#my bloody valentine gift exchange

[aceghosts]

Be Mine Forever

Summary: On Valentine's day, you reminisce about your former lover, Albert Wesker. A series of memories set through your time at S.T.A.R.S. Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death; Canon Typical Violence; Sexual Harassment (Very brief and the dude gets what's coming to him), Grief/Mourning, Boss/Employee Relationship, and Possessive Behavior. Let me know if I need to tag for anything else. Words: 3.8 k Author's Note: This is a gift for @mydisenchantedeulogy as part of @carlosoliveiraa's My Bloody Valentine's Day Gift Exchange! Amanda, thank you for letting me participate! Sugar, I really hope you like this! I had a lot of fun writing this.

AO3

Snow crunches beneath your boots as you head home from your late shift at the police station. Your breath comes out in misty puffs in the cold February air, gloved hands shoved in your pockets. A gust of wind blows, shivering as it tosses your hair in your face. You brush your hair out of your face, lamps lighting your way home as you walk along the crowded city sidewalk. Passing by a local restaurant, you catch sight of happy couples through the window, enjoying romantic candle-lit dinners. Stepping out of the way of other strangers on the sidewalk, you stop, an overwhelming sadness encompasses you. Those couples look so happy, so in love, especially the pair closest to the window. He gazes into her eyes, full of adoration, holding her hands with no regard for others around them. That should have been you and him. You should have been gazing lovingly into his cold blue eyes, holding his hand as he talked. Just the two of you together. Why couldn’t this be you and him?

Because he had chosen another path, one where you could not follow him.

Letting out a mournful sigh, you begin your journey home once again. Valentine’s Day, a holiday you once merely tolerated, was now a day of pain. All because of Albert Wesker. You hear his voice in your head, shaking it off. It was no use thinking of him; Albert was dead, and even worse, he had betrayed S.T.A.R.S., you included. When you spoke with your former team members, you pretended to be angry, yet that anger came from a real place, a different place. They were angry because of his betrayal. You were angry that he chose death over you. He chose ambition and power games over you. Yet, your heart longs for him, wishing to feel the warm comfort of his arms around you once again. You couldn’t help but mourn the man you loved; mourn the future you envisioned with him.

“Why Albert? Why?” You ask quietly, knowing no one will answer you. As you walk, memories of your days with Albert and S.T.A.R.S. play out.

—

A position on the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team was something you dreamed of and fought like hell for. Irons thought you didn’t deserve to be on the team, but Enrico vouched for you, asserting that you were the right fit, that you could carry your weight. Wesker, your Captain at the time, accepted you as a member of the team reluctantly. He would later admit, when it was just you two in bed late at night, that letting you on the team was one of the best decisions that he ever made. He would pick you to be a part of the team, again and again. Unfortunately, not everyone felt the same way.

Paul was a pain in your ass from the moment you met him, a bully to everyone around him. He hated you the most, believing you stole his spot on the Alpha team.  Fortunately for you, he was terrified of Wesker, slinking away whenever he saw the Captain. Paul would also back off (albeit reluctantly) when Barry or Chris stepped in. As you hit the punching bag, alone in the station gym late at night, you hear a familiar annoying voice. “Hey!” You stop, turning to find Paul striding towards him. You give him your best glare, one that would frighten most. “What? A fellow officer can’t say hello?”

“What do you want?” You really wish Wesker was here. Or Chris. Or Barry. Hell, you would even settle for Brad, who was slightly intimidated by Paul.

He sneers, crowding into your space. You step back, knowing there is limited room between you and the bag. “You too good for the rest of us now, huh? Being part of S.T.A.R.S. has really gone to your head.”

You don’t think you’re too good for anyone. (Well, you might be better than a few people, Paul included.) “I am, or at least, I know I’m better than you, Paul. I earned my spot on the team.” You really shouldn’t push Paul’s buttons, but God, does it feel so good. 

“Fuck off,” He says, hands clenching into fists, “You probably had to sleep your way onto the team, huh? You sleep with Wesker to-.” Red colors your vision, anger flaring in your chest. Wesker might be a hardass, but you respect the hell out of him, and you won’t let anyone besmirch his name.

Without thinking, you throw a punch, catching Paul in the stomach. He coughs, doubling over with a wheeze of pain. As he stumbles back, he curses, “you fucking asshole, I’m going to-.”

“You are going to what?” A familiar, cold voice cuts in, and as you look over to your left, you find Wesker watching the both of you intently. His posture is a little tense, compared to the normally controlled discipline. You feel something radiating off him, something akin to a frosty rage.

Paul straightens up quickly, playing the victim. “Captain Wesker! I was just asking them what they were doing here, and they attacked me!”

Wesker smirks. “Is that what happened?” He asks, coming next to you, “From where I was standing, you were harassing one of my officers. What was it you said? That they had to sleep their way on the team?”

Color drains from Paul’s face.  “I-I wasn’t-.”

He holds his hand up, cutting Paul off with a sneer on his face. “I think it’s time I made something very clear: you never had a spot on the Alpha team. You were never considered for a number of reasons, and,” Wesker places a hand on your shoulder, “They have proven themself to be a true asset to the team. I am proud to serve as their captain. If you were on my team, I would quit.” Wesker’s hand leaves your shoulder as he steps closer to Paul. “Now, are you going to leave them alone? Or do you need more encouragement?”

Paul nods, swallowing fearfully as he backs away. “Yes, Captain,” He says, before turning tail and fleeing.

Letting out a relieved sigh, you say, “Thanks for helping. Paul’s been a pain in my ass since I started.”

Wesker nods. “Why did you punch him?” He asks, a note of genuine curiosity. You notice he is more relaxed now that Paul is gone.

Your cheeks heat up, feeling slightly embarrassed. “He insulted you by saying that you slept with me for my spot on the team.”

“Not for yourself?”

Shaking your head, you say, “I really like you as a Captain. I’ve learned a lot being a part of Alpha team, more than anywhere else. I respect you a lot.” It’s more than respect, but you aren’t about to admit that. You swear you catch a look of delight on his face as you pause for a second, before asking, “Did you really mean it when you said that I’m an asset to the team?”

Wesker nods. “I do,” He says, giving you an approving look, “You’ve proven yourself to be a fine officer. I had my doubts when Enrico suggested you, but you continue to surpass my expectations everyday.” His words surprise you, but delight you, especially the surpassing expectations part. Smirking, he adds with a rather teasing tone, “I look forward to you continuing to do so, but please don’t punch anyone else on my behalf.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. No more punching anyone on Wesker’s behalf, but you’ll still defend his honor verbally. Never said anything about putting someone in their place with a well-timed tongue-lashing.

A few weeks later, Paul disappears. You hear something about him accepting a job at another police station, wishing his new coworkers the best.  

—

At S.T.A.R.S., you continue to make Wesker proud, determined to be the best you can be. You work harder than you ever have, putting in blood, sweat, and tears. Wesker demands so much more of the team and more. His training is rigorous, but you feel prepared for whatever may come your and Alpha Team’s way. And as much as you loathe to admit, a part of you yearns for praises from Wesker. When he tells you that you’ve done well with a slightly approving tone, a rush of pride overwhelms you, a faint heat on your cheeks. And you swear that you’ve caught him smirking at that once or twice, especially in after-hours training where he’ll lean down, speaking the words of praise into your ear. It always sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine. And, it definitely doesn’t help with that tiny crush you have.

One night, late after the rest of your teammates have gone home, you return to the station to pick up the book you were reading, left in the top drawer of your desk. As you reach the door of the S.T.A.R.S. office, you find Wesker alone, his office door open. He looks frustrated as he stares down at the paperwork, sunglasses on his desk. His hand runs through his hair, a few platinum blond strands falling loose. Wesker sighs, and your heart twinges a little. You can’t do Wesker’s paperwork for him, but you want to help in whatever way you can. A thought pops into your mind, and you head to the staff break room, ready to put your plan into action.

“Wesker?” His head snaps up, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.   

“What brings you to the station this late at night?” Wesker asks, placing the pen down as his gaze lands on the cup of coffee in your hand. He snorts. “Surely, the station coffee can’t be that good…”

You shake your head. “I came back to pick up my book, but I saw you, and…” you trail off slightly, feeling slightly shy, “I thought you could use a cup of coffee.” You hold out the Styrofoam cup of coffee for Wesker to take.

Suspicious, Wesker looks between you and the cup in your hands, eyes narrowed as if you might have poisoned it. Eventually, he relents, taking the cup from your hand. His fingers briefly make contact with your fingers, sending a spark of pleasure through you. Taking a sip of the coffee, Wesker looks pleased, raising an eyebrow. “This does not taste like the normal sludge that comes from the break room.”

“I know where all the good creamers and coffee are hidden,” You say proudly, taking a seat at Wesker’s desk.  

Wesker smiles, taking another sip of coffee. “A hidden talent perhaps?’

“I have many hidden talents,” you flirt, a devilish smile on your lips, “Maybe, I’ll show you sometime.”

He smiles, a darkly hungry look in his eyes. “Perhaps, you will.”

That damn man. How unfair he make you feel this way. One of the loose blond strands of hair briefly falls in his face, and you’re struck with the need to push it back for him. Impulsively, you rise and lean over the desk, your hand reaching towards him. You gently push his hair back, your fingers grazing his skin softly. Wesker grabs your wrist tightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place. His lips are slightly parted, pupils wide. “I’m sorry,” You apologize, hoping you didn’t cross a line, “I wanted to help.”

Wesker releases your wrist, allowing you to draw your hand away, the ghost of his touch still haunting you. “Don’t apologize.” Sitting back down in your seat, you’re relieved to see that Wesker isn’t upset. Rather, he seems delighted by your touch. “I did not expect it, but,” he emphasizes that word, “That does not mean I did not like it.”

Your heart leaps at those words, butterflies in your stomach. “Good,” You say softly, before deciding to change the subject, “Do you need help with something else?”

“No,” He says, shaking his head, “I should be done soon, especially thanks to your coffee.” You straighten up with pride, always hungry for the tiniest bits of praise. “You should go home for the night.”

Heeding his advice, you get up from your chair. “Have a good night, Wesker.”

“You as well,” He replies, a teasing smirk on his face, “Sweet dreams.” What a cruel man. Like that isn’t going to haunt you for the rest of the night.

—

You sip your beer, watching Jill lineup her shot as you lean against the bar. Tonight, you’re at one of the local bars in Raccoon City with the Alpha and Bravo team, watching your teammates play Pool.  It’s not a bad way to spend a Friday night; you actually like the rest of your team and don’t mind spending a Friday night with them every once in a while. Even better, Wesker is here with the rest of you at the bar tonight, a rare occurrence.

Someone leans against the bar next to you. Looking over to your right, you realize it’s Wesker, beer in hand as he asks, “No interest in Pool?”

You shake your head. “I have fun playing Pool, but I thought I would sit this round out.” He nods, the silence settling around you two. You can’t help but wonder why Wesker is here. He always seems so busy, like he’s got something that he is hiding from the rest of you.

“You seem like you have something to ask,” He says, taking a sip of his beer.

Letting curiosity get the best of you, you ask, “Why are you here? You don’t normally join us,” before adding quickly a moment later, “not that anyone is complaining.” Well, that’s a lie. A few people did complain, namely that they would have to be on better behavior since Wesker was there. You definitely weren’t complaining; you were very happy to see him.

“I wanted to be here.”

Tilting your head, you wonder why Wesker would want to be here. No offense, but the cheap dive bar that Alpha and Bravo teams hung out at never seemed like his type of place. Wesker always stood out, like this was all beneath him. “Really?”

He nods. “Are you surprised?”

You shrug. “Kinda. I thought you might have something else to do. Or maybe, someone waiting for you at home.”

“There is no one waiting for me at home,” he slides closer, your breath catching in your throat, “And you? Is there someone waiting for you?” 

Shaking your head, you reply, “No, I’m single.” Since you met Wesker, most potential partners hadn’t measured up to him. Maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s being so close to him, you decide to take a chance. “But there is someone that I’m interested in.”

“Do tell.”

You swallow nervously, your heart pounding. “Well, he works at RCPD with us.”

Wesker groans. “Please tell me it isn’t Redfield.”

“It’s not.” Chris was a good friend, nothing more. “He is a member of S.T.A.R.S.,” Wesker raises an eyebrow, “Everyone thinks he standoffish, but I think they’re wrong. He expects the best and settles for nothing less. I find that very attractive in a man.” He takes another sip of his beer, but you get the feeling that Wesker has already caught on, with that knowing twinkle in his blue eyes. “But I can’t ask him out.”

“Why would that be?”

“I don’t know if he would say yes,” You admit honestly, finding Wesker difficult to read at times, “And he’s my boss.”

 “Would you like to get out of here with me? Perhaps dinner?” He asks, placing his beer on the bar as you watch him with eyes wide. Was he really-?

“Yes,” you nod your head, excitement rising in your chest, “Yes, I would love to.”

“Good. I’ll leave first. Leave fifteen minutes after I do; I will be waiting for you outside.”

You watch him leave, on cloud nine. Holy shit, this was happening; this was really happening.

—

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart cracking into pieces. Albert, your Albert, was a plant for Umbrella. Or he used to be one. Apparently, Albert was moving on to bigger and better things. But he only had one problem: S.T.A.R.S. He lured you and the rest of S.T.A.R.S. to Arklay, to die here, your fates unknown to the rest of the world. You tremble, taking shaky breaths as you blink back tears. Was your whole relationship a lie? A helpful cover to make Albert seem normal? “Albert…” His name slips from your lips.

Albert focuses on you, a sneer on his face. “Sorry, you had to be here for this, Dearheart. Perhaps, things would have been different for us in another life.”

Bullshit. The way he says it so flippantly makes you angry, red coloring your vision. “Fuck you,” You snarl, “You can make things different now. You don’t have to do this!”

“I don’t want to, Dearheart. It was always going to happen this way.” You wince, the words cutting deeply. Behind Albert, the glass splinters, the giant tyrant behind him awake. With a swift swipe, its long claws bury themselves directly into Albert’s chest. He gasps in pain, his eyes still on you. You see the fear in his eyes, and maybe due to a little wishful thinking, you see something like regret. Albert coughs up blood, dribbling down his chin onto his shirt. His hand twitches, slightly in your direction. That thing simply tosses him aside like a piece of garbage.

“ALBERT!” You scream, a painful howl of grief and anger. You step towards him, attempting to run for him. Despite everything he had done, he was your Albert, and you still loved him.

Jill grabs your shoulders roughly, holding you back from Albert. You try to scramble from her grip, but she holds tight as you scream. “Don’t! He’s dead!” She says, her fingers digging in as she tries to pull you back. Logically, you know Jill is right, but your heart desperately wants you to go to him, to run towards him. Maybe, Albert really isn’t dead. Maybe, you still have a chance to save him. “Barry, get them out of here.”

Barry nods, pulling you away from Jill. “Come on, we need to get out of here.” He looks over to Jill, who is only focused on the tyrant, her face determined.

“I’ll take care of this guy and meet you upstairs.”

He guides you away from Jill and the tyrant, back towards the door. “Be safe, Jill.” Your eyes are still on Albert, lifeless and motionless in a puddle of blood on the floor. His eyes are hollow, devoid of the intense storm of emotion you saw in his eyes. Why? Why did he have to do this? To leave you alone?

As Barry pulls you out of the lab, all you can think is: Is there some way you could have changed this?

—

Opening the door to your apartment, you let out a relieved sigh, stepping into the darkness. Flicking on the hallway light, you close the door behind you, dropping your keys into the bowl. You hang up your coat and scarf before eventually discarding your gloves on the table beside the bowls for your keys. Heading towards your kitchen, you glance over towards your living room. Stopping dead in your tracks, shock washes over you as your heart pounds loudly in your ears. That-that couldn’t be….

“Hello Dearheart,” Your former boss and lover says, sitting in your oversized armchair. He stands, shrouded in the dark of your apartment.

“This-This isn’t real…,” You try to rationalize it, tears welling in your eyes, “We watched you die. I watched you die.”

“I’m very real, Dearheart. Would you like to see for yourself?” He holds out his gloved hand for you to take.

You approach him cautiously, fearful that this might be your lonely heart playing a trick on you. Yet, this vision looks so much like your Albert. Sounds so much like him. You place your hand in his, allowing Albert to draw you close. He feels real as his other arm wraps around your waist, a familiar smirk on his face. He feels so much like your Albert. “Albert, is that-is that you?”

“Yes, I promise I am myself, Dearheart,” He replies, releasing your hand. His hand comes up to your face, gently wiping away tears that you didn’t know were falling. If this is a dream, you don’t ever want to wake up, even if he was a goddamn asshole who betrayed you. You want to stay here with Albert forever. Yet, something about him still feels off, not quite right. You need to see his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. Your hands reach up, gently taking his sunglasses off. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into his eyes, once blue, now a molten gold against a burning red. His eyes are feline-like, reminding you of a panther. They’re so inhuman, yet something about them is divine. “Scared, Dearheart?”

“No.” You shake your head. You should be, but you aren’t. Albert is back, and you don’t care if some things about him are different. And you like the way he looks at you, utterly possessive, utterly adoring. “Is this why you’re still alive?”

He nods. “One of the few to survive the process.”

Another thought comes to you. Why come back? He was content to let you think he was dead for so long. Why come back to you now? “Why come back for me, Albert? I thought I didn’t matter to you.”

“I believed I did not need you, Dearheart, but I was wrong. I want you; I need you.” The words roll off his tongue naturally, sounding so believable. You so desperately want to believe him, to believe that he came back for you. “You belong to me, Dearheart. I always come back for what belongs to me.”

“Is that your way of asking me to come with you? To leave everything behind?”

He nods. “Come with me. Be mine forever.”

“Yes.” You don’t need to think about it; you want Albert-you always have. You drop his glasses, taking his face into your hands as you kiss him roughly. With both of his hands on your waist, he pulls you against him, eagerly returning the kiss. Albert is overwhelming, your head dizzy and your legs slightly weak. He bites your bottom lip, your mouth opens for him. You missed this; you missed him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, desperate and in need of him. “We will have time for that later, Dearheart, but we need to leave. Now.”

And you don’t look back, allowing Albert Wesker to whisk you away to a new life.  

[danyaselmar]

Sun and Moon - Donna and Wren 🖤

My dear @kourumi here's your gift 💕 For the bloody valentine exchange by @carlosoliveiraa It's been a pleasure to draw the wives. Your oc Wren Harris is so beautiful and I hope I did her justice 💕

The inspiration by Alfred James Dewey:

[pheedraws]

sydney & chris 💘

my gift for @bbrocklesnar as part of the My Bloody Valentine's Day exchange! thank you @carlosoliveiraa for organising such a lovely event 💕

[nightwingshero]

Just A Drink - Chris Redfield x Leon Kennedy

This is my gift for @a-thousand-lives-lost-for-peace for the My Bloody Valentine's Day Exchange! I hope you like it, it was my first time writing for this ship, but I loved exploring it!!! It was a pleasure creating for you!!!

Of course a shout out to @carlosoliveiraa for making this all happen, you're amazing and I always enjoy these when you do them!!!

“Vacation time again, huh?”

“You owe me a bottle at the very least, Redfield.”

The bar was just a hole in the wall in a random town that really only had two traffic lights. Somewhere out of the way, but not so far off from civilization. Not while they were both so damn busy and at beck and call for whatever disaster came next. It would happen eventually, like it always did, like they had talked about before. Chaos breaks out, they save the day, it gets covered up as needed—rinse and repeat. Neither of them wanted to dwell on that, not when they had just saved Rebecca’s life, only moments to spare before they had lost her forever. But what happened stayed in the past where it belonged, along with the rest of the skeletons and close calls.

It didn’t escape Leon, the irony of the situation, where it was Chris drinking in a bar with Leon seeking him out. The last time it had happened, Chris and Rebecca needed Leon’s help. But as Leon took a seat with Chris, it was clear that Leon didn’t share the same intentions that Chris had—he was content with indulging. He ordered a glass of whiskey on the rocks as opposed to the beer his drinking buddy seemed fond of.

Chris chuckled lightly as he shrugged, inclining the neck of his bottle towards Leon’s short glass, a slight toast in silent promise between them. The smile was a bit short lived as the longer Chris stared at his bottle, the more his smile fell, losing the light and warmth it typically held. Leon noticed, of course there wasn’t much Leon didn’t notice in general, but his attention to detail seemed to heighten when around this guy—despite never wanting to really admit it. A few more moments of silence, a few more heartbeats, and Chris said something that fell under the noise of loud country music blaring from old, worn-out speakers. “You know…if you hadn’t showed up when you did, who knows where we’d all be.”

“Told you, had to take the stairs.” Leon tapped his fingers against his glass, partly avoiding the heavy conversation. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the capability, he just wasn’t sure if he had the capacity. So much weighed on his shoulders and he wasn’t ignorant enough to think Chris was better off. Guilt and regret held a strong grasp on Leon’s mind, the squad he lost, their close call with Rebecca, and just the things that had all led to this, including Raccoon City—where everything had started. It was strange, the more either of them thought about it, to see how their fates seemed intertwined from the beginning, without even realizing it at the time. “Not exactly vacation talk, Redfield.”

“I just…wanted to say thanks. I know that…well, you were going through your own thing when we caught up with you.” Chris replied, taking a sip of his beer. “I am sorry about your squad, Leon.”

A few more taps on his glass and Leon still didn’t know quite what to say. He still felt that anger, that regret and guilt. But if anyone could understand that, it was Chris Redfield. And while he was pissed at Chris at the time he had asked for help, even if he was still so disenchanted with the impact their actions had—or the lack thereof—he was still somewhat grateful to have gone with them. If anything because of Rebecca’s sake, but if he was honest with himself, it was more than that. Leon wasn’t sure if there ever would be a moment where he wouldn’t have Chris’ back, hated the version of himself that ever had to go against him—something he’s been forced to do before.

“That’s why you’re making it up to me, Redfield.” It was these moments that helped bring him back down to earth, a breath of fresh air before diving right back in again. Chris laughed again, nodding as the air between them remained heavy with things left unsaid, thoughts that were shoved aside and buried. Whatever it was, they didn’t talk about it. Or the way their eyes just kind of caught before Chris smiled, holding his beer bottle up in mock salute.

“Well, let’s get you that bottle I owe you then, see if we can get to the bottom of it.”

[firstaidspray]

Here is my art for @aceghosts for the My Bloody Valentine's Day Resident Evil gift exchange hosted by @carlosoliveiraa of their oc Hunter and Wesker!! I had a lot of fun drawing them and Hunter is such a cool character, I adore them!! I hope you like it, happy belated Valentine's Day!!

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Suneater || Leon Kennedy x Chris Redfield

A/n: Happy late Valentine's Day, my loves. I have something sweet and special for you all. This is my first time writing canon x canon, so please bear with me. I hope you all enjoy it. This piece was made for @carlosoliveiraa's 'My Bloody Valentine's Day Exchange'. It's all RE, so if you want more treats, pop on over and check out the other exchanges. Unfortunately, the receiver of this gift dropped out, but I'm posting it for you all to read.

Warning(s): canon x canon, flirting, hope, depression, alcohol, support, brief kiss, short and sweet, Vendetta Leon and Chris, 1,272 words.

It was strange, but the only time that Leon Kennedy felt a semblance of ease these days was at the bottom of a bottle. 

And to think, after nearly a decade and a half of cleansing the world of viruses and parasites he should be used to the aftermath, but it was not easy to dismiss the millions or more lost. The guilt tore Leon to shreds, worse than any B.O.W. ever could. Alcohol did not erase the regret, but it did dull his inhibitions, at least for the time being.

He honestly needed a stiff drink after the week he had. Glen Arias was dead, and the antidote had been dispersed across the unfortunate city of New York, curing those infected by the Animality Virus. It was over, for now.

However, Leon knew that someone else would rise from the ashes of Umbrella. They always did. The cycle was never-ending.  

How many lives would be lost the next time? Hundreds. Billions. Leon did not want to think about it. Pouring another glass of ‘Aerial Shot’ he opted not to. 

The American bar in which he chose to spend his evening was relaxed, a blessing compared to the chaos of the city; he thought the constant ringing in his ears would never cease. Besides him, another middle-aged man sat at the bar near the end. Leon knew that he was a regular on account of the bartender calling him by name. And like him, there was guilt in his eyes. 

Leon doubted the man shared the same regrets as him but who was he to judge? He bought him a drink and in return, the man bought him a bottle. Perhaps he could see the darkness in his storm-colored eyes; that he needed a pick-me-up, or perhaps he yearned to take the ex-cop home.

Any other night Leon might consent, but not tonight.

Halfway through the man’s gift, the silvery chime of the doorbell rang as another patron walked in. Leon spared a glance, raising his brow as he recognized the newest addition. 

“Look who it is, the big man himself.”

Chris Redfield spared Leon a sympathetic look and took the seat beside him. The bartender approached, but Chris dismissed him with a wave. 

“Come on now. Are you telling me you didn't come here for a drink?” Leon asked with a slight grin. 

“I came here to see you,” Chris admitted. 

Leon’s heart began to race, but he overlooked the comment, blaming the sensation on the whiskey. 

“What do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I was just worried about you,” Chris answered. “Rebecca and I both were. We thought that you would be here.”

Leon snorted.

“I'm far too busy to have a drinking problem.”

He was not wrong, missions kept him from having any sort of vacation or free time, but he also was not telling the truth. There was a reason for the metal flask in his pocket. No, Leon did not abuse alcohol while on the job, but a drink or two often helped him cope. And he never left a bar completely drunk, not since he was 25. 

It was the reason he was late to his first day as a rookie cop with the RCPD, an action that might have saved his life.

“I'm fine, Chris,” Leon uttered.

He stared at the liquid in his glass and then gently shook it. 

“As fine as one can be doing this job,” he added.

“I can agree to that,” Chris remarked.  

Leon snorted, then called for a second glass, despite Chris’ resolution not to drink. He poured a shot of whiskey and offered it to the brute again. 

“Just one,” Leon tempted. 

“If you let me drive you to your room,” Chris bargained.

Leon could not disagree. He handed the glass to Chris and then picked up his own. 

“Here is to us surviving another day, just to do it all over again.”

Chris frowned but raised his glass regardless. As much as he wanted to disagree, he knew Leon was right. Besides, at the moment, there was no better concept to cheer to.

For the remainder of the time, Chris listened to Leon vent about his job and lack of vacation as he finished the bottle, then once he was content, the conversation shifted, moving from the bar to Chris’ Hummer in the parking lot. 

“I swear,” Leon furthered. Despite the hum of the engine and the unique vocals of Freddie Mercury on the radio, the mockery in his tone could be heard. “There were so many damn bear traps. I was more afraid of losing a foot than I was of the villagers.”

Chris laughed. He was sure in his arsenal of missions he had a few incidents of his own that could top that, but he chose to let Leon have the spotlight. His gloomy attitude had seemed to lighten a little since leaving the bar, to Chris’ relief.

“I don't think I could have navigated through those as easily as you did.”

Leon snorted, giving Chris a flattering look. 

“You big guy, I guarantee you would have lost a foot.”

“You think so, huh?” Chris asked with a smile. 

Leon shook his head, then turned his attention to the road. Something about his smile warmed the ex-cop. 

“I know so…but hey, you have other advantages. I saw the way you tossed the infected in that hallway.”

He saw much more than that, but he would never admit that his eyes had wandered over to Chris a few times.

The latter felt his heart race. 

“We make one hell of a team.”

“Zombies beware,” Leon joked. 

The ride was silent from then on. Leon stared out the window, lost in his thoughts, though he had to admit, they were not as grim as before. This meet-up with Chris had brightened his mood a bit, so much so that once the Hummer was parked in front of the hotel that Leon had rented for the night, he felt…lost.

“Tomorrow comes early,” he stated.

Chris shook his head in agreement. He knew soon, he would have to pack his bags and hop on another plane heading home, or rather to wherever the BSAA wanted to locate him. This short breather was all he was allowed. 

Feeling awkward with goodbyes, Leon reached for the door handle. 

“Thanks for the ride, big guy.”

Chris reached out and grabbed his shoulder, halting him.

“Take care, Leon. You have my number if you need me.”

And he did. At that moment, Leon felt noticed. Despite all his accomplishments, he felt like someone actually cared if he lived to fight another day. His heart raced and without much thought, he leaned into the vehicle and pressed his lips against Chris’.

The big man was a bit shaken, to Leon’s amusement, but he soon adapted and kissed him back. Neither of the two wanted to part, but not sure how far to take things, they did. Chris was speechless. 

“Maybe we'll see each other again soon,” Leon remarked with a grin. 

“Yeah…I hope,” Chris uttered. His heart was racing. 

With no more words between them, Leon tossed him a lazy wave and shut the door. His eyes met Chris for a brief moment, witnessing the big man smile before he backed up and drove away. He stood there a moment more, then took out his flask and poured the contents on the asphalt. 

Chris to him was like the sun. No, his warmth far exceeded that. Leon hoped that he understood just how hopeful for a bright future he had made him. 

[firetrucks-fastcars]

My Bloody Valentine

For the @tarlosweeklyprompts Valentine's Day Fic Exchange

Gift for @noxsoulmate

“Well that was eventful,” Carlos said as he slid the loft door shut behind them, clicking the lock into place. 

“That’s an understatement babe,” TK chuckled, kicking off his shoes and moving into the living room. “I just wish we could have one normal date. I’m sorry our plans got ruined.”

“It’s not your fault baby. Why don’t you go grab a shower? I’m gonna set the alarm and then I’ll join you.”

TK looked down at himself and cringed. He’d been able to clean most of the blood off his hands and arms before leaving the restaurant, but his shirt looked like a lost cause. 

“At least it’s not my blood this time?”

“I’d prefer you not have any blood on you. I’ll soak that shirt before we go to bed, and see if I can save it.”

“Don’t worry about it, babe. They make a thousand just like it every day.”

TK stripped in the bedroom, throwing his ruined shirt in the trash and depositing the rest of his clothes in the hamper. Their date had already been ruined, he didn’t want Carlos to get more upset by the site of his clothes strewn across the bedroom floor. He turned the shower on and sat on the closed toilet lid, placing his head in his hands.

He was starting to be convinced they would never have a regular date. Natural disasters, emergencies, and other out-of-this-world occurrences had often interrupted their plans. He had hoped that the universe might be on their side for their first wedding anniversary. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky. 

They’d scheduled their anniversary date months ago, knowing it fell on the weekend before Valentine's Day. Even in October, tables for the restaurant Carlos had chosen were filling up fast and he was lucky to get a reservation for them. They’d made sure to take off work well in advance, planning for their night. Carlos wanted everything to be perfect. TK couldn’t help but think about what people said about best-laid plans. 

In the beginning, everything had gone smoothly. They’d ordered drinks, Carlos specifically choosing a place with good mocktails and alcohol-free wine, which was much better than TK expected it to be. They held hands across the table as they swapped stories about their shifts from the week and Carlos didn’t roll his eyes like he usually did when TK reached across to steal some of whatever was on his plate. It wasn’t until they put in their desert orders that everything went to hell. They had been keeping a sneaky side-eye on the couple next to them. They’d been arguing quietly for most of their dinner and the two of them had been making up a backstory for them like they were soap-opera characters, trying to figure out what the problem was between them. 

The guy was twitchy, hands going to his pocket, then moving abruptly. The fifth time he bumped the table on the way back up, his girlfriend snarled at him, asking what the hell his problem was. The guy had stood on trembling legs, pulled a box out of his pocket in got down on one knee. 

Carlos cringed, squeezing TK’s hand. “I’m so glad you didn’t propose to me in public,” he whispered. 

“I learned my lesson the first time,” TK whispered back. 

Carlos made a sympathetic face but ultimately turned back to the trainwreck happening not ten feet from them. TK did the same, just in time to see the girl grab her wine and throw it in his face. He cringed, watching as the disaster continued to unfold. She began ranting about how she couldn’t believe him, that he thought a proposal would fix everything. TK found himself not being able to look away as she continued to rant. He couldn’t get the full gist of the conversation other than they never stopped fighting (which TK believed wholeheartedly) and she’d come here tonight to let him down easy. 

That right there was the true breaking point. The guy had lost it, flinging the ring somewhere across the room and beginning a rant of his own. He and Carlos watched the two of them go back and forth, heads bobbing like they were watching a tennis match. Then the man picked up his steak knife.

TK felt a bit like he’d blacked out. One minute he was watching the weirdest argument of his life and the next he was on his knees trying to stop the girl from bleeding out while Carlos restrained her boyfriend. 

TK snagged one of the cloth napkins, wadding it up in his hand and applying as much pressure as possible.

“Someone call 911!” he shouted, whipping his head frantically. 

A member of the restaurant staff approached him with a first-aid kit, kneeling next to him, “Ambulance is on the way. I have dispatch on the line.”

“Dispatch this is TK Strand, paramedic 126. I have a female with a knife wound to the neck, I think there’s damage to the carotid.”

“TK?”

“Grace Ryder, I have never been so happy to hear your voice.”

“EMS is about five minutes out TK.”

“I don’t think she has that long Gracie,” TK said worriedly. “I’ve got pressure on the wound but it’s still a lot of blood.”

“Can you get her vitals?”

“No, I’ve sort of got my hands full. Hang on. Carlos!,” he shouted to where his husband was handing off the boyfriend to the cops.

He jogged over, dropping to his knees next to him, “What do you need me to do?”

“Please tell me they train you to take a pulse?”

“They train us, doesn’t mean I have a lot of practice.”

“Do your best baby. I just need to know if she has one. Pointer and index finger on the thumb side of her wrist.”

Carlos grabbed her hand as gently as possible, placing his fingers where TK instructed him.

“There’s a pulse but it’s really hard to feel.”

“TK,” Grace’s voice was tinny across the phone speakers. “Do you have any IV fluids?”

“Check the first aid kit,” he instructed the staff member who was still lingering by their side. “Carlos I need you to take over holding pressure for me so I can start an IV.” He made to move his hands but blood began to spurt between his fingers, soaking the front of his shirt. Carlos covered his hands with his own, giving TK an opportunity to pull away before resuming pressure. 

“I’ve got saline.”

“Perfect.” TK snatched the IV bag and tubing offered to him. He did his best to prime it quickly before hanging it on the underside of the table. He did his best to clean her arm with the tiny alcohol swabs provided in the pack. He took a deep breath and let Tommy’s voice fill his brain as he mentally walked himself through the procedure.

“Okay, Grace I have fluids running. And EMS is here,” he breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of sirens and approaching footsteps. 

He stepped away, letting the team from the 105 take over. Carlos placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”

That’s how TK found himself in the shower, staring at the tile floor as dark red blood swirled down the drain. He didn’t move as the glass door opened, only shivering slightly as the cool breeze hit his wet body. Carlos stepped in behind him, closing the door and wrapping gentle arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry our date got ruined baby,” TK apologized again, dropping his head back on his husband’s shoulder. 

“TK a man assaulting his girlfriend with a knife is absolutely not your fault. I am so proud of you babe.”

“Why?”

“Because you saved her life. You were calm, you were collected, and seeing you in your element impresses me every time TK.  You’re an amazing fucking paramedic. So our date wasn’t what we planned? We have the rest of forever to make up for one bad anniversary date.”

“I love you,” TK whispered. 

“I love you more.”

TK slept better than he thought he would that night, utterly exhausted from the night’s events. When he woke, the bedroom was still dark (thank god for black-out curtains) but Carlos’s side of the bed had long gone cold. He was shocked by what he found when he padded into the kitchen.

“It looks like Valentine’s Day threw up in here,” TK chuckled, taking the mug of coffee he was offered. 

“Target was a little short on decorations so I improvised.”

“What is all this?”

“This is our anniversary celebration. I figured since our date didn’t work out as planned, we could celebrate here at home. Just the two of us.”

“God I love you.”

“You’ll love me even more when I tell you there are cinnamon rolls in the oven.”

“I’m so glad I married you.”

“Me too babe. Me too.”

[lost-khione]

When We Met

Valentine’s Exchange Gift Discord Server Event

William x gn!reader, 1st POV

Summary: William was just being his usual William self when I happened to pass by that corridor. That was when we met for the first time - a mess of scratched hands and band-aids.

Word count: 870

For: noel

Note: This is my first time writing for a gn!reader so I tried to be as careful as I can on that end. This is also my first time writing a fic for another fandom other than ARR - and I even wrote one for an NPC first before doing one for my stan. I guess I thought it wouldn’t be right to write about my stan and think about it in my perspective when this is supposed to be a gift for someone which is why I braved writing about William - I also find his character cute!

The request said that they’d be happy with anything that has William in it so I went with a self-insert fic. I’m also a global player and don't like spoilers myself so I wrote this based on William’s character that I picked up through what I’ve seen of him from the prologue and the chronicles. I usually do an OC for self-inserts (by OC - I mean imagined fictional versions of my friends, they are the only OCs I made anyway) so it was a challenge to write a self-insert without much of an idea about my recipient. It’s also why the character might sound a little vague since I don’t want to characterize them too much - to make it easier to self-insert (is this how you do it? Self-insert really is a different world >.<)

Lastly, the story isn't exactly valentines-y bc truthfully I had a hard time imagining William in that setup... I hope it's okay >.<

To my recipient, if you liked it, I’m very much willing to talk to you again and write something that characterizes you better, my dms are open ^^

----------

I was on my way to the dorms when I heard someone shout, "Ouch!"

I turned to spot a guy with pink hair and a bleeding hand. Then, a ginger kitten walked up to me and rubbed between my legs.

He sighed in exasperation and mumbled to himself, "I don't get why they hate me when I like them so much."

I approached him with the kitten at my heels. I always have some band-aids with me for emergencies. It came in handy for the situation. I crouched down to his level and offered him the band-aids after rummaging through my bag.

"Here, I think you could use them," I said while gesturing to his bloody hand.

He was about to reach for them but stopped himself midway. He seemed to have realized that he would have a hard time putting them on himself so he asked me, "Hey, I'll wash my hands first. Then, can you help me put it on later? Wait for me here. I'll be back in a flash. Please watch the kitty for me!"

He was gone just like that, dashing towards the restroom. I kept crouching and petted the kitten. Looking at it closely, I realized that it’s a he. Our family has a cat back home so I didn’t mind watching him. I noticed a cardboard box in front of the door where the pink-haired guy must have come from. On the box was a note that said, “Please adopt me!”

“Poor little kitty,” I murmured as I continued to pet the kitten.

“Well, it happens all the time here.”

I flinched in surprise. 

“Oops, I’m sorry if I surprised you. I’m William and I’m the president of this club,” he introduced himself while pointing to the door.

It was only then that I noticed the signage on the door that said “Purrfect Pals Association”

I stood up and took his hand to help him put on the band-aids. The kitten must have had a grudge against him for scratching him up like this.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, William.”

“Thanks a lot for your help. Hey, you seem like a natural around cats. This little one likes you. Do you also like cats?” he asked me with sparkling eyes.

“We have a cat at home so I know a thing or two. What do you do with the cats left here?” I asked as I looked down at the kitten who was rubbing himself on me.

“We have supplies on hand at the club so we can take care of them for a while. We put up an adoption notice at the bulletin board and wait until a kind soul decides to adopt them.”

He stopped talking and cleared his throat before suddenly asking, “Y/N, you seem like a kind soul, what do you think about adopting this little kitty?”

Instead of answering his question, I asked one of my own, “William, do you own a cat?”

He faltered for a moment before boldly declaring, “No. But I love them so much that I became the president of this club.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his statement.

He furrowed his brow and asked, “Did I say something funny?”

“No.. but I just find it ironic that you like cats so much but they don’t seem to like you at all.” I pointed at his scratched hand to show my point.

William scratched his head awkwardly. “Well..” he trailed off, then he cleared his throat and said with a serious tone, “I believe that one day, I’ll meet a cat that will like me back.” 

“I’ll take it as no cat actually liked you before.”

“Haha.. we only met today but it feels like you’re seeing through me and my love for cats.”

At some point during our conversation, the kitten fell asleep by my right foot. 

He pointed at him and asked me, “I think this one really likes you, what do you say about adopting him?”

As I was contemplating it, he added, “I’ll help you raise him! After all, this is what this club is for. You should join us, are you a member of a club already?” He was looking at me with sparkly, pleading eyes.

“How about this, I’m not yet entirely sure about keeping a cat on my own but how about I try to help you find him an owner. I’ll also help look after him and swing by the club room. If we really can’t find anyone in a week, it would be enough time for me at least to get accustomed to taking care of him and that’s when I’ll take him home with me.”

“Deal,” he replied right away and shook my hand vigorously. “Welcome to the Purrfect Pals Association!”

Technically, I only agreed to helping out with taking care of the cat and not joining the club, I thought to myself. Oh well, I guess this is not so bad. I couldn’t help but smile as William looked so enthusiastic about this. This might just be what I needed to make my stay in this school more memorable, although, I admit that William’s pink hair is memorable enough.

[pyrriax]

for once, i'm here with something a little different!

my gift for @cowboyjeremiah for the @mcyt-valentines exchange is this playlist :D

apologies for the delay with your gift! i had a fic planned (and am including what i have written here, while planning to get it out and properly gifted to you as soon as possible) but got hit with pain & life, so i'll do my best to explain the major concepts!

Warm candlelight all around soaks the room in its gentle glow, even as the spring sun begins to set outside. Everything is covered in the swirl of soft pink and white, cherry petals collecting in every crevice and making hiding places out of spots nobody thinks to look. And just outside the window stands someone who Branzy hasn't seen in months. Clown is back, after so long away, off in the Fray, off fighting and returning only blood soaked and staining the ground in crimson and gold. None his own, no blood daring to pour from the cracks on his mask. He's still as pristine as the day he left, perfect in a way that Branzy's sure should worry him, the truth of welcoming in this lost dog baring its teeth. An ugly, perfect grin, all full of teeth, sharp and ready to snap. Yet, there's no growl, no snarl, silence speaks of something trained, someone fine tuned and sharpened to a point. Dangerous, in a way that only proves that he's alive, that they're both alive, alive as can be. It comes easily, comes almost naturally, to welcome in the danger because really, is that not all he knows? Or, rather, all he'd like to know? Stain the pristine white and perfect purples with dark crimson, sully the perfection that he's always known with the imperfection of the outside world. Welcome home a bloody soldier, and happily tend to his wounds, because what is he if not trapped here with the purpose to serve? [...]

so, welcome to the seraphim au. where branzy is a god (a seraph) and clown is... human? (not really, he isn't. he's a machine, something made to replace seraphs in battle)

a lot of the thought going on here is "what would happen if you flipped the power of their dynamic, while keeping them relatively similar?"

an example of a seraph, though this isn't... how branzy looks? he strays far more human, purely because of how attached he is to clown.

the playlist's main focus is the general vibe of the world, especially the choices of songs (but especially with the artists, you'll notice a few which focus on religious topics, and especially have hymn-like qualities.) and especially its focusing on the concept of clown and branzy's dynamic.

but, overall, the changing of seasons and the ruining of imagery which is traditionally seen as something soft is the main focus. a god often viewed as benevolent is drawn toward the violence and blood of the world, finding solace in clown's stories. it's a parallel to clown trapping branzy in the end, even if it's vague about it!

there's also. this piece?

Finally sitting down to rest and just sitting in silence with Branzy. They haven't seen each other in a long while, yet they settle in regardless, Branzy handing Clown a letter, carefully penned and addressed to him, looking away when Clown looks at him for clarification Branzy is embarrassed, having handed Clown such a bold show of heart, a love letter. Something that's so open and real to him, it's no different from an xray, of a photo of his ribcage, handing him his beating, bleeding heart. It's love, it's truth, it's him.

i think we need more victorian era shows of love in the world, give somebody an xray

[nessataleweaver]

My Beloved Monster: fanmix & picspam (Weyler)

my contribution to the Wyler Holiday Gift Exchange 2023.

A fanmix featuring Wednesday and Tyler: before they meet, their first courtship, and their recovery and reconciliation in the aftermath of season one.

Gifted to thekittenthatreads. I also have a picspam and lyrics below the 'keep reading'

My Beloved Monster: a Wednesday Addams /Tyler Galpin fanmix

An Angry Blade - Iron & Wine People are strange - Johnny Hollow Wednesday Opening Theme - Danny Elfman & Chris Bacon The Girl of my dreams (is giving me nightmares) - Machine Gun Fellatio Devour - Marilyn Manson Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer The Darkest Star - Depeche Mode First Kiss - Danny Elfman & Chris Bacon Hex - The Birthday Massacre Razor Valentine - Thea Gilmore The Boy who blocked his own shot - Brand New Bad Romance - Halestorm My beloved monster - The Eels

stop accessing everything & owning nothing: download zip on mediafire (except the 5SOS track because... um, mea culpa??)

listen on spotify

An Angry Blade – Iron & Wine Grace is a gift for the fallen, dear You're an angry blade And you're brave, but you're all alone

People are Strange - Johnny Hollow When you're strange Faces come out of the rain When you're strange No one remembers your name When you're strange

'Wednesday' opening theme - Danny Elfman & Chris Bacon Instrumental

The Girl of my dreams (is giving me nightmares) – Machine Gun Fellatio The girl of my dreams is giving me nightmares I found her on TV now I see her everywhere She's got style, she's got violent ways about her. She got me so that I can't dream without her.

Devour – Marilyn Manson You're the one that I should never take But I can't sleep until I devour you I can't sleep until I devour you You're a flower that's withering I can't feel your thorns in my hand This is no embrace, you're buried deep You're not crying, this is blood all over me And I'll love you If you let me And I'll love you If you won't make me stop

Heart’s got teeth – 5 Seconds Of Summer Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand You're lookin' at me like you don't know who I am Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand Still beating Fight so dirty, but you love so sweet Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth Late night devil, put your hands on me And never, never, never ever let go

The darkest star – Dépêche Mode Oh you sad one Playing the Angel Isn't so easy where you're from Oh you wild one Devil's companion You won't stay satisfied for long I don't want you to change anything you do I don't want you to be someone else for me Oh you dark one Eternal outsider Caught in the spider's web you've spun

First Kiss (Wednesday Season 1 soundtrack) - Danny Elfman and Chris Bacon instrumental

Hex - The Birthday Massacre I want to be a ghost now that we're strangers I want to be close when your eyes are wayward I know I'm not right but it's so wrong To be in your sight and know that I'm still gone I want you the most now that we're strangers

Binds of hex and magic A sight to blur your open eyes Blinding love so tragic Tonight your heart is broken

Razor valentine – Thea Gilmore I love you like a ruin, babe I love you like a crime I love you like a drunk At the sound of closing time I love you as the seconds on my tongue Are running wild I love you razor valentine.

Oh, I've been moving kind of slow, don't you think so? Oh, I've been taming bloody hearts into valentines I love you like a whisper I love you all alone I love you like a murder, babe I'm burying the bones I love you like the last shot At the bottom of the bottle I love you razor valentine I love you razor valentine

The Boy who blocked his own shot – Brand New If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand I hope you find out what you want, I already know what I am And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again You can tell me how vile I already know that I am You are calm and reposed, let your beauty unfold Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones Spring keeps you ever close, you are second-hand smoke You are so fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins Holding onto yourself the best you can You are the smell before rain, you are the blood in my veins

Bad Romance – Halestorm I want your love, and I want your revenge You and me could write a bad romance I want your love and all your love has revenge You and me could write a bad romance

My beloved monster – The Eels My beloved monster is tough If she wants she will disrobe you But if you lay her down for a kiss Her little heart it could explode

She will always be the only thing That comes between me and the awful sting That comes from living in a world that's so damn mean

[affectiondeficitdisorder]

Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve: The Bermuda Triangle for Addicts

by Ethlie Ann Vare

The hardest holiday for a love addict is Valentine’s Day: It’s like New Year’s Eve mashed up with St. Patrick’s Day would be to an alcoholic. But Christmas is pretty tough, too. There are so many expectations around the holidays, so much idealized nostalgesia, so many perfectly lit commercials of perfectly beautiful couples exchanging perfectly chosen gifts in front of perfectly flickering fireplaces. Single people get extra lonely. They pine.

Speaking of pine… fuck fireplaces. I live in LA. It was 75 degrees today, and we don’t need any more carbon particulates in our air.

Back to loneliness. People get extra lonely at this time of year because they have their noses rubbed daily in these fantasy images - images created by a copywriter, staged by a set decorator, and brought to life by a couple of shallow narcissists who spend their days mostly worried that they’ll never work again. (Like I said, I live in LA.) Or, in the case of the image above, by an AI art generator.

We are, as they say in the rooms of recovery, comparing our insides to other people’s outsides. And they’re not even real people. 

I get that it makes the singletons feel left out, though, and sometimes they come to me for relationship advice, because after all, I write about relationships. “They” being mostly women, and mostly women over 40. (Again, I live in LA. Over 40 = invisible.) However I am probably the worst person to come to, because I don’t buy the basic premise that you need to be in a relationship to be happy. That a relationship will somehow fix you. A relationship will not fix you, because you aren’t broken. It’s the premise that’s broken.

Don’t think I’m against love and romance. I love love and romance. Often to excess. But I have no illusions that is it magic elixir, and a lot of greedy people are selling magic elixirs to a lot of lonely people. In my experience, romantic love is closer to elixir of heroin (a popular cough syrup in the 19th Century, by the way): the initial high is great, the withdrawal at the end is bloody awful, and a long stretch in the middle is a maintenance phase that falls somewhere between pleasantly numb and barely tolerable. If your experience has been more positive than that, I salute you. I also think you are the exception and not the rule. You’ve seen the divorce statistics same as I have. All the social science data shows that for everything from blood pressure to depression, marriage is good for men and bad for women. And still women seem to be the ones most hotly pursuing it.

Romance is a multi-billion-dollar industry: $4.95 billion was spent in 2022 on dating apps, plus about another $3 billion in books, seminars, meet-ups, matchmakers, life coaches…. Did you know I could make $5/minute giving advice to the lovelorn online? I’d just as soon be a telephone psychic. Both have about as much validity.

What I can give you is advice on things to do that give you some of the same happy hormones you expect from a relationship. There are plenty of other places to find them, and none has a sign with the words “adult” or “shoppe” out front. 

The addict brain craves dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin. Either we don’t manufacture enough on our own, or we’re just greedy. I pick the former, although I’ve been accused of the latter. “Well, you just want to do everything fun, don’t you?” glowered a Midwestern woman watching me attempt the trapeze at age 52. The answer is yes, yes I do. But fun doesn’t always mean self-destructive… and I barely even injured myself on the trapeze.

You want dopamine? Learn something new. Novelty is a great activator of dopamine. To really bump it up, try something new that is challenging and maybe has a touch of danger attached. Scuba diving saved my ass; you can’t drink, drug, or check your phone while you’re underwater, and it’s beautiful down there. 

Diving also gives me a ton of serotonin, what with the weightlessness and the natural beauty and all. But you could also immerse yourself in an IMAX nature film, or get a massage, or listen to beautiful music. There’s some pretty good chorales showing off at this time of year. Great art, majestic landscapes… anything that produces awe produces serotonin.

For oxytocin I always go to dogs. Love ‘em. You want to put Instagram to good use?Try funny pet videos; it’ll make your day. My sister is all about the children - she’s honorary Bubbie to half the kids in the neighborhood. One of the most reliable ways to produce oxytocin is to be of service to others, and this time of year makes it particularly easy to do that. I don’t know about you, but I always find it easier to be of service when someone just tells what to do. “Here’s a list of Christmas wishes from needy families. Which one do you want to buy?” “We’re serving turkey dinners at the Mission downtown. Meet you at 6:30.” 

I could add that volunteering is a great way to meet new people (like potential romantic partners, hint hint) but like I said, I’m the relationship lady who is not selling the secret to finding a relationship. We both know I would be earning a lot more money if I was.

[sitp-recs]

Hai Liv! Hope you’re doing well :D

I’m actually relatively new to the fandom and just had a burning question, what are all of the fic fests about?

Like I see things like Mpreg, Trans or Horror fests and I know what those are about but a lot of the ones like Wireless, Candy Hearts, Lights Camera Drarry, H/D Erised, Kill your darlings or even H/D Reverse Bang get me very confused as to what their purpose is.

I’m so sorry if the answer is supposed to be obvious, I promise I’m not trying to be ignorant but I went on the AO3 links to all these fests but I still emerged a little confused (it’s a dark time for my one little braincell, she’s very slow).

Thank you so much, ily <3

Hi anon! That’s a valid question, I get confused every now and then as well 😅 I’m listing a few below but pls note I’m not a fest connoisseur by any means, there are SO MANY out there I can barely keep track, fest mods are the unsung heroes of our fandom!

I’m probably forgetting a bunch so everyone’s more than welcome to jump in and add some more. For anyone interested, you can check a more or less updated calendar on this post by the great @drarryspecificrecs!

@hp-bodiceripper: romance novels

@hdcandyheartsfest: fluffy/lighthearted works

@hd-cluefest: mystery genre

@hpdarkarts | My Bloody Valentine: dark side of romance

@hpdrizzle: weather-themed fest

@hd-erised: gift fic exchange fest

@hd-fan-fair: thematic fest, each year has a different theme and 2022 is food & travel

@hd-fangfest: Vampire-centric fest

@hp-fearfest: based on spooky/horror prompts

@hd-hurtfest: angst + hurt/comfort works

@hp-mcd-fest | Kill Your Darlings: MCD (main characters death) prompts

@hpshipuary: different ships prompted per day

@lcdrarry | Lights Camera Drarry: based on movie prompts

@drarry-spin-the-wheel-fest: creators spin prompt wheels to inspire their works

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25 Days of Draco and Harry: Advent fest (25-chapter works posted daily until Christmas)

[peachpety]

Like You a Latte, by peachpety

Instagram collaboration with @hogwartsfirebolt

A gift for @curlyy-hair-dont-care A Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange

* * * Rating: M

“How are you today, mate?” Ron asks.

Harry’s snort cuts through the conversational buzz of the café. “It’s Valentine's Day,” he says. “I’m a single pringle serving up lattes decorated with heart-shaped foam to disgustingly happy couples. I’m bloody brilliant.”

He angles a small, stainless pitcher to cut a milk stream through the foam floating atop an espresso shot. “Look at that. A perfect heart.” He holds the cup up to Ron’s face. “That’s fucking talent. I could do this in my sleep.”

Charlie pauses en route to the pastry case and peeks over Ron’s shoulder. “It’s cute, Picasso.” He lifts a ginger brow. “Now serve it to the bloody customer, yeah? There’s a queue.”

Harry hands off his masterpiece to a delighted couple, and Ron says, “I think today will be your lucky day.” He presses coffee grinds into a portafilter and attaches it to the machine. “You feeling good? You look good.”

“Oi, George,” Harry calls over his shoulder. “I think Ron’s been at the dodgy beans again.” He grimaces. “What are you on about?”

Ron jerks his chin toward the front of the café, eyes sparkling with entirely too much glee for eight o’clock on a bloody Monday morning.

Harry looks out at the crowded room. A platinum blond bloke slouching mid-queue snags Harry’s gaze.

And it’s A Moment… One of those stupidly cliché tunnel-vision moments—where the Earth slows its rotation, and flowers bloom, and kittens frolic, and the sun shines through parting clouds to spotlight, as if touched by angelic grace, the most beautiful individual Harry’s ever seen.

“It’s him,” Harry breathes.

The bloke thumbs lazily at his mobile, an insouciant curve to his perfect pout as he listens to a petite black-haired girl chatter away beside him. He exists—incongruously, unfathomably, undeniably—amongst the mismatched colorful chairs and Luna’s dryer-lint fairies strung from the antler chandeliers, as if he hasn’t populated every fantasy Harry’s had since Ginny introduced him to the bloke’s Instagram account months ago.

“It’s him, fuck me, it’s him.”

“Him who?” Bill asks, setting a tray of clean cups on the counter.

“We’ve an Instagram influencer in our midst,” Charlie says. He hands a cup of coffee and a plated pastry to a waiting customer. The queue advances.

“Wait a tick,” George says. He drapes his arm over Harry’s shoulder. “Isn’t that the bloke Harry’s been Insta-stalking?”

“Delish Malfoy,” Ron announces, drawing the attention of the patrons closest to the counter.

Harry ducks from under George’s arm and scoots behind the coffee machine’s stainless bulk. “Fucking hell,” he hisses.

“And Insta-wanking, more like,” Ron grumbles.

Harry sputters. “Wha—I have not!” he lies.

One wank does not a pervert make—Harry’s convinced himself of this.

Fred sucks air through his teeth and says, “Can’t fault you that, mate. He is delish.”

Harry peeks over Ron’s shoulder. Malfoy is laughing, a snigger that shakes the fringe from his eyes, and Harry dies a tiny death. “Yeah, his posts occasionally cross my feed—”

"Subscribed," Ron coughs into his fist.

Harry rolls his eyes. “And I mean, sure, he’s fit or whatever.”

Ron’s eyebrows disappear up under his shaggy fringe. “Harry. You made three-dimensional coffee art of his cat. Out of milk foam.”

“His cat is cute!”

Bill hums. “Don’t forget the snowflake.”

“Oh, the snowflake was my personal favorite,” Charlie says. He takes payment from a customer, and the queue advances again, Malfoy shuffling ever closer. There’s now only two patrons between Harry and lashes long enough to deliver what Harry expects would be the best butterfly kisses on the planet.

“I don’t know.” Fred taps his chin and leans against his twin. “I liked the Christmas one, myself.”

George wiggles his fingers. “The wee tannenbaum with the ornament sprinkles.”

Ron shoves him aside. “Piss off, you lot,” he says. “As if you didn’t doodle Angelina’s initials in your journal.” He widens his eyes at George’s gaping mouth and points a finger at each of his brothers in turn. “Oh, don’t think I haven’t pilfered all your drawers. I know your secrets. And you’re wrong. The dragon was bloody brilliant.” He takes Harry by the shoulders and gives him a shake. “This is your chance, mate. Your foam art has drawn him here.”

“But how did he even know?”

The Weasley brothers all become intensely occupied with cups, and wiping the counter, and grinding coffee beans. BIll disappears into the back office muttering about tidying the stockroom.

“Ron,” Harry warns, voice low.

“Well... ” Ron chews his lip. “We kinda sorta posted your art on Strange Brew’s account—”

“It was too brilliant not to share with the world!” Charlie interjects, unhelpfully.

“And… we tagged Malfoy in the posts,” Ron finishes.

“Bollocks.” Harry tugs his phone from his back pocket and opens his Instagram account. “Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.” He scrolls with a trembling finger past each photo of his latte art inspired by Malfoy, the captions dousing him with wave upon wave of hot shame.

Fred points at the caption on the dragon art image. “The green heart was my idea.” He slaps Harry on the back. “You’re welcome.”

“Well that’s it then,” Harry mutters. “He’s going to think I’m a massive loser.”

“And yet here he stands,” Ron says. “No, seriously. He’s waiting at the counter.”

Harry chews on the fleshy inside of his mouth and chances a glance at Malfoy. Ice blue eyes watch him expectantly. Harry’s feet move of their own volition—a conundrum since they feel as if they're made of solid concrete—and suddenly he’s at the counter.

“Hi,” Malfoy says, an almost-smile bunching his cheeks.

And sure, Harry has imagined this exact scenario on many a lonely night, lying on top of his blanket, staring at his phone, Malfoy’s silhouette branded on the inside of his eyelids when his eyes finally close. And, sure, in each scenario he’s suave, smooth, and completely charming.

So, naturally, here and now, his tongue glues itself to the roof of his dry mouth.

The moment expands, the silent seconds tapped out by the crimson fingernails of the dark-haired girl at Malfoy’s side striking the counter.

Ron bumps his shoulder against Harry’s, jostling Harry back to his mind. “Welcome to Strange Brew,” Ron says, beaming at the pair.

Harry clears his throat. “What can we get started for you?”

The girl cracks her gum. “We would like a latte,” she says, eyes lingering on Ron’s neck tattoo. It’s a large crown with flowers and butterflies, and it’s cool as fuck—a guaranteed hook for potential suitors. Harry silently berates his past self for being such a melt at the tattoo parlor and walking out with his skin unpainted.

“I am the king of latte’s,” Ron says smoothly. “You won’t be disappointed.”

The girl’s pink-stained lips curl at the corners, and Ron makes an effort to place his arse in her direct line of sight as he sets about preparing the coffee to brew. Harry pours milk for the steamer, appealing to every god in the heavens that he won’t spill.

“And what art will you make for me today”—Malfoy leans his elbows on the counter—”GoldenBoy80.”

Harry’s hand slips and steam scalds his fingers. His mind frantically skims through his private Instagram account, recalling cringe photo after cringe photo. So, this is how he perishes and ascends the mortal plane. Death by Instagram. Next to him, Ron sniggers.

“You’re the one that makes the foam art, right?” Malfoy asks, leaning further forward. Fuck, he smells good.

“You know it’s him,” the girl sighs. “You excavated the coffee shop’s account to find his handle and stalked him on Instagram. That one photo of him with his dog is your screensaver.”

“Fucking hell, Pansy.”

The blush that tints Malfoy’s cheeks returns Harry’s soul to his body, reviving his heart to beat furiously against his rib cage. He pours the foam into the cup Ron prepared. Courage blooms in his chest like the cream floating to the top of the espresso. “What can I make for you today, Delish?”

“It’s Draco.” He appraises Harry with a sweeping glance, pausing to admire the small heart-shaped birthmark on Harry’s inner wrist. Mrs. Weasley calls it an angel kiss, and it’s not nearly as wicked as Ron’s tattoo, but Harry’s hating it less and less by the second.

“A heart, I think,” Draco says. “It is Valentine’s Day.”

Harry stares at him and Draco stares back, and it’s another ridiculous Moment in which Harry is lightheaded and barely breathing.

“Good grief,” Pansy says. “Oi, Golden Boy,” she barks. “Your milk overfloweth.”

Harry glances down at the cup. Milk drips over the lip, down his fingers and pools onto the counter.

And floating on the surface of the coffee sits a perfectly formed erect cock, complete with bollocks. Waves of foam cascade from the tip like a fan of orgasmic come.

“I’m bloody brilliant and can do this in my sleep,” Ron mocks whilst Fred and George guffaw gleefully.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes.

Charlie swoops in with a rag. “I apologize,” he says over the twins’ howling laughter. “We're usually a respectable establishment,” he grits with a frown for Harry. “I’ll just make another—” but before he can whisk away the cock abomination, Draco scoops the cup toward himself.

“That,” he says, taking a photo of the silly thing. “Is a latte dick.”

“That’s what he said,” Harry blurts.

Draco throws back his head and laughs, and Harry feels it in his toes. Gorgeous grey eyes alight on him, shining with amusement and hopeful promise. “What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

“I like you a latte, Harry,” Draco says. “Dinner tonight?”

Harry nods, biting back what he knows will be a stupid grin. “But coffee’s on me.”

* * *

for the supremely sweet @curlyy-hair-dont-care! you are a doll and i was so very happy to create this for you! mwah!! xoxo

a big thanks to @hogwartsfirebolt - you are a an inspiration and a joy to work with...i had so much fun! i appreciate you more than you know. the instagram posts would not have come to existence without you and your creative genius. big love! xoxo

special thanks to toluene for the beta & to the dream team @vukovich and @wheezykat for their encouragement! love y'all to bits.

READ ON AO3

[drarryspecificrecs]

HP/DRARRY Fic Fests 2021

★ Sources : potterfests & @hpfests || Banner © : @capipuff || as of 2022.02

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✔ previous year • next year ✔ other years

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Neville Longbottom x Reader- Valentine’s Day

With Valentine’s Day coming up I wanted to write a cute little story for the adorable Neville Longbottom! If this goes down well I’ll even write a part two for what happens on Valentine’s Day. Sorry I’ve been inactive for a bit, my son has been teething and getting bigger I’ve been with him through all of this 😅 if there’s any other characters you want a Valentine’s story for let me know!

—————————————

February hit and you huffed as Dumbledore changed the decorations in the Great Hall. Flashes of pinks and reds illuminated the room as bubble hearts began to gracefully drift from the ceiling, disappearing just before they reached the students’ heads. Why Dumbledore made the decision to have Valentine’s Day decorations up two weeks prior to the event you couldn’t comprehend but here he was, beaming up at his place head of the table as he voice began to echo around the room.

“As you are all aware, it is finally February first meaning Valentine’s Day celebrations are in order. You may wonder why we have decided to bring out the decoratives earlier than usual, and that is because I simply wanted to.”

Fair enough Dumbles. You groaned this time, laying your head in your folded arms on the table. Valentine’s Day was the bane of your existence. A whole day where all you had to do was watch teenagers sloppily kissing in hallways while exchanging corny gifts. It’s also the time of year you get ditched while all of your friends sneak out at lunch for a cutesy little picnic. Okay, getting “ditched” is a tad exaggerative. They always invite you along but you turn it down- it’s bad enough third wheeling anyway but being reminded on Valentine’s Day that you’re tragically single and destined to live alone with 12 cats for the entirety of your life isn’t the most fun way to spend the day. Instead you elect to just hide up in your dorms and blast the Queen vinyls you brought from home while moping sadly into a romance novel. Delightful is it not?

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a soft hand cupping your shoulder. Turning your head and seeing Neville, your cheeks burned and you crashed back into your arms. And that. That was another reason you hated Valentine’s Day. Neville Bloody Longbottom. Merlin knows you’ve liked him since first year but you were successfully dumped in the friendzone second year when he bought you hideous matching woven BFF bracelets with little stars stitched in the middle (which you’ve never taken off.. you’re heartbroken, not heartless), and now here you are, your second to last year at Hogwarts, and you’ve just fallen harder.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” His voice, slightly muffled from your ears being covered by your sleeves, came out quietly but concerned. You hummed and sat back up again.

“Just another Valentine’s Day.” You smiled softly, picking up one of the chocolate heart lollies that appeared on the table.

“Oh... I didn’t realise you hated it so much. Can I.. can I ask why?” He fumbled at the edges of his knitted vest and you smiled slightly. God he’s adorable.

“To tell you the truth?” You put the sweet back down, untouched and rested your cheek on your hand. Neville turned his full attention towards you. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a Valentine’s Day where I’ve not been alone.” You don’t know why you had to say this to Neville, he’s awkwardly walked into your melancholic Queen seshes a few times before, but you’d never pass an opportunity to talk to him. “It’s a bit tragic really. Don’t get me wrong, the little poems, the heart shaped chocolates, roses, all of that stuff is completely and utterly cheesy... but, I don’t know, it would be nice to get that from somebody for once, you know?” You fumbled with the sweet once more and gave a soft smile.

“You could always spend Valentine’s Day with me.” Neville spoke and you felt your heartbeat increase rapidly. “You’re my best friend, I don’t want you to be upset. And it’s not like I have a queue of dates lined up.” He joked. Ah yes. Best friend. Bollocks.

“Thanks Nev, but I already have a solid date lined up with Mr Mercury. I don’t want to ruin your day feeling sorry for myself.” You punched his arm lightly. “Besides, you need more faith in yourself. You’re the nicest guy at this school, any girl would be lucky to have you as her date.” Neville’s cheeks dusted pink and he smiled.

“Well if at any point you need me, I’m here.” He rubbed his thumb over your hand and stood up. “Don’t let those plans be too solid either, I happen to know somebody who likes you. I just need to try and get him to have the courage to tell you.” And with that he left as the hall began to empty. Oh even better. Now the guy you like is playing wingman for someone you have no interest in. You laid your head back in your arms and rolled your eyes as the familiar pair of footsteps walked closer to you.

“Why so glum L/N?”

“Go away George.”

“How did you know it was me?” George Weasley asked as he plonked on the bench beside you. You jabbed your hand across the other side and smirked when you heard a small “shit” sound there.

“Because that’s Fred.” The twins had been your other best friends for as long as you could remember, and of course they knew of your thing for Mr Longbottom but they’d managed to keep it a secret. Somehow.

“I thought this was your favourite time of year.” George teased, poking at your ribs until you sat up and held his hand away.

“Get all that from my ecstatic body language do you Georgie?”

“Come on Y/N. You better not pout, Mr Valentine doesn’t like that.”

“That’s Father Christmas, Fred.” You grinned, knowing your boys could always cheer you up.

“Come on, you’ve got a free period next and me and Freddie are more than happy to ditch Herbology and sneak you out to Hogsmeade so you can drink so much butterbeer that Neville kid won’t even be at the forefront of your mind.”

“There’s no alcohol in butterbeer.” The boys ignored you and each hoisted you up by your arms and carried you out of the hall.

“Screw Valentine’s Day.” Fred sang.

“Yeah. Fat babies carrying bows and arrows are creepy anyways.” George finished, making you laugh as you left the Great Hall.

—

February 4th

A few days passed and the joy of spending that day with the twins subsided as you went back into your sulk over the event that was 10 days away. You were sat on your bed going through your potions homework that was due next period when you heard a knock at your dormitory door. Harry Potter stood there with a grin on his face and a present in his hand.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.” He pushed the present into your hands and walked off, saying nothing else. Was Harry who Neville was talking about? You hoped not, Harry has been more like a brother since you started Hogwarts. That would just be weird.

You sat back down on your bed confused and lifted up the tag from the gift, smirking as you read what was written.

“I’d do anything to make you mine,

I’d climb a tree,

Swing on a vine.

I’d bungee jump,

Get stung by bees.

Be my Valentine, oh please.” - Your secret admirer x

You opened the gift and smiled as you ran your fingers along the material of a F/C handmade scarf and a box of heart shaped chocolates. Your ‘secret admirer’ at least knew something about you, that was a good sign you guess.

You spent the rest of the day pestering Harry into telling you who it was that gave him the gift but he kept his lips sealed.

—

February 5th

This morning you woke up still in a surprisingly good mood over what happened yesterday and made your way down to the Great Hall. The twins beckoned you over to a space between them and you noticed a bouquet of hand-picked flowers placed on the table.

“Oh boys you really shouldn’t have.” You teased. Fred then passed a note over to you.

“This came with it too. George tried to read it so I took it off of him.”

“That’s rubbish and you know it.”

“Honestly you get no privacy with him around, it’s creepy really.”

You left the boys bickering and read the note to yourself.

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

If you were a flower

I’d pick you”

“I thought it was dreadful myself.” George peered over your shoulder.

“Oh so you did read it then?” You pushed.

“I told you he did, he’s a disgusting letter reader. And I’m related to it.” They were off again but you couldn’t hear them, your mind was working double time. Who could it possibly be?

—

February 8th

It had been a few days since you heard from your ‘secret admirer’ and you were starting to think they had already lost interest. Which was fair enough, it was fun while it lasted.

It was after dinner when you headed back to your dorm that you saw the rectangular present on your bed with a note on top and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel your heart racing in excitement. Yes you loved Neville, but maybe this was your opportunity to move on since he clearly wasn’t interested? This could be good for you and then you wouldn’t have to ruin a great friendship.

You opened the gift first this time, wanting to save the note. You beamed seeing the few comic books that were left in the paper. You were gutted when you’d forgot to pack your favourite ones with you this term so this was brilliant! Not many people knew of your nerdy side so your mind began to go through the people you know to figure out who this was. Neville knew about your superhero obsession but it wasn’t his kind of thing- though he could have always told someone? So this didn’t help at all really.

You picked up the note and read

“Robin is red

Nightwing is blue

Rhyming is hard

I’m Batman”

You chuckled aloud at this one. And placed the note with the others in your bedside table.

————————

February 12th

You made your way down into the common room and jumped on the sofa between Ron and Neville.

“Morning everyone.” You chirped.

“What’s got you in such a good mood and out of bed before 12 on a weekend?” Ron teased. You punched his arm and shuffled closer to Neville.

“You’re mean, and this is why Neville is my favourite.” You leant against Neville’s arm and smiled up at him.

“It’s her secret admirer. I’ve not seen her happier.” Harry grinned, putting his hands out in defence as you threw a pillow at him.

“Silence Potter.”

“Awww our little Y/N’s in love.” Seamus pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Shut up I don’t even know who this person is! What if it’s like Goyle or something?” You grimaced.

“But is Goyle capable of writing poems? And you need to remember I know this person, Goyle would just beat me.” Neville laughed quietly.

“That’s true... wait, how did you know I’m getting poems?” You asked, sitting up and looking at him. Other than the boys reading the one the other day you hadn’t told anybody about the poems, the gifts were a given though.

“Umm.. I-“

“-I told him.” Hermione interjected from her armchair. “You should know the twins wouldn’t keep their mouth shut about something like this Y/N.”

“Yeah you’re right, but you can’t help but love them.” You returned, laying back down again.

“Anyway.. who’s still down for the trip to Hogsmeade in a bit?” Ron cut in, changing the subject. You all agreed happily except Neville.

“Uh sorry guys I’m going to have to sit out.”

“Aw come on Nev this has been planned for weeks!” You pouted. Neville’s cheeks went red and he spoke quietly.

“I’m.. I’m pretty light at the moment. I can’t.” You smiled knowingly.

“I can buy us a couple drinks and some things from Honeydukes. Please?” You begged. He shook his head and smiled.

“Honestly you guys just go. I have some homework I need to do anyway, I’ll see you by dinner.” He answered back. Everyone else went to get ready and you stayed for a moment.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? Or I can stay here if you want with you? I don’t want to leave you on your own.” You asked once more, wondering if you could change his mind now no one else was in here. He shook his head and reassured you he was fine. You frowned but reluctantly agreed. Everyone was out the door and you said your goodbyes to Neville. “I’ll see you later yeah? I’ll grab us a couple boxes of fudge flies and chocolate frogs and we can just hang out for a bit?” Neville smiled and nodded his head. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and left to follow your other friends.

A few hours later after some shopping you all found yourselves at a table in The Three Broomsticks being served by the lovely Madam Rosmerta. You went to hand your money over to her for your drink and she smiled, raising her hand.

“Your first 3 rounds have already been paid for my dear. This was also left behind the counter for you.” She gave you a slip of paper and was back on her way.

“You gonna read it then?” Ron asked, trying to look over your shoulder. These Weasley boys are all the same.

You unfolded to paper and read it aloud to your awaiting friends.

“They say you can be drunk in love

But with you

I’m completely intoxicated..

Seriously. Don’t let me ride a broom. I’m over the limit.”

You all laughed and you tucked the note back in your pocket.

“Any idea who it is yet?” Hermione asked. You leant back in your chair and sighed.

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

——

It wasn’t too much longer later that you decided to head back. The others decided to stay but you promised Neville you’d be back for dinner and you didn’t want to let him down. You met Neville for dinner and then dragged him up the astronomy tower to hang out for a while, pulling out the snacks you’d bought earlier and laying a blanket on the floor to lay back and watch the stars.

“Sorry I forgot to ask, did you have a nice time?” Neville asked, his head close to yours as you laid beside each other on the floor. You looked towards him and felt your cheeks burn at the proximity before turning back to the sky.

“Ye-yeah. It was good. I missed you though, it’s not the same without you there.” You smiled softly, giving his hand a quick squeeze before putting your hands behind your head.

Neville quickly sat up and fumbled in his robes for something. You sat up and turned towards him, confused.

“Sorry I almost forgot about this. It wasn’t meant to be for until the 14th but they decided to give it to you early..” he trailed off, pulling out a small present and handing it to you, a note following shortly after.

You opened the present and picked up a set of childish matching woven bracelets, one F/C with a green heart stitched in the middle, the other green with a F/C heart stitched in the middle. You traced your thumb over the top of each of them.

“I..uh.. I thought the old ones needed upgrading.. if you want to anyway..” his words started to click in your mind and you opened the note to read out loud.

“My ideas for poems are lacking,

But I hope you won’t be sad to see,

That your secret admirer for the past 5 years...”

“.. has always been me.” Neville finished the line, his face a darker red than you have ever seen it be as he fumbled nervously with his sleeves. You felt your eyes brim with tears as you dived towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a huge hug, your legs going either side of his. He slowly put his arms around you and relaxed a little when he felt you squeeze him harder. “I know the bracelets are cheesy, but you said you wanted cheesy and I’ve seen you still wear the old one anyway so.. but if you don’t like it-“

You put your hand over Neville’s mouth to stop him talking and beamed at him.

“I love it.” You spoke, your voice shaking slightly from the happiness that shot through you. “You’re amazing Neville Longbottom.” You pulled him in to hug him again before resting back against his knees, relishing in the smile that was on his face. “Will you help me put mine on?” You asked holding your wrist and the bracelet out to him. He smiled again and tied the strings below your wrist, awkwardly gesturing for you to do the same with his. After, Neville shakily took your hand in his, still nervous about all of this. You looked where your friendship bracelets sat next to your new ones and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” Neville let go of your hand instantly and you shook your head, taking his hand back in yours.

“Not at all. It’s just.. Merlin we’re going to look like those cheesy couples that wander the halls on Valentine’s Day holding hands and making everyone else cringe.” You laughed. Neville grinned.

“Yeah. Next think you know we’ll be making out in the corridors getting shouted at by Snape.” He quickly stopped speaking and went red again. “I.. uh.. sorry, I don’t know where that came from. You don’t have to kiss me at all. Not if you don’t want to. Not that I wouldn’t like you to. Of course I’d like you to. I always have.. oh Merlin don’t get creeped out by that I’m sorry.” You laughed again at his rambling and placed your hand on his cheek.

“Kiss me Neville.” You smiled, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone.

“Y/N don’t feel pressured to just because of what I said, I’m just an idiot. I’m just happy you’re holding my hand and took the bracel-“

“Neville bloody Longbottom please just kiss me.” He stopped speaking and swallowed audibly. He awkwardly placed his hands on your hips, and then panicked and moved them back to his lap, scared he moved too fast. “You’re adorable, you know that right?” You took his hands and moved them back, pulling his face towards you and placing your lips on his. He immediately melted into the kiss, keeping one hand squeezing your hip and the other raised to cup your cheek. His lips were softer than you imagined, moving slowly, tentatively; there was so need to rush this. You smiled against him and brushed your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck before pulling back out. He smiled at you goofily, his hand staying on your hip as you rested your forehead against his.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years.” He smiled.

“Me too.” You replied, pecking his lips again. “And, full disclosure, if it means I get to keep kissing you I’m more than happy for Snape to shout at us for making out in the corridor.” You teased. You laid back down bedside him on the blanket and stared up at the stars, your hands locked together between you. “Thank you. For everything, it was really fun getting the little notes.” You admitted.

“I panicked at first when you reacted like that in the hall. I thought you actively hated Valentine’s Day for no reason and then I thought you were going to hate me if you found out I asked Dumbledore to decorate early for my plan.”

“Wait. You asked Dumbledore to bring out the Valentine’s stuff early?” You asked, looking towards him. His cheeks darkened again and you grinned.

“I.. uh.. maybe. I just wanted to try and change your mind and prove it could be fun with the right person.. not that I’m bigging myself up and think I’m the right person. I’d like to be. Your right person that is. No one else’s. Unless that’s weird. Is that weird?”

“Neville!” You cut off his rambling and laughed. “You’re the only person I really wanted to do any of that stuff. I was hoping the whole time it was you. And Valentine’s Day hasn’t even been yet. You’ve officially made me look forward to it this year.” You squeezed his hand and rolled over to kiss his cheek. As you looked back at the stars you saw him bring his hand to his cheek in the corner of your eye. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again... you’re bloody adorable Neville Longbottom.”

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH17

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 17: Journey (Second Half)

Even when the moon had reached the middle of the sky, the excitement of the Valentine tribe in the distance remained the same, and the joy continued.

But it was a joy that some people avoided.

A petite figure walked through the stone forest. It had gotten dark, and the moon overhead couldn't bring enough lighting. The shadows of the stone pillars made one unable to see the ground beneath them. When there came the sound of an eagle crying overhead, she lost her guard and knocked her head on a stone, groaning and singing in pain.

She was a human girl, maybe a Valentine.

The traveler jumped off the wind-eroded column and walked up to her. She retreated in fear, her back pressing tightly against the rock wall, and shouted, "Don't capture me! Please, let me escape! Don't tell the patriarch and the high priest!"

"Who are you?" asked the traveler.

The girl's panic was quelled by this question and this voice. She summoned the courage to look up at the stranger. In the moonlight, the handsome traveler made her unconsciously open her mouth: "I... My name is Aya, a member of the Valentines."

"Where are you going?" asked the traveler.

"Ant City... I want to go to the Ant City!" Aya whispered at first, but suddenly she said it out loud.

"You should go before dawn. The desert at night is very dangerous," the traveler warned.

Was he concerned about her? Aya looked at the stranger in astonishment. He was very tall, fair-skinned—very different from the short brown Valentines—and handsome.

Aya suddenly looked back and gazed at the bonfire in the distance. She suddenly had an idea in her heart.

She stood up from the ground, dusted the dust and gravel from her skirt, and looked at the traveler with trepidation. He stood in front of her as quiet as the moonlight, as determined as a desert poplar that refused to fall. She was nervous, but she was forced by her inner anxiety.

"You… Do you want to ask me to dance? We can dance all night!" Aya got up the courage and rushed out an invitation that was implicitly out of line.

If people from the Valentine tribe were here, they would understand her. Aya was afraid that he couldn't understand, and boldly squeezed a sentence from her throat: "I’ve grown up, I can do more intimate things than dancing, I can do it!"

When she finished speaking, she quickly bowed her head, afraid to see contempt from the traveler's eyes. This shame, mixed with fear, made her red-eyed and so sad that she almost cried.

"I’m sorry, I’m a monk," the traveler answered her.

Aya's heart retreated. Even a girl like her who lived in a remote tribe knew what this meant—he would not rush to get close to a girl, and would not do anything more than the moment before entering marriage. She should apologize and run away in shame.

But the fear of the future was forcing her. Her lips trembled and she desperately begged: "We could get married, I don't want gifts, I don't want rings... We could get married tonight, and you wouldn't have to visit me after tomorrow. Please, I don't want to... I don't want to..."

The traveler replied, "I’m sorry, I have a lover."

Aya began to cry, shaking with tears. She was jealous of the lucky girls in the tribe who could dance with their favorite boy on this beautiful night while she was locked in her room, waiting for fate. She had escaped, but where could she escape to? She couldn't cross the vast Sea of Tranquility desert, and could only go to the Underground Ant City—the hell on earth that frightened her. She doesn't have the strength of a bear, the sharpness of an eagle, or the agility of a monkey. How could an ordinary human girl survive there?

Everywhere was a dead end, and there was no glimmer of hope. She finally despaired, wiped her tears, and turned to walk towards the village. She had escaped on impulse, but now that she thought about it, there was nowhere to go. Why shouldn't she go back and accept her own destiny?

But the traveler stopped her: "Do you have some difficulties? Do you need my help?"

Aya stopped and turned to look at him. The traveler stood in the bright moonlight and watched her with gentle blue eyes. This stranger cared about her and worried about her pain. This thought makes Aya burst into tears. She couldn't wait to tell the whole of her grievances, but when she was stared at by such a pair of eyes, she couldn't say anything, she could only shed tears silently.

"Thank you... Sir... Thank you."

Amidst the joyful celebration, this tribal girl with honey skin told her story intermittently.

The Valentine tribe was a tribe that had migrated here from somewhere else. Unlike the aborigines with high noses, deep eyes, and white skin, they had a darker skin color and were not very tall. In addition, since they had come later, their relationship with other tribes was not harmonious and they even suffered from discrimination.

Demons always liked pure human girls. As the Dragon Ant Queen aged, she asked for more sacrifices. The secret of her bloody cruelty was circulated in the Sea of Tranquility desert—she drank great amounts of the blood of virgins in an attempt to stop the traces left by time. Aya, who had just become an adult, was chosen as the Valentine tribe’s tribute this year, and would be sent to the Dragon Ant Queen’s palace in the Underground Ant City. She didn't know if she would really face a bloodthirsty tyrant, but she knew that all the girls who were sent there had never come back.

Aya's mother died young and her father had been bewitched by a trader and became a believer in Utopia, leaving the tribe to pursue this dreamlike land of perfection. Left alone, Aya was brought up by the tribe on the condition that she would be a tribute for the tribe when she grew up.

Aya, who had no choice, grew up in fear. In order to keep her pure, the patriarch and the high priest had forbidden her from having contact with the opposite sex. She felt sincere envy and deep fear when she watched her peers walk into marriage one by one.

Finally, in this unattended bonfire festival, she was moved by the joy and excitement. She quietly escaped from the village and wanted to mix into the Underground Ant City to live out the rest of her days. Then she met someone who changed her life.

Now, she and this man were sitting on a low and easy-to-climb wind-eroded column, looking out over the bonfire in the distance.

She confided intermittently, confused for a while, self-pitying for a while, and sometimes even felt guilty: "Maybe I shouldn't have run away. If I leave, another girl will be sent there instead of me, and they don't want to do that... They should have a better life."

The traveler who had been silent until now told her: "No one should bear this pain, and neither should you."

Tears flowed from her dry eyes again and Aya choked: "But everyone doesn't think so. Since I’ve accepted the tribe’s support, I should repay them. This is a matter of course."

"It is an obligation to raise a child. It is unjust to ask her to repay this obligation with her life," said the traveler.

"It's not my fault? Isn't it because I’m too selfish?" Aya asked hopefully.

The traveler shook his head. "It's not your fault, nor is it anyone's fault."

"Whose fault is it then?" Aya was confused.

The traveler couldn't answer, and he was also thinking, if the world forced a warm and kind ethnic group to sell their own kind in exchange for surviving, whose fault was it?

"It's the Devils’ fault," the traveler said. "So we must destroy them and drive them back to the underworld, so that they will never come to this world."

"That's good. In this case, daddy wouldn't believe in any Utopia anymore? A world without demons itself is so beautiful. It’s a Utopia already. I want to live in such a world. Everything is good, perfect and the best," Aya said. Her poor vocabulary couldn't express the world in her heart. She can only describe it as "the best".

"What kind of world is it?" the traveler asked.

Aya thought hard and described the Utopia in her heart: "It must be an equal world. Besides human beings, there can also be demons that don't harm people... I heard that there are such demons in the Underground Ant City, and some even marry humans. If they don't harm us, I can accept their existence. No matter what kind of skin colour, like you or me, or whether we’re men or women, whether we have a faith or not, as long as we’re willing to be peaceful and friendly and not hurt each other, we should be equal and should be happy."

The traveler was surprised. He didn't expect an uneducated tribal girl to have such a mind and ideal, which made his heart that was blindly hostile to all demons ashamed.

Aya couldn't help but smile when she thought about such a world: "It would be great if I could live in a world like that."

With that, she smiled again and sighed softly: "What’s the point in dreaming of such ideals? We don't even know if we can survive the next evil tide... There will always be some demons fleeing to the surface each month during those days. Last month, they ate five sheep that belonged to the patriarch's family and they’ve eaten people before."

Aya asked, "I heard that monks like you can do magic spells. Can you do that?"

"I don't have that kind of power, but I have the Lord in my heart." The traveler replied that he had faith even though he had been exiled.

"Would believing in the Lord make me as smart and powerful as you? Can I also believe?" Aya asked uneasily.

The traveler handed her a heavy book as an answer.

Aya held the book carefully, for fear that her hands would ruin the precious book. She looked at the words on the cover and sounded it out with difficulty: "The Canon, is that how you read it?"

She only knew some simple words and feared that she would remember wrong. After flipping through the pages, she was embarrassed to find that she couldn't read even half of the contents.

"This is what my mother left me, and now I will give it to you," said the traveler.

Aya closed the book in a panic, threw it back, and hit the traveler in the waist with it. He groaned and his face suddenly turned pale.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Sorry, I’m sorry!" Aya apologized fearfully, and she was so anxious that her tears fell down.

"It doesn't matter, it's a previous injury." Although the traveler looked haggard, he had a calm expression, as if the wound on his body was really just a minor injury. He put the book back in Aya's hands. "It doesn't matter. I memorized this book very young. If it can help you, it has value."

He didn't think it was a pity to give the Canon to a girl who couldn't even recognize its words. Moreover, the place where he was going was dangerous, and the result of going was that he might be left sleeping in the ground forever. If he let her go back with this Canon, at least the tribe wouldn't blame her for her escape.

There was a kind seed in her heart. Whether she believed it or not, she should be treated well.

"Thank you, really thank you." Aya thanked him repeatedly and was overwhelmed with joy when she held the book.

During this bonfire festival that she wasn’t allowed to attend, she had still received a gift. Maybe the traveler didn't know the meaning of the gift, but it still made her jump secretly. There was a happy bird singing in her heart, almost flying out of her chest.

But he had a lover. Aya bowed her head sadly, trying to hide her sour mood. With her head bowed, she opened the book and read the words by the moonlight, secretly blushing: "Love is... is..."

"Love is patient, love is kind," the traveler told her the pronunciation.

This heartfelt statement made her emotion surge. She seemed to be inspired by fate and bravely continued to read: "Love does not... what?"

The traveler told her slowly, "Love does not envy."

Aya's hand stroking the pages froze, and her foolish longing turned into full loss and self-mockery, which finally made her thoughtful.

Love is not envy. Aya silently read this sentence in her mind. Don't be envious of the girls who can dance with their sweethearts, and don't be envious of strangers who care about their loved ones. It was not her love.

The bonfire in the distance had become faint, the voice of celebration had gradually lowered, and the festival had come to an end.

Aya held the book and whispered, "I want to go home."

The traveler said, "I can take you to the Ant City and help you settle down."

"No, I’m willing to go back. Thank you," Aya said. "But before you go, can I talk to you for a while? We can talk about anything."

The traveler promised her.

Aya talked happily about the past, and stopped talking about the fear that made her feel miserable and helpless. Instead, she talked about the interesting things she’d encountered. She had been so angry when the bucket was pushed into the well by the sheep when she had been fetching water that she’d chased after the sheep. She had burned her hand when she was making naan and the neighbour's boy had helped her fetch water to cool it down. After listening to the traders talking about the outside world, she had learned that there was a place called the Vatican. She was excited to talk about all these interesting things, because she didn't think the traveler was happy. She wanted him to be happy, and she also wanted to know about his past, even if it was just his name.

But the traveler was always a silent listener, and he had no intention of telling his own story.

She didn't know where he came from, what kind of pain and despair he had experienced, why there was such a gentle sadness in his body, and what kind of person he carefully sheltered in his heart.

But the traveler didn't say anything. He didn't say anything.

Late at night, the young girl was very tired and sleepy. She murmured and asked, "Where is your lover? Where did she go?"*

*{E/N: he and she are pronounced the same in Chinese}

The traveler replied, "He is always in my heart."

Aya couldn't tell whether this is what the traveler said or what she dreamed. She fell asleep with the book as her pillow, and the traveler took the liberty of taking the strange girl back to the village. He covered her with a blanket, sat next to her to watch over her, and went nearby to find some dry wood to raise the fire and warm her.

The traveler himself didn't sleep. He waited for the rising sun and then quietly left to continue his journey.

Before the start of this journey, he actually hadn't had many opportunities to watch the sunrise, as he couldn't see it in the Village of Dusk. When he’d moved to Neverland, he had spent half a year under the eternally starry sky. When he was on tasks outside, he was in a hurry and didn't have the mind to wait for a sunrise. In fact, he didn't have any attachment to the sunrise. If his lover was still there, it would be beautiful for them to watch the sunset together. The sunset never fell in the land of Dusk. They could sit side by side on the beach, holding hands and watching the end of time.

He wanted to take him to the snow-capped mountains to see if the snow leopard he had once treated still occupied the mountains, where there was a beautiful waterfall and ice lake and the frozen blue-green water amidst the ice and snow made the mountain as beautiful as a fairy tale. He also wanted to take him to the polar regions to see penguins. They could even adopt an abandoned baby penguin, feed it, and watch it stagger on the ice until it was strong enough to return to the colony.

He had many, many things he wanted to do with him. Maybe he didn't want to do these things. Maybe he just wanted to be with him.

When people who love each other are together, they can feel each other's hearts even if they don't say a word.

But if the distance was between life and death, could these thoughts reach the other side of the Styx?

The traveler watched the sun rising over the horizon, and his heart was at peace. He was like a boat drifting from one port to another. He may encounter storms along the way, but when the boat arrived at the harbor, he would still feel lucky and never feel dismayed.

He never felt that he should take happiness for granted. His decision with his faith was not to seek happiness, but to let his heart find peace, even if he was punished for it.

It was better to suffer frankly than to live falsely. He knew that he wouldn't run away. He had made a mistake and did not repent, so he should be punished. For him, such punishment was not pain, but atonement. All the sufferings in this world were to redeem the original sin that he was born with, and he had to pay for it with his whole life.

At dawn, Aya woke up from her sleep. She was covered with a blanket and didn't know when the bonfire before her had been lit. There were still faint flames swaying in the wind, but the traveler had left.

Aya grabbed the blanket, picked up the book, and ran to the village in a hurry. The rocks and thorns along the way made her run too fast, and she accidentally fell to the ground.

She couldn't care less about herself and picked up the Canon, only to find that a piece of paper had fallen from its pages.

She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a hand-painted portrait of a handsome young man smiling at her.

There was a name in the corner, which should be the name of the person in the portrait. It was very simple, and she could easily read it out even if she couldn't read much. She gently said: "Qi Leren."

It was just an ordinary name, but the tender brushwork on the portrait made her voice go soft unconsciously. She wanted to take a closer look and feel the overflowing tenderness, but a gust of wind blew from the desert, violently and rapidly, and took the portrait from her unsuspecting hand, blowing it into the clear sky above the vast yellow sand.

The sand flying in the wind overwhelmed Aya's eyes. She waved her arms wildly in confusion, but she could only grasp the yellow sand in her hands. When she opened her misty eyes again, the portrait had been brought to the sky by the wind, fluttering and rootless, and was about to disappear into the heavens.

Aya chased it without thinking, racing the wind all the way. A great sadness filled her heart and a voice in her heart made her run, run, run desperately... She lost her shoes, her feet stepped on stones, and blood flowed, but the pain of her body could not overcome her inner sadness and she still dared not stop, she wanted to catch what was about to be lost—until she tripped over thorns and fell heavily to the earth.

She fell in such pain that she fell to her knees and cried. Her feet had already been cut bloody, her knees were scraped open, and she was bleeding. Even her hands were full of cuts. She shrank back and wanted to give up, but she looked up and looked into the distance unwillingly.

The wind was blowing again, and a gust of wind sent that thin piece of paper to an unknown distance. Such a large desert, such a small piece of paper. In an instant there was no trace of it, only the vast yellow sand and blue sky.

Who was the man in that picture? Aya would never know.

It was doomed to be unknown, impossible to find and impossible to obtain.

And how could the emotion carried on the delicate paper withstand the relentless sand in the desert?

It would eventually be destroyed, buried and forgotten.

Aya was stupefied and kneeling in the hot sun, with mottled blood all the way behind her showing that she had made an almost crazy effort for a story with no answer. Her eyes, which were filled with the wind and sand, kept shedding tears, but they couldn't wash away the hard sand in her soft eyes. It seemed that something sharp was stuck in her heart, so sharp and painful, but she didn't know what it was.

She didn't know anything.

Sadness and melancholy suddenly welled up in the girl's heart and she burst into tears on this barren land, for a stranger whose name she didn’t know, for a stranger who only knew her name.

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Editor’s Notes: After checking three different mtls (my number has gone up again oh dear), I’ve determined that BMBL calls the book the Bible in the original Chinese. I’ve chosen to translate it as Canon in order to distinguish it, as BMBL has stated previously (and will again later) that, despite being very similar, the religion in this series is not Christianity.

I think this chapter is the first time I’ve cried a bit while editing. I encourage everyone to come back and read this little interlude again once you’ve finished all of Part II, there’s quite a bit that hits differently.

I’m going to be taking a one week break while we’re between arcs in order to do some catching up, so the next chapter will be up on June 18th.

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