#not the umbrella stance
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namor-shuri · 2 years ago
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SOMEONE COME GET THEIR FATHER! THESE CLIPS ARE EVERYTHING 😭💜 #HESINVITEDTOTHECOOKOUT. BONUS CLIP OF HIM GETTING TACOS BEFORE THE AFTER PARTY
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laurrelise · 4 months ago
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five i’m afraid your homosexual-coded stance is frightening your good pal elliot
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lapdogchase · 9 months ago
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eldorr · 2 years ago
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Cosmicqueer
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With symbol (left), Without symbol (right)
Cosmicqueer is a Queer Stance where one is highly opinionated, aka me. Similar to Critinclus and other such terms. I just wanted a term for my beliefs because I saw some stuff that REALLY annoyed me the other night so here we are.
Cosmisqueer is PRO:
Non-traumagenic systems (aka systems of any kind)
Any "contradictory" or complicated queer identity (within reason, such as Turigirls and Lesboys, Cis Nonbinary Woman/Men, Gaybians, Tulipians, AMAB Transmascs, AFAB Transfems, etc.)
Split Attraction Model, such as Mspec Gay, Mspec Lesbian, Alloaro, Alloace, Alloallo Apl, etc. (Essentially inclusive of any non-rose attraction terms such as Alterous, Queerplatonic, Exteramo, Familial, etc., provided one's form of attraction with those is non-normative.)
Aldernic and Altersex
Terms to describe complicated forms of oppression, such as Exorsexism, Treimisia, and Transandromisia. Cosmisqueer also stands to uplift discussions on general transmisia, transmisogyny, homomisia, amisia, etc. (I personally prefer to use the suffix of misia over phobia.)
Neurodivergent, Race, Nonhuman, etc. exclusive genders/orientations/terms
Nonhumans, Otherkin, Alterhumans, etc.
Reclamation of slurs
Informed Self diagnosis
Kink
Objectum, Conceptum
Polyamory, Non-partnering, any non monoamory identity.
Any non-normative being describing oneself as Queer. (Within reason, should only be done if it's an aspect that defines one's identity a decent amount imo.)
Comsicqueer does NOT support:
Radqueer or other similar queer stances
Safequeer
Transid/TransX (Diaracial, Transage, Transabled, etc.)
Pro-Contact or any not anti-contact stance for non-consensual paraphilias (The big 3, and others)
Terms related to the big 3, non-consensual paras, highly dubious concepts. (Minus MAD flags, depending on the nuance of the subject at hand.)
Pro-ship ideology, non-critical fiction stances.
Pro-Incest, Pro-S/H, Pro-ED.
Emojis I'd associate with Cosmicqueer are: ✨☄️🌈. (Sparkles, Comet, Rainbow.)
I already pretty much ID with a couple queer stances, I just wanted a stance where one's Queer, and feels the word Queer can apply to any non-normative identity relating to gender, orientation, presentation, etc. while feeling Queer is inherently connected to the kink community, and can apply to nonhumans, plurals/systems, non-monoamorous beings, etc. as long as their internal identity affects their external expression in any shape and form, being visibly or socially "non-normative." (Within reason, hence the exclusion of actual harmful identities, actions, stances, etc.)
Essentially using the old definition of Queer to cover "strange" and "odd" identity, and blurring the boundaries between the old use of the word Queer, and the current use of it. Essentially I dislike people reducing Queer to just gender identity and sexual orientation, when Queer has always covered much more than that.
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kokikwii · 1 year ago
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I don't think you guys know what punk rock is
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fenmere · 1 year ago
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There seems to be a point where a lot of trans people say, "You know what? The term 'sex change' fucks, actually."
We've hit that point.
We've been there before, in the deep past. And we went through a long phase where we felt it hurt us. And we're back now where we were before.
We're not going to use that phrasing, either, because it's not ours, but it's fucking rad. It's a damn cool thing to be able to do, change your sex like a damn clown fish. And, from a certain perspective that's exactly what we trans people do do.
But!
Here's our real difference on this phrase.
We, the Inmara, are not reclaiming it for ourselves.
It doesn't fit us.
We love and celebrate and admire our fellow trans people who identify with that framing of their experiences, but we're still very firmly in the camp of "our sex is defined by our genders and our genders were never what we were assigned at birth,. Therefore our sex hasn't been changed by medical transition, our disability of severe physical dysphoria has simply been accommodated, finally."
Well, accommodated as best as technology can do, at least.
This is just how it is for us.
It's like how we're not human. How this body is not human, even though it looks like it is, because we who inhabit it are not human, you know?
And it's not that we're trying to say we're better than anyone by that. Not better than humans or better than other trans people who don't take that stance. It's just the truth that is correct for us. It's the accurate way of describing us.
And that should be OK. Just as OK as it is to reclaim "transexual" and "sex change" and make it rock again.
Right?
Anyway, having a lot of good feelings about all of it right now, because we know there are others out there who get it, and because it all does just kicks some god damn ass. Every way of being kicks ass.
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osaemu · 1 year ago
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GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER
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✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW
contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.
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you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the money—it came with a shitty boyfriend too. 
as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fucking laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.
you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.
hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.
you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.
humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.
on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.
you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were right—he was fucking other girls while the two of you dated. 
a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with the help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mind—filthy.
you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.
you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.
it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is that shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.
satoru gojo's well-known in japan—not only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all. 
you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies. 
and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of a dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.
it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.
"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.
"no, i'm— wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone. 
satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which are really fucking hot by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"
"i—" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."
satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"
you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either you aren't his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"
well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so. 
"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them. 
not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.
"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."
"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fu—
you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for his dad to know.
satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"
you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want you out of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."
satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"
it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgust—whether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.
just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane idea—one that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.
"you should fuck me."
oh my god.
satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"
you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, i—" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.
he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.
"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."
"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.
"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."
satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.
"shit, you're takin' me so good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like tha— fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.
he's big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching porn—unlike his lame excuse of a son.
"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"
when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expect every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because they aren't."
at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from. 
it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throat—his eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.
"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.
"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."
and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's so fucking big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.
"g-gojo, i can't—"
"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin' hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"
"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shit— right there—"
satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentle—it's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.
you lose track of time easily—fuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll back—just a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.
as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to say—he's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.
"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."
you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situation—what was your ex's name again? does it matter?
"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.
"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."
he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores the hm? that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"
"wha— why'd you stop?"
satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.
"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."
your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling you kid and telling you it's time to go?
"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."
satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we did something in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes. 
"hmph."
satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.
"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"
you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"
before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.
"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"
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jokermutual · 2 years ago
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google searching frantically umbrella for fat guys
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o4o41 · 2 months ago
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5. Artie/Misa 5th turtle has green/grey/light blue color. Is like Dementra from Spy Kids 3D, is like Chibiusa, is like Vanessa from Wreak-it.
(Though they could be 4 because Guild or Talen looks uninterested in joining.)
And for a human, ok, Carter can join and Zack's sister (to debunk the "glass ceiling" assumption that girls can't become unofficial 5th turtle).
4 fem turtles
Lunarda (perhaps with a different initial) - upon its first creation it was a male named Lunardo. With other iteration the character was genderbent. Basically a villain, a goon like in 1987 he would be. Later becomes an independent force to be reckoned with.
Venus as Frida - character is like from Next Mutation, stern focus and sometimes trolls in a battle (didn't all '87 tmnt did that, trolling and mocking on enemies?). Likely a sister. (By title or not. I guess some people will lean into more like a real sister title. Although in Rose of tmnt where she was reimagined, all of tmnt were different species of turtles so. If by title still ok, like arrrrg pirate Laird would say no female turtles in a ship. 🤩🤭🤭.)
3. The "kooky sister from another planet/space/dimension". (Another, second sibling to tmnt, after Venus as Frida.) There was a Twitter where one said that it was a boy, another said it was a girl. Girl would be better in my opinion. Besides if Lunarda [different initial] has a black mask, this one can try a brown one perhaps. And Venus as Frida can have a colors that leans to grey-blue, or like how rise made it yellow is also alright. Edit: There is a fan-tag saying her name was after Camille Claudel. So the she-way is named Camillie. 🪷bby
4. 4th is def Mona. She is a turtle 🐢. Like in a way that the chemical she was in that was designed to not be exactly like any other mutant. Or her mutation was messy like how nature jokes on intersex people (sorry guys, like, I didnt mean to use them as an example because they are real people and their experience, emotions, struggles and dualities are real. They force themselves into gender normality to blend better with external apperance and designated gender idk). Not messy, maybe unfinished or with future changes, maybe she was over mutated since she was left in a chemical for too long. Sounds discriminatory and quite bad, idk. Let's say it was a special chemical. And she def wears a wig, she might be a mutant but as a human she keeps some girl or human customs perhaps unless some gender-netural tendencies. She could have a mutant-logic puberty phase where her body adapts to the creatures she hangs more with. Like a snake or a butterfly. A metamorphosis
#Mona's can be an actress and her movie name is Larota (alternative to Lara Coft)(and like that fan-character genderbend Larota Talena Amoly#Venus)#Btw could be an interesting foreshadowing if we have 4 Lara Croft characters#Abigail Finn; that Nano creator woman(+talented aged woman);Tsunade and idk Casey's mom and Angel from 2003; Venture#Nice foreshadowing for upcoming female characters#But unlike “Alvin and the chipmunks” and “Powerpuff Girls” or any mascots MS Male characters#Those fem turtles would be completely original. Each having their own aims; personality; story; family and their own life#Tmnt#Later in another post I will add each bros prefered female romantic attachments;#I've written about Raph before that he will dream about Larota (their universe's Lara Croft) but he deals with Flanky and#is disappointed or low-key/high-key discriminative and thinks isn't like worth his attention#Originally-tought-male-turned-female character Larota made his standards very very high like higher to the moon 🤭#Donnie will get a low key roller coaster#I've thought his romantic attachment is Anna(April from 2003 tmnt); but now I think it could be Irma#She is like Wednesday Addams here#Look at “Collide Wednesday ” clip just in case#Irma is not interested just hangs with guys and sometimes gives Don some reality checks#''This is me this is my stance#Here dating this guy; feeling will arise but whatever; but not really interested''#(Jena Ortega is awesome in her own right because she didn't let the writers sacrifice her character to be in a love triagle; yes girl)#Still Don is a gentlemen and brings an umbrella#(In this iteration Don will get cold feet because in 1987 tmnt he really said#''I know how to cheer you up'' and then ''chill out; you will just help me carry the pizaa''); yo#yo#Leo gets someone spiritual and doesn't limit herself#Mikey gets stern and focused one separately he could try to chill Venus as Frida (within Rise's tmnt canon)#For Donnie yes Donnie is Xavier Irma is Wednesday that black girl who's a Siren and wears teal or light blue is Quarry;who'sWho is up to yo#Before I though about Anna(tmnt 2003 April) or Abigail who's a tech girl a business woman who becomes a Mayor and a badass fighter in SAINW#And I have compared them to another work from Kittypop “Snowman” flipaclip#Where Liam was Donnie and Anna was Magenta(leader of theTalonOrganization);AsHowRaph OnlyToughGirl(changed);likeHisTechGirl(aoI'veChagedMy🧠
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laurrelise · 20 days ago
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picture this: i’ve been drawing literally no one except five as of lately but now im drawing delores so i can FINALLY use some of my cutesy little girly poses that ive been saving
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spicy-apple-pie · 8 months ago
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Whoops you accidentally included the ace flag in your pride art! The only people who are proud of not having sex are called incels :)
Whoops, you left a weird fucking message in my inbox :)
I wasn’t going to give this person the time of day to respond, but I decided to respond to make my stance clear that Asexual, Aromatic, and all those who identify under that umbrella are welcomed on my blog. Those who disagree are welcomed and encouraged to shut the fuck up.
(Also Incel means Involuntary celibacy, so they take pride in the fact that they can’t have what they desire and what they believe they are owed. Asexual people don’t have that desire or experience it differently. So go fuck yourself 🙃)
(Also also, I don’t think I even have an ace pride flag in my post, mostly because I don’t see any of the characters I could fit in as ace. But love you guys lol)
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mo0nfairy · 1 year ago
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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART FIVE !
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summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.
chapters :: the masterlist.
word count :: 8.7k.
content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, blood/gore, violence, death, weapons, drugging, kidnapping, stalking, noncon touching, invasion of privacy, mentions of sexual assault, parasites/infections, & needles.
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ada wong's yandere traits are . . .
lucid, romantic, & confident
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──── Ada Wong hates the sensation of grass on her skin. Yet still, the green matter stains all her clothes.
She'll spend her days laying in fields of grass. It tickles her skin and provokes her allergies, but she cannot fathom living without it. If she closes her eyes, she can almost stimulate the feeling of being with you once again. September 28th, 1998. On that road verge with dirt caked on her skin and a dandelion in her messy hair — Ada is convinced she is the only human who has ever been touched by such intense, perfidious happiness.
A beige trench coat littered with these same stains is preserved in her walk-in closet. It has not been worn in years, not since that night in Raccoon City. There are the occasional splatters of blood and gunpowder residue, but they are insignificant in comparison to the vivid green smudges. During rough patches, Ada will take the coat from its plastic covering and hold it close to her chest. If she closes her eyes again, she can almost convince herself it is you in her arms instead of this filthy, out-of-season garment.
As difficult as it is, however, she cannot let these feelings reach her heart. She cannot let herself feel for you.
She made this declaration long ago. Six years ago, to be exact.
Y/N L/N. The name she will never forget.
Ada remembers your evocative touch, your bunny-like shivering, your skin like flowers; she will never forget how you ended her life in Raccoon City.
The onslaught of inhuman, guttural growling had died down with the echo of gunshots. All flesh-eating creatures surrounding her now lay dead on the streets of Raccoon City. Now, a heavy silence sits. And the fear that follows slices into her flesh like a jagged knife. But, not for her life, no. For yours.
Ada briskly and anxiously scrutinizes her surroundings, searching for that jaw-dropping face she fell so hard and violently for. In the end, she finds nothing. All she is met with is the flickering lights of corner shops and the crackling of fire from car wrecks. When she looks down, however, Ada discovers the crumbled dandelion you gave her beneath the foot of her heel. Hastily, she grasps the precious weed and stuffs it into her coat pocket.
From here, attaining the G-Sample, selling it to the highest bidder, and earning more money than she could ever need was irrelevant. All that matters is finding you. Her darling petal, her bunny rabbit. Her salvation.
Ada's relentless efforts to find you result in Raccoon City being torn to shreds. Searching through Mizoil Gas Station to Umbrella's underground laboratory, all her attempts at bringing you back into her arms are brought to no avail. Ada is worn down and stained with grime, absolutely exhausted with dread.
It isn't until the golden sun rises does she learn of survivors being sent to a hospital outside of the city. She abandons everything in Raccoon City and high-tails it to Fox Park Hospital. Her feet ache from its uncomfortable stance in her stilettos and her lungs throb from the constant sprint. Still, nothing matters but you.
When she arrives at the hospital, she is overwhelmed with concerned families and tireless doctors. Several nurses inquire her about her physical state, but Ada disregards their concern entirely. She thought she could hide how perceptibly enamored she is with you through sly remarks and poised disposition. Maybe she'd conjure up some flattering remark to one of the doctors and bite her lip, all to gain access to your location. However, the only trait others can garner from her attitude is a desperate, downright feral act of despair.
Sharp nails digging into the shoulders of a poor nurse, she demands he inform her of your whereabouts. When the nurse squeaks out where you had been admitted to, Ada nearly punts him to the ground before breaking into a dash. She shoves past all other bystanders and bursts through the door to your room. And the way her heart surges in her chest upon entering could rival that of a genuine, torturous death.
There you lay, unconscious on the hospital bed. Bandages adorn the bruises and scars littered on your body. A white cast has been ensnared around your right arm.
The sight is nothing short of devastating. In a moment of weakness, she had so frivolously let you escape from her embrace. Now, you had to be the one who suffered the consequences.
Softly, Ada sits beside your sleeping form and restrains the urge to tackle you into a hug. It scares her, this sudden sense of warmth she possesses for you. She takes your weak hand into hers and shivers from the tender contact. I should not feel this way, she thinks to herself. Nothing about this is okay.
Despite the experience she has in the field of romance, Ada has never obtained genuine feelings for someone. All that lay beneath the surface of her seductive veneer was nothingness, sheer dust. She'll wear that coquettish nature like a crown and revel in the sense of power she feels of having someone beneath her. They care more about her than she does about them. And she loves it.
With you, though, things are different. Much different.
In all 24 years of her life, Ada never anticipated being slapped across the face with such raw emotion. The instance was ephemeral, but all-too devastating in the same breath. Dandelion between your fingers and the playful light in your eyes — the sight robbed her heart blind like candy from a baby. A lifetime spent in the depths of Winter, who knew a mere second of eye contact was all she needed to be lunged into the heavenly warmth of spring?
Ada is humiliated upon finding herself in the depths of such a ridiculous predicament. You have turned her into some lovesick monster, entirely incapable of maintaining stability. She thought she could control it; she thought she could shove you into a box with the rest of her past lovers. But, much like every other attempt she has made involving you, she failed miserably. No matter how hard she tries, she can't stop herself from being in love with you.
With this epiphany comes another. Every bruise, every scar, every wound on your body is living proof of what your life will become if she were to take you away. As badly as she wishes to take you and drown you in her adoration, she holds herself back. To live in complete bliss would mean robbing you of a good life; to ensure her happiness would mean robbing you of yours. By taking you away, her life would begin, yes, but yours would end. And if she were to take away the precious light you hold inside, she would never forgive herself.
The syringe she managed to snag from a passing doctor clatters to the floor. A physical manifestation of the realization seeping through her mind. For the very first time in her life, she cannot be selfish. For the first time, someone else's well-being is more important than hers.
She doesn't deserve you and you don't deserve her. You deserve happiness, you deserve normalcy, you deserve safety.
You deserve everything she cannot give you.
With a trembling breath, she affectionately drags the joint of her fingers down the side of your face. The mere thought of never being able to see this sight again shatters her. But for you, she would do absolutely anything, no matter how soul-crushing the pain is. Anything.
"Until next time, Y/N..."
The next six years were a tumultuous, frenzied blur. Ada Wong, notorious for her enticing personality, has crumbled.
Head-first, the agent had thrown herself into her work. Anything to keep her mind off of you. Or, at the very least, to look at the horrors she faces in her career to further remind herself you are better off without her. Every day, she oscillates with the idea of checking up on you, wherever you may be. It would be far too easy, as told by her skills. Though, if she were to do this, she knows she would not be able to leave you like she did six years ago. It had nearly killed Ada to leave you behind in that hospital. She isn't sure if she can survive that same pain all over again.
These gnawing desires keep her awake into the late hours of the night. Tossing and turning in bed, tossing and turning the idea of how good it would feel to have you in her arms. She wraps her arms around herself and caresses her own skin, pretending it is your hands on her body instead of her imagination. She feels weak, she feels deranged. But, she cannot help it. It kills her to not have you here with her.
She wonders how your life has changed since Raccoon City. What makes you smile, what makes you cry, if you're up at night thinking about her the way she does you. The misery nearly emulates the feeling of being butchered, as if you had personally cut open her flesh and sewed your name into her veins. But, Ada would do anything for you. Even if it means enduring the same torture every day, she is satisfied with life knowing she got to hold you. Even for just a second.
After a call with Albert Wesker, she is reminded yet again why you should not be a part of her life. To be exposed to this separate world would only be detrimental to you. She could never curse you with the burden that is her lifestyle. You deserve far more than that.
Ada teases the ring on her left hand. Mere hours after the crisis in Raccoon City, she preserved the dandelion you gave her and had it pressed into a ring. Six years later, this piece of jewelry has always ensnared her finger, as it remains her only source of security. The memory of you pulls at her heartstrings the way an angel plays a harp. In fact, it is the only memory she has that she can look back on fondly, as opposed to the bloodshed she has been so frivolously exposed to.
So absorbed in the warm rain of your memory, Ada nearly forgets the task Wesker had assigned for her. Abruptly and harshly, she is once again given another reminder of why you should stay far away from her. You make her weak, as Wesker told her, and neither of them cannot afford that weakness. She was fortunate enough to never disclose your identity with him, as he may have hunted you down in retaliation to her slacking efforts.
She doesn't know what she would do if she learned you were suffering out there. Wherever you are.
Opening the file Wesker sent to her, Ada scrutinizes the myriad of information sent her way. Through the grapevine, there was hearsay of Umbrella surviving the wreckage of Raccoon City. Satellite imagery displayed a vast forest where they had set up their 'sanctuary,' as they called it. Within the sanctuary were survivors of Raccoon City, where they would be kept captive to avoid exposing Umbrella and forcing them to face the consequences of their mistakes.
Her task was simple: find out if they have samples of Amber in their possession. If so, deliver the sample back to Wesker.
Of course, with this mission arose heavy concern. Images of you being subject to Umbrella's abuse sent a serrated rush of panic through her body. Ada had practically torn herself asunder with her efforts to protect you, she never acknowledged how other dangers may have slipped through the cracks.
A consideration, one much stronger than before, is what she is faced with. Giving into her selfish desires and having you by her side would benefit her happiness, yes, but it would also expose you to the horrors of her life. Leaving you without this burden in whatever life you had chosen for yourself would most likely benefit your happiness, yes, but would expose you to peril she cannot control. She would put her life down for your happiness, after all.
This consideration plagues Ada's mind as she is flown out to the sanctuary. Since the area was under investigation by another team, she had to play this smart, no matter how badly she wished to storm through the doors and hunt you down.
Yellow tape surrounds the entire premise, and numerous police officers and detectives are scattered amongst the area. Picking the lock to a window; Ada slides into the building with flexible ease. She lands with a bounce upon a bed. The springs whine beneath her weight; the headboard creaks with frail fragility. She finds herself in a sunken mess of fluffy throw blankets and tacky plushies. Climbing out of the array after practically drowning in it, Ada straightens her dress before scrutinizing the room.
The area is naturally stale. The same way a bleak, depressing hospital room feels. However, this detail is hidden beneath the mass of decorations and clutter. It is surrounded by love, despite its dull foundation.
A rickety bookshelf and stale bedside table are settled by the bed. On them are books checked out from the sanctuary's library, as well as wilting plants, a flickering salt lamp, dusty candles, and even more heaps of plushies. Ada's heels sink into a fuzzy rug as she studies the contents. A clothing rack can be found, too, with boring clothes hung upon it. Stickers and doodles adorn the supports, as well. 
Across from this was a sofa couch that sat opposite a chunky television. Cheesy horror movies are stacked on top of the thick surface. Another plant sits by the television in a custom-painted pot, leaves adorned in brown decay. Another plushie is rested against the TV, as well. God, how many stuffed animals does a person need?
Nothing within this small expanse relates to your whereabouts or the Amber, which eases Ada's mind. She lets out a sigh of relief. It would pain her in ways she could never fathom to know you were suffering in Umbrella's disturbed idea of a "sanctuary" while she was too busy trying to forget you.
Ada walks through the adjacent threshold and finds a small kitchen. Once again, the dull appearance had been diluted with heartfelt decor. Hand-crafted paintings are strung upon the walls. Some show the childlike fun of the artist, while others display the raw talent every brush and stroke exudes. A small table is huddled in the corner with a vase of Lego flowers serving as the centerpiece.
Cooking utensils, handmade clay figures, and tea sets are all scattered on the kitchen counters. A package of chamomile tea had been left out on the same counter and the shattered pieces of a mug had been left on the concrete. Strange, but it does not pull her attention.
It isn't until something catcher her eye while on her way out does her heart pound. By the art on the wall, beyond the scatterings of band posters and paintings, a myriad of polaroids had been taped into the shape of a heart.
And directly in the middle is a polaroid of you.
It is a candid shot of you in the sanctuary's garden surrounded by lush flowers. Fat, glittery smile on your face, there is more light in your eyes than Ada had ever seen. Beyond the jealousy for the photographer who got the privilege of drowning in that gaze, a sinking pit of dread sits like a brick in her stomach.
You were here. This whole time, you were here.
It only makes sense this is your room, she should have known. Who better to bring love into such a dank estate than you? You've made something bland more lively, as you do in all other areas of life. But, she was so concerned with roping you into the violent dangers of her life, that she strayed as far away from you as she could. Still, you found yourself here in the end. She was so concerned with keeping her vigorous feelings for you at bay that her negligence had caused you to be thrust into the darkest pits of this world. And nothing she can do now will erase the sheer weight of her frivolous mistake.
Her chest expands and deflates rapidly with hyperventilating breaths. Black dots swim in her doubled vision. Her skin is sheen with sweat. Nausea swims in her stomach. She collapses onto the bed, your bed. A quiet array of whispered "no"'s evades the cramped bedroom. She can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything!
"My petal, I'm so sorry. My sweet petal... How could I have let this happen...?" Ada is completely and utterly devastated.
The pervasion of an unfamiliar voice seeps in from outside the door. Ada covers her mouth to muffle the hyperventilating breaths protruding from her.
"T said they've fled to Spain. Fucking Spain, can you believe that shit?"
"Goddamn Umbrella... If only Oliveira were still here to see this. 'Give him somethin' else to do than daydream about his bitch, 'know what I mean?"
"I hear ya. Dude's a fucking nutcase."
Spain? Is that where you could be? Is that where Umbrella has taken you?
The doorknob jiggles and Ada immediately stands to her feet. Her swift nature had been robbed from her, as her legs now felt like two bags of sand. Her head throbs violently. It sounds like a tumultuous clammer before she succumbs to the turmoil and falls to the ground.
Sweat seeping down her forehead and her hands shaking, Ada attempts to pull herself up. She grips the corner of the bed frame and pulls her entire body weight. Her stiletto then accidentally kicks something beneath the bed. Looking for identification, Ada finds a plastic case with several cassette tapes inside. As she studies it, the doorknob jiggles once more. After greedily taking hold of it, Ada swiftly takes a few more souvenirs before leaving. The polaroid of you, a flower you molded out of clay, and an opossum plushie nestled on your bed. Then, she is off.
And within the penthouse that feels more like a model house than it does her actual home, Ada sits in her office. Inside the case full of cassettes, dates are written on each tape. Upon closer inspection, there's a sudden halt in activity after October. Almost as if Umbrella has lost interest in you. She prays this is the only reason, that they had released you and let you enjoy a life filled with the happiness you deserve. Thinking of the opposite has her whole body shivering.
Ada takes the cassette player in her desk and pops the earliest tape into place. She was so invested in finding where you had run off to, she had completely disregarded the gut-wrenching effect your voice would have on her. It's so... pretty. Like the first birdcall of Spring, like gentle waves crashing against the shore.
Ada is quick to grasp her control back, shifting her attention to the actual context of your words instead of how badly she wished to hear you whisper in her ear.
The contents of the tape display an audio journal, where you recall every horrid detail of the night that changed your life. You mention Leon Kennedy and Ada rolls her eyes from the annoyance his mere name brings. Six years have passed since she's seen him, or even thought of him, for that matter. But, the irritation that cop was marvelous at triggering still lives on. Of course, he's the first thing you talk about. She's sure he'd be ecstatic knowing this.
You speak about your time working at Mizoil Gas Station. When you trail off about your coworkers, your voice perceptibly drops when you speak of one in particular. With his wandering hands, sultry words, and a compulsion to ignore every 'no' you sent his way, you admit to yourself how good it felt to kill him.
As infuriated as this makes Ada, you then speak her name, and all coherent thoughts are stolen from her. She has to cover her mouth to restrain the sharp gasp that escapes. You do not speak thoroughly of your encounter with her, much to her dismay. Only detailing how she guided you out of the police department and protected you. Still, she revels in the harmonious melody of you speaking of her.
Ada can crawl out of cloud nine when you, unfortunately, move on to the next fraction of that night. To escape the zombies that attacked you and her, you sought protection in the local gun shop. There, you meet someone she was not aware of.
Jill Valentine.
Ada's eyes narrow when you speak of this woman. She can see the obvious signs of her being attracted to you, but you could be none-the-wiser to these affections. Your inability to heed flirtation is adorable if Ada were to be honest.
There's another transition to where you meet another man. Someone who, once again, Ada was unfamiliar with.
Carlos Oliveira.
He, too, showed obvious signs of being attracted to you. Which, once again, flew over your head. Both he and Jill had saved your life numerous times and you expressed this gratitude. To you, it was nothing but a common heroic act from two hardworking cops. Ada, however, read through the lines of their actions the same way she could read a children’s book.
They are in love with you. Hopelessly so. That much is clear.
It should be obvious. This is you we're talking about, after all. As much as she wishes they wouldn't, it is simply impossible to not become irrevocably besotted with you. Even if it were feasible, it would simply be brainless not to wish to spend the rest of forever with you.
The tape whirs as it reaches its ending point. Your story ends with waking up at Fox Park Hospital before being sent to this sanctuary. However, there is nothing that implies where your path has led six years later. There are miscellaneous updates on your physical health and your mental state, but there are zero indications of where you have vanished from.
With you gone and no reliable trace of your disappearance, there are only two potential outcomes of your whereabouts. Either you are still in Umbrella's clutches or those two cops have taken you for themselves. Six years of contemplation and Ada has finally reached a solution. Not a structured one, but a solution, nonetheless.
Find you, ensure your safety, and pray to God she has enough strength to leave you after.
And you, Y/N L/N, are exactly where Ada thought you'd be. However, the circumstances of your whereabouts are far different than what she presumed them to be.
After Dr. Gorkis, the man you had once called your friend, forced you into a state of unconsciousness, you were comatose for an undisclosed amount of time. When you wake, you are perplexed over your foreign environment. Inspecting your surroundings, there is absolutely nothing that can enlighten you of what happened within the dark gap of your memories.
The room you have awoken in is gloomy, accompanied by the cracked lantern protecting you from complete murk. The stone walls surrounding you are riddled with moss and chains. Several shelves stand awkwardly in the corners, where dilapidated books and broken pots all rest on the rickety surface. A rusted plate sits by your feet. A cluster of flies hover over the mashed potatoes hardened from age and the bread overwhelmed with mold.
You search about for any familiar faces, presumably those of Jill and Carlos. This isn't the first time you've been kidnapped, after all. If they were to lurk in the dark depths of this room, it would surely be no surprise. Instead, the area around you is entirely desolate. Nothing but the sound of your bated breath fills the empty space.
Your neck aches, your head throbs, your body trembles — everything has morphed into a permanent hue of misery you do not recognize. In a morbid way, you could almost be grateful for the circumstances you were kidnapped in before. A beautiful sanctuary, then a lavish home, and now this. A cold, decrepit room with no one to comfort you but yourself.
It's almost comical, how much this has happened to you. However, when you bring your hand to your neck to ease the pain and feel the necklace Carlos gifted you, laughter does not escape you. Alternatively, you curl your fingers around the pearls and yank with what little strength is left in your body. You watch with newfound satisfaction as the pieces clatter to the rotten floorboards.
A new beginning; the next chapter. That is what this feels like.
Stumbling over to the decaying door, it whines as you open it steadily. Haphazardly scanning the area for any potential assailants, you find none. Instead, you find a narrow hallway with lit candles hung upon the decaying walls. The light they exude guides you to a large window smeared with dirt and grime. Outside, the heavy downpour of rain neglects your need to identify your current location.
Your vision then abruptly goes black and an unfathomable pain ensnares your head. It leads you to collapse against the wall as you groan out from the abysmal misery. A voice calls out to you from the depths of your mind. A sort of ghastly incantation. A whisper you would only hear in the presence of a nightmare.
"Pursue them..." It taunts, "The lost lamb is escaping. Deliver onto them... Salvation..."
And just as it had begun, it was over. Your vision has cleared, and the ache in your skull has eased. It was all over.
One glance through the filthy window and fear hits you like a punch to your gut. A group of people dressed in ragged clothing make their presence known, all with pitchforks and axes in hand. Their torches guide them as they follow the muddied path. You can only stare in trepidation as they saunter about like hungry predators in search of prey.
When you hear the chains to the front entrance rattle, you turn and race towards your escape. Up the rotten steps of the ladder, the dingy expanse of the attic does not aid you in your efforts to flee. The light at the end of the tunnel is a shattered window, where the harsh weather brings violent rain and wind into the room. Out of the window, a shed riddled with overgrown ivy sits at a nearly-perfect distance beneath. You'd rather break your ankles than get sacrificed, after all.
Ripping the bandaid off, you leap from the ledge and land clumsily. It is a thunderous collision your assailants most certainly heard. With your feet fortunately intact, you leap from the roof of the shed and sprint away from the chaos behind you.
You hear unintelligible shouts, you hear accelerating footsteps, and you hear gunshots echo from afar. Rain feels like glass as it pours down on you. They meld with your tears and sweat. Your feet are cramped in your new, expensive boots. Still, you do not look back. Even with your lungs aching with every step you take, you continue to race forward as far as your legs can take you.
Several more throbbing paces and you find yourself in the center of a village. Dilapidated houses are scattered around the grounds, while large mountains frame the small area. Shifting your gaze forward, you find a rickety signpost. Signs that once read locations had now been overwhelmed with blood. The words 'Los Iluminados' and 'Lord Saddler' were painted in the red matter.
In a fit of enervation, you fall to the dirt. The substance stains your body and clothes, something Jill and Carlos put so much effort into preserving. You feel a sense of trepidation when your thoughts subconsciously drift to those two. Staring down at yourself, you see how every inch of you is still marked in their possession. The scent of Carlos' cologne still clings to his jacket that he draped around you. The shoelaces Jill quadruple-knotted have now been torn, the loose threading dirty and sticking out in awkward directions. Almost as if after all of this turmoil to escape them, their residue was still printed on you.
With air in your lungs after what felt like so long without it, you bring yourself to your feet. You clench your aching abdomen before limping forward. You then ponder over how you'll recount this absurd story to the police.
Then, you're flying.
Something wraps around your waist and yanks. Before you can comprehend it, the ground grows further, further, and further away from you.
With an exclaim of surprise, you land on the flat ledge of a mountain. You don't have a chance to acknowledge the impossible explanation of you defying gravity. Not when your breath gets lodged in your throat when you find the source of the sudden occurrence.
Ada Wong is that very source.
You stare up at her with the same disbelief she possessed. And this sight of you is surely something she will never forget.
The lick of sun in your eyes has never faltered, despite the years of chaos and disarray you’ve endured. The rain speckles across your body and cascades down your flesh, almost as if it was savoring every inch of you it got to touch. Bruises sit like kisses upon your skin; blood is painted on you like a vermillion art piece. Exactly the way it was six years ago.
Ada has found you. And the intensity of the euphoria that follows could be enough to kill a man, she is sure of it.
It is gut-wrenching, how beautifully nostalgic the sight is. This time, however, she will not allow any unwelcome guests to intrude.
Ada returns her grapple gun to the holster and crouches down beside you. A tender, gloved hand finds its way to your waist. It shivers and hovers, terrified of the emotions she'll be unable to control when she makes contact. Terrified of feeling nothing but cold sheets beneath her and waking up from this dream. When her hand does find you, as it always will, a hot chill surges through her body. Ada can hardly gather herself as the revelation settles. You are safe, you are alive, and you are with her again.
The other hand finds your cheek. The dandelion-pressed ring pokes against your skin, a firm reminder of how long this devotion has lived. She can feel the Earth sparkling in her palms with her hands on you; she can feel the warmth of the stars with your flesh against hers. Every bone, every sinew, every vein — everything good the universe have to offer is right beneath her. So, she does what she wished to do before, but was interrupted. What she has dreamt of doing for years, but was not able to do. She does what she has always wanted to do.
Her lips are on yours faster than you could think.
Everything inside her... Melts.
Rain falls like confetti. The frigid temperatures ease from the heat you share together. Every jut and curve of your lips mold perfectly against hers, as if you were made for each other. It robs her breath straight from her lungs, it robs her brain of any coherent function. The thumping of her heart batters in her ears as though it were trying to lunge from her chest with its sheer, rampant speeds. Her hands shiver with fervent need. The lump in her throat remains lodged no matter how much she tries to swallow it. What on Earth are you doing to her?
Your kiss is more soul-crushing than she would like to admit, as pride has always been her most prized possession. And it is all so stupidly cliché that Ada could almost laugh. A kiss in the rain. She never thought she would experience something as tooth-rotting and romantic as this. Still, it succeeds in practically shattering what remains of her moral compass. The suave and collected Ada Wong has been shattered. And the devil on her shoulder begs her to indulge in every last sliver of you she can.
She's a woman of self-control, but you had torn that control straight from her hands and claimed it as yours. She's a woman with tight fists and cruel words, but you have taken every rough edge and filed them down to soft curves.
When you inevitably part, Ada follows the direction your lips go, absolutely desperate for another taste. She is practically inconsolable without your warmth.
"Y/N..." She gasps out your name. It's a silent prayer for more of this, for more of you.
Dark webs of veins then spread among your face like woven spider's silk. It causes your vision to blur and your ears to ring. You wince from the sudden surge of pain and recoil from Ada's touch, something she didn't anticipate being so gutted by. The agony pumps through your veins like a drug; it has you writhing and groaning against the mud. It practically robs you of all your senses, the only comprehensible thing being the torture inflicted upon your feeble body.
Ada is then forcefully brought to reality where she is cruelly reminded of how this is not real. She cannot have you and you were never meant to be hers. No matter how badly she wishes you could be.
When you turn over, clutching your stomach in pain, she places her hand on your shoulder. Your eyebrows scrunched in confused pain, face wet from the pouring rain, lips sheen from her lip gloss. You are beautiful in the most devastating way. The sight bursts her heart open as if someone has nestled a bomb in her chest cavity. But, how she feels in this moment is not important. The one thing she has torn herself apart to prevent is now happening. You are hurting.
"What- What's happening to me!?" You cry out, a chunk of blood splattering from your mouth when you cough.
"Y/N... My petal...!" Ada's thumb rubs soothing circles on your arm while her cheek rests against the same surface. She clutches onto you like you're her lifeline, her last sliver of hope.
A voice interrupts. "Ada! I've been looking everywhere for-"
Ada rips her gun from its holster and points it at the intruder in fervent speed. She is terrified of being torn away from you like she was several years ago, she cannot let it happen again.
Luis Sera puts his hands up in defense, eyes blown wide in shock from her sudden shift in nature. In one hand of his is a dirtied white box with tape sloppily wrapped around the frame. He shakes it timidly, diverting her attention to what is most important about their agreement. Cure Ada of the infection and she'll let him take a seat on her helicopter.
Her stance does not halter, however. Instead, she throws yet another demand his way.
"Cure them." She orders. A perceptible tinge of despair is present in her tone.
When he remains frozen, Ada steps closer and presses the barrel of her gun directly to his forehead.
"Cure them or you know what happens." Her stare is violent. Her disposition is terrifying. There is nothing but the honest, undying truth with every syllable she speaks.
"I- But, our deal-?"
A gunshot echoes.
Deafening. Heart-stopping. The sound is accompanied by the harsh thump of Luis' dead body. Horrifying.
Ada takes the box from his limp grasp. She flips his deceased body over and steals the sample of Amber doused in blood, shoving it into her pocket. Using her sharp nails and an impromptu knife, she then slices the tape from the box. Once she hastily takes the syringe from its plastic enclosure, she rushes over to you.
Her behavior endures an abrupt shift when she crouches at your side. From a blood-thirsty monster to a fluffy-winged angel, Ada caresses your skin as if it were fine silk. You whimper as you float in and out of consciousness. You are so inert, in fact, you do not feel the intrusion of a needle and the anecdote seeping through your bloodstream. Ada comforts you through this entire process. Caresses to your flesh, kisses to your skin — she does it all terrified of it being the last time she ever touches you.
With the key to Luis' laboratory, she knows what her next course of action is. What she originally anticipated to be a quick check-up on your well-being had manifested into awakening her deep, irreparable fervor for you. But, she cannot let her measly emotions blind her to what is most important. You and only you.
She will stay, cure you, and pray to God once more that she has enough strength to leave you after.
And it kills her more than she ever thought it would.
When you wake, you find a blinding, fluorescent light hanging above your head. Cold metal and jagged leather nestles into your skin. The tapping of keyboards and technology humming fills the silence. You could almost roll your eyes if it weren't for the confusion overruling all. Have you been kidnapped again?
Attempting to gain mobility and move your body was entirely fruitless. Instead, a weak whine is all you can conjure. The frail sound is immediately met with the affections of someone else in the room.
Even in these circumstances — the grungy expanse of Luis' lab and Ada's dead parasite on the ground — she has never felt such euphoria. The severity of these feelings terrifies her, but she cannot help but fall into the emotions like a child would jump into a swimming pool. To be with you, there is nothing she could ever want more. But, as she has firmly stated numerous times, she cannot be selfish with you. No matter how badly she wishes to do such.
"Everything is going to be alright, petal. I won't let anything happen to you... Never again..." Another kiss is pressed upon your forehead. Ada's lip gloss stirs with the icy sweat beaming on your flesh.
One tap to the computer and the machinery whirs to life. Three lasers then protrude into you and begin to eradicate the Las Plagas inside of your body.
A horrible, gut-wrenching scream evades the room. Agony hits you like a tidal wave. You shout, you wail, you sob. You are in such horrendous pain, it is impossible to keep quiet. Your relentless squirming to escape the source of such misery was futile, as the restraints around your wrists keep you compliant and subject to this torment. Reassurances of "I'm here, petal" fail to conquer the sheer volume of your cries. Ada takes your hand, peppering kisses and nuzzles upon any surface of skin she can reach. Soul-crushing dread satiates her body upon seeing you in such pain. It is hurting her more than it is hurting you.
How could she have been so ignorant? How could she have let your suffering get to this point?
How could she have possibly lived every day oblivious to your well-being? How can she live with herself now knowing she had so carelessly neglected you?
How can she possibly live without you?
And as fast as it started, it was all over. The hum of the machinery silences. A vibrant "SUCCESS" flashes on the computer screen. Ease envelops your body like a warm blanket and for the umpteenth time that day, you doze off. It's a slumber like never before, where the sheer exhaustion derived from the most eventful 24 hours of your life has finally boiled over.
You now lay there. Lifeless.
"Y-... Y/N...?" Ada's voice barely surfaces above a whisper.
The death grip you had on her hand weakened and Ada never anticipated the sheer terror it would make her feel. The fear is a heavy weight on her chest, a tremor in her body. Something wet cascades down her cheeks. With skepticism, she brings her gloved hand to her face to identify the strange substance.
She's... crying?
Ada can't remember the last time she had cried. Her entire life she has powered through any turmoil with her chin held high and a stone-cold soul. Never was she allowed to feel, hence the secure control she has over herself. Now, however, the emotions escape through her facade the way a gunshot wound bleeds through a dirty bandaid.
Your flesh is cold, your body is painfully still. Ada can not bring herself to consider the conclusion that pokes and prods at her mind. Where the big heart she fell in love with stops beating. Where the eyes she'd give her life to gazes in forever loses their light. Where the only good thing this disgusting world has to offer is taken away.
Where she loses hold of the only happiness she has ever felt.
The clinical logic that had always benefited her has now become her worst enemy. Ada scans your body from head to toe, desperate for even the smallest sliver of life. More gasps of your name pervade the room, as well as the gentle, yet desperate nudges to your body in hopes of waking you from your slumber.
Ensuring you are safe, happy, and far away from the dangers within her own life has become her only purpose. Without you, Ada is now lost within the whorls of her empty, dreary world.
The woman is full-on weeping now. It had been so long, she had forgotten what it felt like to cry altogether. Her face twists with every ugly sob parting from her mouth. Her form convulses with each uncontrollable cry protruding out of her chest. Ada has become a mess of snot and tears, surely a sight the old version of her would be revolted by.
A cough fills the lonely silence. And the groggy sound could rival an angel's symphony with its raw beauty.
Alive.
You are alive.
"Hey, you did it...!" You manage to wheeze out upon seeing your status on the computer screen, voice dazed and crooked.
A smile, albeit a weak one, breaks out on your face and Ada swears she has not ever seen a sight so breathtaking. Her hands cling to your face, searching every inch to ensure she hasn't lost the only thing she could ever love. And then, she smiles. Ada smiles like she never has before; Ada smiles like she has never known pain. It is nearly deranged, how blinding and exhilarating the emotions on her face are.
She speaks before her brain can compute the consequences of her next actions.
"I love you."
The three words are spoken with such acute clarity, it is difficult to not be completely entranced by them. Ada's eyes are blown wide as her gaze sinks into yours. Her body trembles from the irrepressible fear mixed with relief coursing through her. For the first time in (quite literally) forever, she is telling the pure, unadulterated truth. However, your lack of reciprocation causes Ada's logic to fully take control of her mind. You do not love her. And as impossible as it is, she must force herself to not love you. But God, you do not make it easy.
"I-I mean- Did you have any doubt, petal? I should be offended you think so low of me. But, with those eyes, how could I be?" The tremble in her voice jeopardizes her attempt at swiftly building vanity.
You don't respond to her, you can't respond. All you can think about is how you nearly died and how Jill and Carlos will surely slit her throat for what she has done.
Ada glances down at the ring on her finger, the very thing that has held her over these past six years. It is almost humiliating to wear it. To know its existence is because of her inability to move on from this stupid crush that has somehow harbored full control of her life. Then again, Ada cannot bear to ever part from it. The thought makes her queasy, like a boat swaying against harsh waves of melancholic uncertainty. To toss the ring overboard would mean completely succumbing to the force of the sea, to drown in the heavy mass of her feelings. Cursed for eternity with stagnant sorrow.
And even though the truth strikes like a knife, Ada must commit to the plan she originally formed. Bring you to safety and pray to God once again that she has enough strength to leave you after.
"Three times..." You whisper to yourself in disbelief, your voice a ghost that Ada can hardly decipher.
With furrowed brows and a quiet hum of question, she beckons you to continue.
"Only six years and I have managed to get kidnapped not once, not twice, but three times. That's gotta earn me a place in Guinness, right?"
She reads through your attempt at masking your prevailing emotions with humor. That playful attitude, how deeply she loves it. And how devastatingly difficult it is for her to fall out of love with it. In these circumstances, when your lively demeanor is used to shield yourself from pain, it quickly festers into something she despises.
Even through everything that has happened, you are still playful. Cracking jokes, making comical jests. Just like you did all those years ago. Ada could almost be angry at you for this, for making her fall so clumsily in love with you. Almost.
"First, it was Umbrella. They had never hurt me, so I never felt they deserved the title of "kidnappers," but I guess my naivety is what got me into this shit in the first place."
This 'naivety' you speak so poorly of is mistaken for the honest warmth of your heart. You have this beautiful ability to find positivity, light, and kindness in the ugly world. Yet again, another reason why it is impossible for her to untangle you from her heartstrings. She does not speak of this, however. She is afriad of vomiting out every syllable of adoration her voice could muster.
"Then, it was..."
You hesitate, a subtlety Ada does not overlook.
"Jill and Carlos." Their names sit like rotten fruit on your tongue.
You cringe upon imagining how those two would surely react to you now, fawning over your current state as if you're some baby lamb. They nearly have a breakdown from something as mere as a paper cut, you cannot imagine the absolute warfare they'd induce upon seeing you now. Beaten, bloodied, and your organs practically on fire from the laser-induced torture they had just endured. Though, it feels strangely good to be able to breathe without them.
"A little over six months is how long they kept me. Again, they never hurt me, so it feels wrong of me to call them "kidnappers"... When I think too hard about it, I know it is what they are, I just never wanted to admit it. God, they took my freedom like it was pocket change!"
The sneer you hold has nothing against the absolute fury stretched among Ada's face.
"In the end, I escaped. I-I didn't know where I intended to go or what my plan was, but now I really, really don't know what to do..."
To make matters worse, you curl into yourself and begin to cry. It kills her to do such, but she must hold herself back, as giving you comfort would only add fuel to the fire that is her devotion to you. And to refrain from scooping you in her arms is practically killing her. To not be able to touch and comfort you, Ada knows that this is the universe testing her. No, torturing her. Every mistake, every flaw, every selfish deed — this is the karma that caught up to her after a lifetime of running from its inevitability.
"And I'm just so scared. I know they're gonna find me again and I won't be able to escape them. I'll never be free. I'll be running forever until I either submit to them o-or die!"
A beat passes when another unwelcome, unruly sob escapes your throat. The sheer calamity of this day had prevented you from processing these events. Now, the exhaustion and anguish are too much for you to bottle up.
"Oh, petal..." As you cry, Ada's long acrylics dig into the meat of her palm.
She refrains from caressing the warm skin of your shoulder. She holds herself back from pressing another tender kiss to your forehead. To prevent herself from doing such feels like suffocating. As if the heavy mass of her burning desires became physical matter and were now crushing her.
"Ada, I can't thank you enough for all you have done for me." Your gratitude is certainly not taken for granted, as every pretty word falls from your mouth and directly into the mosaic of her heart.
She cannot be in love with you anymore. She can't, she can't, she can't.
"I'm sorry for being so selfish, but please..." With helpless desperation in your eyes, you plead as though your words do not make her absolutely weak.
She must stay strong, she must complete her plan. Find you, ensure your safety, and pray to God she has enough strength to leave you after.
"Don't leave me..."
Welp, there goes that plan.
She would slaughter every soul before she'd admit it to herself, but turning her back on it has now done more harm than good.
You make her soft.
Needy.
Hungry.
You have rendered her to the same disposition of an animal, entirely feral for any chunk of you she can sink her teeth into.
"I'm right here, petal... I'm not going anywhere."
Ada Wong has let go. And you are oblivious to the consequences of this.
The resistance she once had has now faded. For six years, these tree roots have coiled around her limbs, keeping her restrained within the suffocating soil. Today, they have untangled themselves. Ada surfaces the thick dirt to find Spring in its most genuine, vulnerable time. Bunnies chase through the blossoming flowers. Trees dance with the gentle breeze. Fresh rivers flow through the bright forest. The war has ended; the torture is over.
You are at her side and there is nothing Ada could ever want more.
When she guides you out of the laboratory, she informs you of the helicopter that will soon arrive. If you weren't seconds away from succumbing to exhaustion, you'd notice the terrifying, devoted undertones beneath her structured facade. There is a man and a woman you have seen this behavior in too well, after all. However, Ada's ability to maintain herself differs from Jill and Carlos' messy aptitude.
She says your name, beckoning you to follow her. Y/N. It feels so good to say it, to have the sugary word on her tongue. It feels so good to speak it into the air and watch those eyes gaze at her with wonder, the same wonder she has fallen so hopelessly in love with. The bliss that follows after you should be considered a crime with the sheer effect it has on her. Then again, Ada was never one to follow the rules.
The two of you both race through the many twists and turns that scatter the island. Shipping containers, cargo lifts, and barrels splattered with yellow paint, you and Ada dodge the obstacles in your path. And still, she protects you with her life. Just as she had wholly promised.
Back in Raccoon City, she had lost control. She cannot afford to lose that control again, not when losing you is a possibility. Her mindless infatuation had already thrust you into danger, she would die if she let it happen once more.
With burning lungs and weak legs, you both finally arrive at the loading docks. Ada doesn't break a sweat as she tells you the helicopter will be arriving shortly. You collapse onto a pile of brown, paper sacks, now finally given a moment of rest after so many exhausting hours without it. You could nearly cry with relief.
The creak and whine of footsteps against the thin metal floors pervade the air.
A voice speaks.
"Y/N...!?"
You both look to identify the voice.
Your stomach sinks like an anchor at sea.
Leon Kennedy.
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⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ
THE BONUS TRACK !
❝ I CARE FOR YOU STILL
AND I WILL FOREVER . . . ❞
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this is what i imaged ada's flower-pressed ring to look like. and this is what i imagined the teddy bear necklace carlos gave reader looks like.
gif creds :: ada.
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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago
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Writing Notes: Body Language
Body language - involves communication provided through nonverbal channels. This includes posture, facial expressions, eye movement/contact, proximity to others, and physical movements (Pease, 2017).
Body Language vs. Nonverbal Communication
Nonverbal communication - includes all forms of communicative acts except speech.
Body language - a type of nonverbal communication. It lies under the umbrella of nonverbal communication, which encompasses a broader scope of communication (Milton & Randall, 2022).
One way to differentiate between the two is to think about body language as all the nonverbal communication that can be seen (Milton & Randall, 2022).
Nonverbal communication that is not considered body language (or cannot be seen) includes repetition of words or statements, vocal characteristics of speech such as tone and volume, and sounds that might not be considered words such as “hmm” and “uh-huh.”
Some types of body language include:
Facial expressions. The face is an extremely expressive form of body language, with the ability to communicate numerous emotions without a single word. From anger to anxiety, fear to grief, embarrassment to disgust, facial expressions are one form of nonverbal communication that is considered universal across cultures and species (Keltner, 2009).
Gestures. Hand, arm, and body gestures are part of daily life. So much so that now in video calls or online meetings, a hand gesture or arm movement can simulate a thumbs-up or heart emoji. Gestures can be positive, such as an “OK” signal, or negative. Gestures are largely cultural and may express different meanings depending on geography and ethnicity.
Posture. How an individual moves and holds themselves communicates information in subtle and powerful ways. Posture includes how someone sits, holds their head, stands, walks, and engages their physical stance.
Eye contact. Our visual sense is especially important in nonverbal communication. The way we look at others can communicate many things and help to improve or detract from the flow of conversation. Eye contact can convey affection, anger, attraction, and interest, among other things.
Physical touch. Physical touch is a powerful form of body language and nonverbal communication. From hugs to handshakes, touch demonstrates a variety of messages. Touch is also a very personal way to express interest, emotion, and engagement with others and can be received well or create discomfort and tension.
Personal space. Physical space in interactions is also a very personal aspect of body language. Our need for or comfort with it depends a great deal on culture, the specific relationship, personal preferences, past experience, and the given situation. Understanding other people’s boundaries is an important component of assessing the need for personal space.
As more interpersonal communication becomes virtual, it is important to be aware of how body language is portrayed on a screen. Some ideas to consider in virtual sessions include:
Make sure lighting is sufficient so clients and/or members can see facial expressions and pick up on body movement.
Be aware of posture. It is easy to get too comfortable behind a screen and hunch over. Have good support when sitting, staying upright and attentive.
Maintain healthy eye contact. It may be beneficial to shift between looking at the screen and looking directly at the camera to avoid uncomfortable stares.
Avoid touching the face and head too much, as this conveys insecurity and can be a distraction.
Smile and use warm facial gestures, as the face is the main thing people see in virtual meetings.
Use hand gestures. This will require the computer or recording device to be placed far enough away to capture some of the upper body.
Cultural differences in body language exist. Below are samples that have been observed. It is not an extensive list of all cultural differences in body language, but it demonstrates that ongoing education and awareness are important when working with others in personal and professional settings.
Hand gestures. A thumbs-up in Western cultures is a signal of “OK,” but in the Middle East it is a sign of “up yours.” Similarly, curling the index finger (a sign to move closer) is considered impolite and rude in areas such as China and the Philippines (Cortez et al., 2017).
Eye contact. Most Western countries view eye contact as a sign of confidence and interest. In many Middle Eastern countries, eye contact between sexes is deemed inappropriate, and in some Asian cultures, unbroken eye contact is seen as aggressive and confrontational (Cortez et al., 2017).
Touch. Northern Europe and Far East cultures engage in very little physical contact or touch, where physical touch is a large part of socializing in the Middle East and Latin America (Cortez et al., 2017).
Seated positions. In Japan, sitting cross-legged is a sign of disrespect, and showing the soles of the feet is offensive in Middle Eastern countries (Cortez et al., 2017).
Interpreting Body Language
Argyle (1978) was one of the first modern researchers to study nonverbal communication and believed that humans have more than 700,000 forms of body language. Some specific areas to note for interpreting body language include paying attention to the head, face, eyes, arms, and hands.
Head. Nodding when another person is speaking is a sign that you are focused and listening. It can demonstrate that you agree with or acknowledge what is being said and validate opinions. Tilting the head to one side is also a sign of attentive listening and respect. Both of these are considered positive gestures in conversation. A lowered head or head back with a rigid neck is a sign of a negative attitude, criticism, denial, or rejection. When someone is supporting their head with their hands, this is a sign of boredom and disinterest. And angling the chin upward is a sign of arrogance and dominance (Danesi, 2022).
Face. As most people know, smiling is an open, approachable facial gesture that indicates warmth and interest. On the other hand, frowning is a sign of anger, disinterest, or disagreement with what is being communicated. Raising the eyebrows is a sign of surprise, and raising a single eyebrow tends to be an expression of disbelief. Pursed lips tend to demonstrate anger, sorrow, or a lack of acceptance, depending on the situation (Danesi, 2022).
Eyes. It is often said that the eyes are the window to the soul. Eye contact is the basis for understanding in conversation. When eye contact is avoided, it may demonstrate discomfort, uncertainty, or shyness, or signal that the person has something to hide. When someone’s eyes are narrowed, it could indicate anger. Briefly closing the eyes and quickly opening them again is called confirmatory blinking and can indicate confirmation or approval of another person (Danesi, 2022). Narrowing the eyes can mean several things, such as confusion or a need for more information. It may also indicate concentration or anger. It is also important to notice the pupils. Dilated pupils can demonstrate interest and attraction, while widening the eyes can signal surprise or excitement.
Arms and hands. Upper body postures consist largely of the arms and hands, which are the most mobile and prominent demonstrations of body language. Crossing the arms is a way for someone to create distance and demonstrates a negative attitude (Danesi, 2022). When arms are crossed and the individual is gripping their upper arms, this signals tension and discomfort. Arms crossed with balled fists are also negative body language but signal aggression and anger. Putting hands on the hips can be a sign of aggression or dominance. Putting hands in pockets signals a lack of engagement and defensiveness (Danesi, 2022).
General Tips on Interpreting Body Language
In general, self-confident people frequently look at their reflection in mirrors or windows and place themselves in a position to be the center of discussion. People demonstrate confidence through large gestures, big postures, self-assured smiles, firm handshakes, and steady eye contact. Embarrassment, insecurity, and low confidence are seen through nervous laughter, avoidance of eye contact, turning away, and avoidance (Mandal, 2014).
Nonverbal cues of fear can be seen with wide eyes, clutching, and gripping. Holding the breath, glancing around, and placing hands in front of the body is also a sign of fear (Mandal, 2014).
People demonstrate resentment with crossed arms, a stiffened body, hunched shoulders, and low vocal tone (Mandal, 2014).
Sexual interest and attraction can be seen through eye contact, exaggerated facial gestures, blinking, wetting the lips, touching the body, or crossing and uncrossing legs (Mandal, 2014).
Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs
Hand Movements ⚜ Common Gestures ⚜ Facial Expressions
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wilwheaton · 9 months ago
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Although members of the GOP still refer to themselves as a political party with principled stances, the reality is they have now morphed into a domestic terror organization and to use the umbrella term, a cult – the largest and most dangerous cult in American history. Cult thinking includes ardent adherence to group thinking such as – clinically speaking, in the face of distorted thinking we ask about one’s strength of conviction by querying, ”Can you think of other ways of seeing this?” Sadly, what we are seeing publicly is ‘No’ from those who still subscribe to Trumpism/MAGA.
We're watching the largest and most dangerous 'cult' in American history
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race-to-spac3 · 2 months ago
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Steb x Avian! Reader
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Headcanons for an Avian! Reader (technically Vastaya? idk)
Content: Gn Reader, Reader’s an enforcer, like 2 really lazy bird puns if you squint, 
Pre-relationship:
From grand wings wide and long, to tiny ones that fold neatly against your back– clothes compatible with them are far and few in between– much less the standardized uniform of the enforcers.
The time and effort it took to get a special request to custom tailor your shirt and jacket wasn’t worth the trouble, moreso considering being an enforcer wasn’t exactly something you cared too much about. 
Though you had to admit it was a decent enough job so you decided to stick with it anyways, and luckily you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have met your favorite person.
You hardly fight the way your feather-tipped ears would perk up at the sight of him, not bothering to hide the toothy grin that overcomes your face as you bound over to greet him at the beginning of your shared patrols.
Since you didn't particularly put too much care in your stance as an enforcer, you tended to get into mischief often, and to your surprise– Steb was too– though you still don't get the sentiment considering his poise and respectability.
Something you two quickly find to appreciate about the other is yalls ability to turn your professionalism on and off like a switch, escaping the trouble of getting caught because of it. You two are quite the pair of clever rascals, your sly tricks flying over the heads of those none the wiser.
The bird and the fish, the sea and sky.
Whether your wings are colorful and intricate or monotone and basic doesn’t change how Steb will take any chance to get a good look at your feathers. His studying gaze matches your own that trails the streaks of dark cyan along his face.
While you weren’t exactly trained in any medical work, you proved to be perfect when needing a steady hand, well articulated and precise from having to learn how to navigate your sharp talons carefully. 
So anytime he needs a second pair of hands, you’re the first person he asks. An honorary assistant, you like to jokingly call yourself, though he makes no effort to comment otherwise.
Sometimes when you’re on break and sitting next to each other you’ll splay your wings in a stretch, purposely flitting a few feathers to mess with his hair on the chance that his helmet is off.
He’ll scrunch his nose and flick your feathers out of the way in an equally playful manner.
While standing guard at a post, the moment it starts raining you’ll wordlessly unfurl your wing and use it as an umbrella for him, he’ll try to deny or stop you but you ignore him with persistence.
In an established relationship:
Mornings you have off are necessary lazy times.
Steb doesn’t have to admit how much he adores these times with you, you can tell by the way he’ll soothingly slide his nails across the keratin shaft of each feather, smoothing out all your plumage with such a gentleness it makes your heart soar.
Steb is oftentimes a busy man, preferring schedules and management to handle his daily life with the sole exception being you of course. Even when his attention is drawn elsewhere, he’ll notice that your wings have been a little neglected lately (not to say that they’re shabby no– far from it, it’s just that he has the eyes of a hawk)
Then when you least expect it,  also being caught up in work, he'll pull you away from the stress, making you sit down at the edge of your bed and rest when you’re finally home, not letting you delve back into paperwork or the likes. ”Doctors orders” Steb signs, giving you his signature look that makes you slump in your place, half-heartedly defeated as you watch him settle beside you.
Steb opens his arms out invitingly, letting you tug him down and drape yourself across him. making sure you’re as comfortable as possible before he adjusts himself to be propped up against a pillow, giving him a clear view of your wings before he gets to work.
He’ll preen your wings with such tenderness, even if you insist that he doesn’t have to, Steb will shut you up with a series of light kisses, making you relent to his care.
A/N: throws this and runs away– 
Very short I know, but I just wanted to get something out there cause I been neglecting my writing already 
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moonstruckme · 1 year ago
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Steve x black cat! reader pls. I feel this paring is always necessary 😌
Thanks for requesting!
Steve Harrington x black cat!reader ♡ 625 words
You glower at your boyfriend through the dark lens of your sunglasses. “Don’t come near me with that.” 
Steve smiles cajolingly, approaching with the sunscreen nonetheless. “C’mon, babe, you didn’t come out here just to sit under this umbrella all day.” 
“You know I did.” You dart your stare pointedly to where the pale rocks are growing little puddles of lake water underneath his feet. “If you come over here and drip on my book—” 
“Put the book away,” he coaxes. And he’s convincing, all shiny skin and even shinier smile and his pretty hair stuck damply to his forehead and the back of his neck. One tiny strand curls inward over the curve of his cheekbone, and you want terribly to slick it back in with the others but any affectionate gesture right now would feel too close to giving in. “Lemme put some sunscreen on you so you can come swim with the rest of us.” 
“I’m fine here.” 
“It’s really nice out there.” Steve sits down next to you like a mirror image, his hands by your feet and his feet next to your butt. “The lake’s not too cold or anything, you might like it.” 
You suck your teeth. “I’m just trying to enjoy my book, Steve.” 
He angles his head. “What, you don’t want to spend time with me?” 
You angle your head right back, deadpan. “Don’t.” 
“You know, Max really loves you,” he says, squirting a dollop of sunscreen into his hand and starting to smooth it up your calf. You wrinkle your nose at the smell. “She thinks you’re the coolest. Beats me why, but it’d probably make her week if you went out there.” You’re quiet, and he goes on, encouraged. He works the sunscreen over your knee, hands chaste and purposeful as they run the length of your thigh. “Plus, you know, you can read your book anytime, but these warm days are only gonna last so long before it’s freezing and snowy outside again.” 
“I like when it’s freezing and snowy,” you say, setting your book down on top of your bag before one of you gets sunscreen on it.
“I know, but you won’t be getting the gun show when I’m all hidden under ten layers, y’know?” 
Steve raises his eyebrows at you, and you look away from him, biting down on your smile. You feel more than see your boyfriend’s answering grin, spreading like a blight over his pretty face. He starts on your other leg. 
“And if you come hang out, I’ve got an ice cream sandwich in the cooler with your name on it.” He brushes his thumb over the side of your knee sweetly. “Been saving it for you.” 
You soften. A bit. “You could bring it to me here,” you point out. 
Steve shakes his head, frowning as if he really doesn’t know who’s making these rules and wishes he could change them for you. “Can’t, sorry. Frozen treats are only for those of us out there braving the sun.” 
You cross your arms. “You make it sound so pleasant.” 
He takes one of your arms in his hands, disentangling your defensive stance to continue slathering you in sunscreen. “It’s really not bad,” he says. “Between the ice cream and the cool water, you can pretend it’s winter if you want.” 
“Steve!” You both look out towards the lake, and Robin is waving him over. “Stop flirting with your girlfriend and come back here. We need more people to play chicken!” 
Steve gives you a pleading look. 
“I’m not getting wet,” you tell him firmly. 
He grins and takes your hand, lotion-slicked palm sliding against your own as he pulls you up. “You won’t on my team, don’t worry.”
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