: Welcome Leon. He reads the note on his desk and feels a twinge in his chest. These were supposed to be his colleagues. Life would’ve been so different if the keep away message hadn’t been sent to him a week prior, if there hadn’t been a reason to stay out of the city and the wheels were still turning like they’re meant to.

He passes by one of the desks, and his flashlight passes over a nameplate with your name on it. Your workspace, much like the others here, is thrown in disarray. Papers are scattered and various trinkets you had to decorate the area are broken. There are sticky notes still stuck to the edge of the shelf attached to your desk, some of them quick reminders of tasks to do and others silly notes from your fellow officers.  

Cracked glass hidden in the shadowy corner grabs his attention, and he reaches a hand out for it. His fingers curl around a wooden frame, which he gingerly picks up, mindful of the sharp point of the glass. This must be you in the photo. You’re in a graduation uniform, diploma in one hand and your dog held in the other. It’s not looking at the camera, but rather up at you, who smile widely, a toothy grin that reaches your eyes. The time stamp in the bottom right corner indicates this is a recent photo.

There’s so much personality at your desk, and in your bright gaze captured forever in a picture, that for a moment he swears he feels less alone. He feels like he knows you. Maybe he’d be one of the officers to write small notes to tack to your desk, or maybe you would do that to his. Maybe he would’ve met your dog. What’s its name, he wonders?

With a sigh he sets the frame back down, and reality rushes back, and he hopes he won’t see your body laying around somewhere, discarded and almost unrecognizable. Chances are high that you’ve been infected and haven’t survived, but all the same, he doesn’t want to come across you. He’s not sure why he wants to grasp so tightly onto the image of your smile, and to not allow it to be tainted by visions of a corpse. Perhaps it’s because it’s his last hold to something humane, to something that could help retain his sanity in the midst of the chaos. Lieutenant Branagh had already succumbed to his wounds, and Claire was nowhere to be found. Leon doesn’t know if she’s still alive. So all that left was you.

Ada turning up proves he isn’t the only one remaining in the whole building with his wits still about him, and with his heart and brain in tact. She isn’t keen on sharing much information, and what little she divulges only raises more questions. He couldn’t have begun to guess what caused this shit storm. All of it sounds crazy, but judging by Ada’s tone, this is no tall tale.

They had stumbled upon Annette Birkin. There’s no better word for it. They train their guns on her, and Leon thinks to himself that she doesn’t seem threatening, and definitely not as dangerous as Ada had made her out to be. But maybe that’s how it goes. The most dangerous could be the least assuming. He doesn’t know to what lengths she will go to protect the G-Virus, but he’s not left speculating for long, for she brandishes her own gun and opens fire, and he doesn’t hesitate running towards Ada, shielding her and bringing them both to the ground.

The bullet in his shoulder registers as a low burn, and his vision is becoming hazy. It becomes difficult to ignore the pain, and he remembers telling Ada to go after Annette before passing out from shock. He hadn’t even been aware of the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness. He was simply awake, though weakening fast, and then he wasn’t.

Now he’s in a house, one he doesn’t recognize. The sun is shining outside, and his feet are carrying him through the hallway like they have a mind of their own, for he isn’t willing himself to walk. He just is. They bring him to a bedroom where the curtains are drawn back, the light flooding in a bit too intense to be normal. The edges of everything are out of focus and no matter how many times he blinks, they stay fuzzy.

I was wondering where you went. The figure in the bed sits up slightly to look at him better. Your hair is ruffled and you watch him with a sleep-riddled grin. He knows he should be surprised to see you there. None of this is adding up. This isn’t real. But he’s not deterred by any such thoughts as he smiles back like this is the way things always were.

He crawls beneath the sheets to join you, apologizing while he does. Sorry. At first he wasn’t certain if he actually was in control, or if he was only watching everything play out like a movie, like there was a script. But if it had at the start been the latter, it was now the former, as he starts to play along, eyes sliding closed as you lean in to kiss him. The spot where your lips meet is warm, and his arms curl around you to bring you closer.

Once you pull away, you murmur that you love him, and he feels his heart stop. He brings a hand up to caress your cheek, where a rosy flush has settled, and says he loves you too. This prompts you to smile that beautiful smile of yours, and it’s still just as captivating when tinged with fatigue. He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, smooth and plush, and he wants to kiss you again so he does.

In the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real, but God, he wishes it were. His fingers tangle in your hair, his free hand sneaking beneath the oversized shirt you wear to run along the heated skin of your waist, and everything feels fine. Everything feels perfect. He’s reminded of that saying, of one’s life flashing before their eyes, and he wonders if this is it. Or something close. Because this isn’t the past. He doesn’t know what it is. It would seem he had held on to you so securely that he’s started to dream of you. His stomach is doing flips like a cage of butterflies has just been let loose, and you’re smiling again, and it’s the flower they’re all searching for.

Are you okay? you inquire gently, brushing his hair from his eyes.

He stares into the depths of your own and they feel so much like home that he’s not pretending anymore. His chest is bursting with a love that feels too real to be mere imagination. And he starts to believe it, that life has always been this way, and would always be this way, and he’s just had a bad dream he won’t trouble you by sharing. He doesn’t want you to worry. Yeah, I’m okay.

Maybe this is his life flashing before his eyes, but it’s less about life in the sense of all the years gone by, and more about life in the form of a person, of the one who means the most to him. And despite knowing so little about you, his subconscious pulls at the image of you he stored away, bringing it to the forefront so that he’s convinced you are his life. That’s why he sees you now, and why he desperately clings on, to this blissful moment, suspended in time. He never wants to let go.

It’s also why he feels so helplessly hollow when he finally wakes—reluctantly, and with a heaviness closing in on his heart. He’s back in the cold corridor, back in the station, sitting up against the hard wall with Ada’s trench coat acting as a makeshift shock blanket and his injury wrapped with gauze stained dark red. You’re in his periphery, your warmth and your smile gradually fading away, and he’s thinking Don’t go or maybe he’s said it out loud, muttered to the air with a cracked voice.

They say things get worse before they better, but in this case, they get so bad Leon doubts there could be any improvement. He ventures lower underground, in pursuit of Annette and the G-Virus. He fights monsters he never thought could exist outside horror movies, and uncovers truths he had suspected but that he wanted to hope weren’t true at all. If Annette’s words were not sufficient confirmation, the fact he’s staring down the barrel of Ada’s firearm is.

Suddenly a gunshot rings through the air and a bullet sinks into Ada’s skin, but Leon hadn’t fired. Twisting around, he gets a short glimpse of Annette before the bridge collapses and the G-Virus sample tumbles down to the depths below, but Leon grabs Ada before she can fall too. Attempts to pull her up put stress on the already unstable bridge and it sinks to an even sharper angle, and he spits out a curse of frustration.

The two of them can’t remain like that forever, however, and he feels his hold slipping. Ada doesn’t look worried, wants him to let go because otherwise, they both die. It’s not worth it. But to Leon it is, and he knows she’d never understand why. He had to let go of you and leave you behind once he returned to consciousness, and it had hurt more than it should have. So perhaps he’s thinking of you as he holds onto Ada, for he doesn’t want to go through that again. This time, he won’t let go.

But reality is quite literally crashing down around them and the reality is he’s holding on to Ada, not you. And her wrist slides out of his grip, and she disappears in the darkness. He stares into the abyss, extending so far it’s like there is no end. His breaths come out rushed due to adrenaline, corners of his eyes pooling with tears refusing to fall, but there’s no time to mourn as he kicks himself into gear, standing and moving to steadier ground. The self-destruct sequence has begun. He doesn’t have long to get out.

His way of escape is at the bottom level of the lab, and he’s shooting his way through hordes of zombies when he hears it: echoes of another firing into the packs of undead. He follows it, thinking it’s Claire, but it’s not. He stops firing in his surprise, and he’s caught so off guard he’s unable to even exclaim your name in a quiet huff of disbelief under his breath.

You catch sight of him, and not letting yourself become distracted at finding someone else still alive in here, you call out The exit is up ahead! You haven’t noticed his shock, a second he spends looking like a deer caught in headlights, for you’re too preoccupied with other more urgent matters to have done so. Leon forces himself to look away and help take down the remainder of the zombies blocking the path. Past the exit door, the lights of a train begin flashing on the walls, and at the first opening, you sprint through, Leon following close behind.

His wider strides let him catch up to you, and he’s first to hop onto the train, grabbing the bar to swing himself up. Then he holds a hand out to you, stretching as far as he can. Come on! There’s an explosion and the building starts to crumble, and the strength of the blast pushes you forward. With a lunge, you thrust your arm out to grab onto his hand, and he pulls you up with the last bit of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Both of you collapse against the train car, breathing hard. Leon’s in rough shape, but you’re no better. You’re littered with cuts and bruises, your clothes are filthy, and your tied up hair is half falling out of the ponytail you had it in. It’s silent for a while as both of you calm down, and then Leon sneaks a glance at you. A part of him had still been skeptical that it could be true, that you’ve been alive this whole time, but it’s unmistakable. He’d burned that photo of you into his brain, and it’s a match, and he knows he’s not imagining you here next to him.

As though you can feel him staring, which you most probably do, you look over at him and meet his eyes. Now that you’re breathing normally again, you speak quietly, the fatigue finally setting in.

“Lucky we got out just in time.” You smile, and Leon’s heart is twisting to see it for real, and it’s more amazing than what he’d seen in the picture, or in his dream. He never wants you to stop looking at him like that. He wants to get lost in that gentle curve and in your soft gaze. After the hell he’s been through, he thinks he could fall asleep in them forever.

He chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

He introduces himself and holds a hand out, and you tell him your name as you shake it. Without even fully realizing it, he’s grinning with a fondness that could only come from familiarity and a fulfilled longing, and he states Nice to meet you, [Name]. It’s really something to be saying your name out loud. It feels perfect on his tongue, his lips curling around each syllable with incredible care, like he’s reciting a prayer.

Maybe what he’d dreamed wasn’t what could’ve been; maybe it was what will be. And as the train rushes out of the ruined city and you drift off in well-deserved rest, head drooping to lean on Leon’s shoulder, he knows he’s already in love with you.