#so i had to draw leon drowning

[phoenixmetaphor]

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based on @thebrandywine ‘s [pull me under]

unglazed @ ao3 (requires login)

[luvrgreyy]

FRUITS OF THE FLESH.

widow!reader x priest!leon

word count: 3.4k summary: a man reaps what he sows. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. catholicism, religious connotations, no specific time frame but i’d like to say victorian era-ish, alot of allusions to the lord or god, reader’s dead husband idk, inner conflict, denial, guilt, leon asking for forgiveness like a hundred times, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex.

a/n: started this like two months ago, just had the motivation to finally finish. i don’t really know how i feel about my writing on this one… i feel like i’ve lost all my skills after not writing for a few weeks

grief is truly a horrible thing. an all-consuming force that threatens to eat you from the inside out.

it’s a shadow that lingers, a specter that moves silently but persistently, weaving itself into the fabric of every moment. it does not announce its presence with fanfare, nor does it depart when you will it to. instead, it creeps, slow and steady, like the cold wind before a storm, pressing against your chest until breathing feels like a sin.

grief is not a feeling; it is a presence. it is a weight, heavy and suffocating, as if drowning in a dark, endless sea. the surface is so far above, unreachable, and the water presses in from all sides, choking the breath from your lungs. there’s simply no escaping it. eve when you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, it finds you there too.

grief is a thief that takes more than just what you’ve lost—it takes time, peace, and clarity. it takes pieces of you.

and ever since your husband’s death, you’ve been trying to pick those pieces back up. but they slip through your fingers like sand, scattering in the wind, impossible to gather in their entirety. every attempt to rebuild feels futile, as though you’re trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts, the picture never quite forming the way it once did.

the room is relatively empty, save for a few devout attenders who are spread out in their pews. the priest stands on the altar, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his features as he continues the mass. it’s a somewhat traditional ceremony, filled with prayers and rituals that you’d grown accustomed to.

the priest stands before the small congregation, the words of the mass flowing effortlessly from his lips.

you sit near the back, hands folded tightly in your lap. the rhythmic cadence of the priest’s voice, the latin prayers echoing in the cavernous space, should bring you some semblance of peace, but it doesn’t. it feels distant, as though you’re watching the service through a veil, separated from the others.

the priest's voice drones on, a familiar melody that fails to soothe the ragged edges of your heart. you feel like an outsider, a stranger among the devoted faithful. even the rituals that once brought comfort now seem hollow, the prayers falling flat against the weight of your sorrow.

as the mass draws to a close, the priest's eyes meet yours, his gaze piercing and knowing. for a moment, you feel like an animal trapped in his sights, vulnerable and exposed.

the priest's gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary as he processes the end of the mass. the small congregation begins to file out of the pew, murmuring gentle blessings and well-wishes to one another. he watches them go, his eyes lingering on each face, before turning to face you once more.

the nave slowly empties, leaving only a handful of devotees behind, including yourself. he remains at the altar, hands folded in quiet contemplation. the soft rustle of the evening breeze carries the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a melancholy reminder of the passing seasons.

"you stayed behind," leon observes, his voice a gentle whisper.

"is there something on your mind, my child?" he approaches you slowly, his large frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor.

“no, father, everything’s fine," you lie through your teeth, your voice barely a whisper.

"is all well?" there's a pause, and in it, you sense an invitation to share your burdens, to unburden yourself to this man of the cloth. but the words stick in your throat, tangled around the aching void your husband left.

what could you possibly say? what good would it do? the priest's eyes search yours, his face etched with compassion. then, he nods, as if he understands the futility of words.

he accepts your silence, his gaze softening with understanding. in this sacred space, he knows better than to pry, to force confessions or unburdenings. instead, he allows you the solitude you crave, the quiet contemplation you so desperately need.

the silence between you stretches on, a fragile truce that exists solely in this sacred space. it's a comfort, of sorts, to have this shared quiet, a reminder that even in the depths of your grief, there are still moments of solace to be found.

"i'll leave you be for now," leon says eventually, his voice a gentle murmur that breaks the spell.

"thank you, father." he nods, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he takes his leave, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the hallowed space.

eventually, you rise, stretching your stiff limbs. the cool stone beneath your feet is a jarring contrast to the warmth of the pew. making your way to the front of the church, you light a candle, your fingers brushing against the smooth glass as you set it upon the altar. the flame flickers to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the surrounding statues.

you linger a moment longer, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, before making your way out.

the church is bathed in an eerie, moonlit glow when you return late that night. the candle you lit earlier still burns, its flame a slowly dying down.

you move with a quiet reverence, your footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting as you make your way to the front row of pews. you've come seeking answers, but none present themselves as you approach the altar. the statue of the crucified christ looms above, his suffering face a poignant reminder of the pain that accompanies loss.

the shadows cast by the statues seem to deepen and twist, taking on a life of their own in the dim light. a shiver runs down your spine, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. something feels off, a discordant note that you can't quite place.

you pray, hoping it’ll all go away, but unease persists.

it's subtle at first, a whispered thought on the edge of your consciousness. but the longer you have your back turned, the more you feel as if someone is behind you. but you don’t dare look.

not until it speaks.

“what are you doing here, my child?," you hear him say softly, his voice carrying a note of gentle warning. "you shouldn't be here this late."

his words send a chill down your spine, the softness of his tone at odds with the tension emanating from him. you slowly turn around, your heart pounding in your chest. leon stands just behind your seat, his silhouette large and imposing against the blackness outside. his eyes glint in the candlelight, a predatory keenness that makes your blood run cold.

"father," you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. "i... i just felt the need to pray," he takes a step closer, his footsteps deliberate and heavy.

"at this hour? prayers can wait till morning. you shouldn't be here, not alone, not now.”

“but, why?” you ask, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “does the church not allow visitors at any time?”

guilt pricks at his heart, a sharp pang of conscience that he's not entirely sure he wants to acknowledge. “no, of course not. the church doors are always open. but this is late, and you're alone... it's just not safe,” his tone is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of something else - a hunger he's trying his damnedest to suppress.

“is that really the reason, father?”

guilt gnaws at him, a growing sense of unease that he can't quite shake. "of course, that's the only reason," he lies, his voice wavering slightly. but the truth lingers in the air, a palpable tension that he can't seem to dissipate.

he takes a step closer, drawn to you like a moth to flame despite his better judgment. "perhaps... perhaps i misjudged. the church's doors are always open, for the faithful and the lost alike," his eyes roam over your face, drinking in the curves of your features, the softness of your skin in the candlelight. “especially to you.”

a low groan escapes him, half-desire, half-anguish. "forgive me, child. i should not be saying these things,”

“no, wait—“ you softly reach for his arm.

he freezes at the touch, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers make contact with his arm. the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling like sand beneath the tide.

"don't," he whispers, his voice rough with strain. "please, don't." but even as the words leave his lips, he can't bring himself to pull away, to sever the connection between you.

“but i haven’t done anything, father,”

"you've done plenty, my child," he murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of longing and self-loathing. "just by being here, by existing... you've awakened desires i thought long buried." leon's breathing grows ragged, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

he steps closer still, the heat of his body radiating towards you like a physical manifestation of his turmoil. "i am a man, not a saint," his confession hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his forbidden attraction.

“and…” he shakes his head, a bitter struggle that leaves him weak-kneed and aching. "i should send you home," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cover yours, to hold it in place. "before we both regret this.”

“no, please don’t push me away, father,” you plead.

his eyes flicker closed, as if in supplication to some higher power, as the admission spills from his lips: "i'm sorry, child. so very sorry for what i am about to do.”

his body crowds yours, crushing the air from your lungs with the sheer force of his need. his mouth descends, claiming yours in a bruising kiss that sets your very soul ablaze. the world narrows to the taste of him — smoke, spice, and something uniquely his own.

it's overwhelming, consuming, and yet, somehow, it's the most natural thing in the world.

and when you end up pushed up against his office desk, the wood cold and unforgiving against your back, you know things have gone irrevocably awry. his hands, so recently devoted to guiding prayer, now roam the curves of your body with a reverence bordering on the religious.

your lips part on a gasp, allowing him greater access, and he seizes the invitation with a fervor that leaves you breathless. large hands roam your body, mapping the contours of your frame with a desperation that belies his years of discipline. he breaks the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, the rapid beating of your pulse point a siren's call he's powerless to resist.

he's shaking, the tremors starting deep within, spreading outward through his muscles like ripples on a pond's surface.

"forgive me, lord," he whispers to himself, as if seeking divine absolution from the sin that he’s about to commit. but even as the plea leaves his lips, he doesn't let go. instead, he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your knuckles.

then he's on his knees in front of you, hands grasping at the hem of your dress. the fabric rustles as he pushes it upward, baring your thighs to his hungry gaze. his breath is heavy, face mere inches from your center.

"tell me to stop," he pleads, his voice a ragged whisper. "command me to sin no more, and i will obey.”

for a moment, he teeters on the brink, the line between devotion and lust blurring until it's nearly indistinguishable. "please," leon's eyes lock onto yours, searching for the strength to resist, to obey his vows. but what he finds there is surrender, a silent plea that sends his resolve crumbling like the weakest brick.

"father," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips.

he closes his eyes, a silent, anguished prayer issuing forth from his lips. his hands tremble as they part your legs wider, stealing a breath from your chest. slowly, reverently, he leans in, finally dragging you underwear down, exposing you to his gaze.

"you are so beautiful,"

his voice cracks on the words, a mixture of awe, reverence, and raw, animal desire. he can't tear his eyes away from your unveiled flesh, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst.

"pray with me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your slick folds. "ask for forgiveness, for the sins we are about to commit." even as he speaks, he's dragging his tongue along your inner thigh, the sensation making you gasp and shudder.

"our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,”

his hands roam your hips, gripping the soft flesh as if to steady himself against the waves of his own depravity.

“thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,"

each curve of your body yields to his touch as his fingertips traced a path of fire across your skin. desperation and control tangled within his gestures, gripping onto the softness beneath his hands as he strives to anchor himself against the tumultuous waves of desire and decadence that threaten to crash over him.

“glory be to the father, and to the son, and to the holy spirit…”

the words are a broken whisper, a plea for mercy that's drowned out by the urgent throb of his own need.

“amen.”

he brings his mouth to you at last, and with a groan of surrender, he begins to eat you out with a hunger that knows no bounds.

he laves at your clit with a fervor that leaves you panting and weak-kneed. you're a mess of whimpers and moans, your hands fisting in his hair as he works you over. leon's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh as he eats you out with a single-minded determination.

"yes, yes, just like that," you babble, your voice a desperate chant, even as your vision starts to blur at the edges.

one of his hands drifts lower, his fingers seeking out the entrance to your womb. he teases the delicate skin, tracing the outline of your slit before slipping a finger inside. a low groan rumbles in his chest at the slick heat that envelops him, urging him on.he works two fingers in and out of you in a steady rhythm, the lewd squelch of your juices only further fueling his own desire.

"please, father, i need—" the words die on your lips as a particularly intense thrust of his fingers sends you plummeting over the brink.

his eyes blaze with an unholy light as he takes in your ravished expression, his own need reaching a fever pitch. he surges to his feet, shedding his robe and shoving his pants down with a desperate haste. he reaches for you, pulling you forward effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all.

he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself in time with the frantic beat of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice raw with anguish and guilt. "so very sorry."

he hovers over you, his thick length prodding, seeking entrance to the very core of your being. you help guide him in, a hand slowly pushing back on the back if his neck as the thick head of his cock breaching your entrance with a slight burning sensation. he groans, his hips bucking forward as he sheathes himself fully within you.

for a moment, you're both still, letting the intensity of it all wash over you.

and he starts to move forward, inch by inch, the wooden desk creaks in protest beneath you. his eyes squeeze shut as he buries himself to the hilt, your slick walls clenching around him like a vice.

"oh, my lord, forgive me," he breathes, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he struggles to still the tremors that rack his frame. "i am a man undone.”

he starts to move, slowly at first, each thrust a testament to the effort it takes him to resist the primal urge to rut into you like an animal in heat. his hips rise and fall in a deliberate rhythm, each stroke drawing a gasp from your lips.

"you feel so good," he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. he pulls nearly all the way out before plunging back in, the slick glide of his thick length a pleasure unlike anything you've ever known.

sweat drips from his brow as he pounds into you with a fervor that borders on religious ecstasy. each thrust is a prayer, a confession, a plea for absolution. his eyes never leave yours, searching for some glimmer of forgiveness in their depths.

"i'm— i’m close," he warns, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

your head rolls back, a silent moan escaping your lips as the pleasure mounts. his hands fly to your face, cradling your cheeks as he forces your gaze to meet his.

"please, please, don't look away." he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "i need to see you," he murmurs, his hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm as he fights for control.

he can feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter within him until he's teetering on the precipice. his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing as if trying to imprint every curve and valley onto his very being.

he's a hairsbreadth from the edge, the tension coiled so tightly within him that he's not sure he can contain it much longer. but for you, he'll try.

he'll endure the sweet agony of restraint. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers a final plea.

"dear god, i'm so very sorry." the words are a prayer, a plea for forgiveness not just from the divine, but from you. he knows that what he's doing is wrong, that he's violating the sacred trust that he's been entrusted with as a man of the cloth. but in this moment, caught up in the maelstrom of his own desire, he can't bring himself to care.

he hooks an arm beneath your knees, pulling you higher up on the desk. the new angle allows him to drive even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your body responds, arching up to meet him as a keening wail tears from your throat. he watches, entranced, as ecstasy washes over you in waves, your face a mask of rapturous bliss.

you finally feel his heat as it floods your innermost depths just moments later.

he collapses onto you, his weight crushing in its intimacy as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his heart pounds against your ribcage, a frantic with regret and release.

he stays there, draped over you, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tries to regain some semblance of control. his body is slick with sweat, his muscles trembling with the aftershocks. slowly, he pulls back, his hands still cradling your face as he looks deep into your eyes.

his breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to regain some semblance of control, to quiet the chaos that rages within him.

"forgive me," he whispers, the plea hanging heavy in the air between you.

he knows it's not enough. he's broken the trust, violated the sacred vows he's taken. there's no going back from this, no easy path to redemption. the knowledge that he's failed, that he's fallen so very far from the path of righteousness, fills him with a deep, abiding shame. but for now, in this moment, he can only cling to the thin thread of your forgiveness and hope that it's enough.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[mydarlingclaudia]

fish boy

note : divider is from @/cafekitsune. I also wrote this because I was inspired by this drawing by @sillydicejelly please go look at their art it’s very pretty! this is another summer fic because I’m not ready for summer to be over ugh. I liked writing this a lot but I did feel kinda silly towards the end

wc : 2.8k

tags : @lottiies

desc : he saves you from drowning and you come back each year, falling in love was easy. strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, I think angst (towards the end), not proofread, re2 and re4 Leon, gn!reader, au

It started back in 1997 when you were nineteen. Your family went to the beach for a week in the summer, like you do every year. Your family had a beach house there that they’d had since before you were born, you’d been going there your whole life, you’ve never noticed anything strange. Most days were the same; go into town, window shop and buy as much ice cream you could stomach, go home and swim until you couldn’t feel your arms, roast your skin, play with your cousins, eat, sleep, repeat.

But nothing stays the same forever, sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes that was a bad thing. But this change was just… odd.

One night you were just having a hard time, you and your mom had gotten into a fight earlier in the afternoon and it had just thrown off the rest of your day. You went out that night, maybe around ten after everyone had gone to bed, the wind was harsh, the water was harsher. That didn’t stop you from jumping into the water to try and let the cold water ease your mind.

It didn’t work, though. One big, unexpected wave had toppled you over in the deep water, and before you knew it, you were gulping down salt water, unable to tell up from down.

Miraculously, you didn’t die, even though you should have. You had lost consciousness, though. You didn’t know where you were when you woke up, all you could make out was a small shore, surrounded by cliffs and overgrown weeds, no one else in sight.

Except for a boy.

He was blonde, pretty, pale, too. There was something a bit odd about his face, but you brushed it off as your bleary eyes adjusting. You don’t remember what you said to him, mostly because you didn’t even know what you were saying when you said it, but he had helped you sit up and you rested against his shoulder, one of his hands awkwardly patting your back. It felt comfy, you could ignore the ache in your body and how heavy your lungs felt and just focus on his wet skin pressed against yours.

This must have been what Eric felt like when he was saved by Ariel in The Little Mermaid.

When your eyes finally did adjust, and you got a good look at him, you realized that the oddity of his face was scales that lined his cheekbones back towards his ears, and that his ears weren’t even ears, but webbed ones, like some sort of deep sea creature. You had backed away from him, a confused expression painted on your face while a slightly pained one was etched onto his.

Your eyes hadn’t been able to focus on a single part of him, flicking between his tail, his webbed hands, the gills that lined his throat, his sea-matted hair, the blue tint that surrounded his fingers and gills, everything. You had to be dead, there was no other explanation, but his voice had been so soft when he spoke to you, that you almost wanted to scoot closer again.

“Listen I-I just- you’re- I think I hit my head.” You had sputtered out, one of your hands flying up to feel against your head for any bumps.

“I checked already, you didn’t.” The fish boy had reassured you, pushing himself closer to you.

“I-I didn’t?” Your eyes were glued to him the whole time he had moved himself closer to him, you didn’t back away this time.

“You didn’t, I promise.” You flinched when he reached up to peel your hand away from your head, making him stop for a second, those pretty blue eyes of his robed over your face for another second before he pulled your hand away.

“So-so what? What happened?” He let go of your wrist, placing both his hands down on the sand, his eyes were yet to leave yours.

“You were gonna drown.”

“A-And you saved me?” He nodded, you let out a shaky breath. “So I’m not imagining this?” He shook his head this time. “Jesus, where are we?”

“By the lighthouse,”

“The lighthouse?! That’s like, what, four miles away? Goddamn.” You groaned, that explained why no one was around.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I guess.” You watched as his eyes trailed down to your bare legs.

“… I’ve never met a human before.” He mumbled.

“I’ve never met a mermaid- merman- uhm, fish boy, I dunno.” He looked you dead in the eye again for a few seconds, then let out a giggle and shook his head, you had smiled at him.

You had to admit that this strange creature was kinda cute, you didn’t doubt that he could probably overpower you, but he had been gentle with you so far. He stopped laughing as you stood up, watching the way the muscles in your legs flexed.

“Shit, my families gonna be wondering where I am.” You had told him, putting your hands behind your head and pacing around in a small circle.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to take you back.” You stopped your pacing, looking back down at him and the dumb smile he had on his face.

“You are?”

“I mean… yeah? Why would I save you just to leave you stranded?” He chuckled, you huffed.

“Well, thank you.”

He was a strong swimmer, that shouldn’t have surprised you, he had helped you swim along when you got too tired to do it. You had told him to just leave you at a spot along the beach that was secluded because it’s right where ships would dock and that you’d just walk the rest of the way back home. Before you had left, he had eagerly told you his name, you told him yours. The two of you had lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary, him in the water, you on land.

You felt like thanking Leon again wouldn’t be a good enough way to show your gratitude for saving you, you didn’t really know how to properly thank him yet, but you had suggested meeting in the same place the next day shortly after sunrise. Leon bit, eagerly.

You were surprised when Leon showed up the next day. And the day after that, the next day, too, and every day after. He’d bring you shells and sand dollars, you’d bring him human treasures (coins, candy, ice cream, anything).

Leon would let you look at him, because the more you looked, the more intrigued you became with him, and he liked that feeling. You found more blue scales littered across his arms, he let you touch them. You liked his tail a lot, all the pretty blue and tan scales that shimmered in the sunlight paired with strong fins that were rough to the touch.

You could spend hours talking to Leon, and you did, your family would ask you where you were running off to, you’d just say it was a boy in town, it wasn’t really a lie. He’d ask you about all the places you’ve been to on land, you’d ask him about the ocean.

Leaving was hard. You had promised him you’d come visit again, maybe even on your own a few times a year. But you had promised Leon that you would be back the same time next year. You’d never forget how he frowned and nodded his head, asking you for another keepsake. You gave him a bracelet you bought in town.

—

You had the whole year to look forward to seeing Leon again. When you arrived on the beach in 1998, you were almost certain he wouldn’t show. As far as you knew, mermaids didn’t have calendars, how would he know when a year passed? On the drive up you contemplated how long a year was to them, you almost gave yourself a nosebleed thinking about it. You would just have to ask Leon.

But Leon had shown, and he showed up with a grin on his face and the best shells he had gathered over the past year.

“What do you call those?” Leon had asked you, pointing a blue finger at the overgrown wildflowers sprouting out of the hill above you and him. You looked over your shoulder, sparing a glance to the purples and yellows of the flowers that gently swayed in the wind.

“Those? Those are flowers.” You said to him, taking another cookie from the ones you had baked and brought to him, still looking at the wildflowers. You quickly learned that if given the chance, Leon would eat just about anything, especially sweets.

“They’re pretty.”

“There are prettier ones.”

“There are?” You finally look back to him, he’s only a handful of feet away from you, the cookies and other treats you brought rested on top of a stool between the two of you. Leon was laying on his stomach, forearms keeping him propped up as his eyes locked onto you, gentle waves rolling over his tail and reaching your feet, the two of you hidden away at the part of the docks no one ventured to.

“Sure, sunflowers, snapdragons, lilacs, chrysanthemums, tulips… I could go on forever.”

“… Would you bring me some?”

“Of course.”

And you did, you brought Leon as many flowers as you could carry, he was worth a pretty penny for all of these flowers. You were no expert on plants, but the night before you brought him the flowers, you took out a book at the library on them, just to know each one’s meaning so that if he asked, you’d be prepared.

Leon asked about anything he could think of, he always did. You were the same, in a way. You’d never been all that curious about the ocean until Leon came into your life.

You watched Leon with a softness in your eyes you don’t think you’ve ever even looked at a boy with when he’d twirl the flower stem between his fingers and study each individual petal, you wanted him to look at you like that.

“I wish I could take these back with me.” Leon had mumbled to you, eyes still glued to a tulip.

“Maybe you can, I don’t know how well they’ll hold up in the water, though.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” His eyes shifted from the flower in his hand up to your face, his smile dropping a tiny bit. “These are beautiful, I don’t want to just remember them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t keep everything you wanted, but you knew that you were keeping Leon as close as you could and that telling him that would be hypocritical.

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want.” You told him before you could even finish the thought, but you meant each word. Seeing his face light back up made your heart skip a few beats in your chest.

“You will?”

“If it’ll make you happy.”

“Yeah, it would.” Leon had smiled at you, you got out of your beach chair and scooted next to him in the sand, reaching a hand out to run over his wet back before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Leon had gone stiff for a few seconds, your grip loosened on him, he took that opportunity to move and wrap his arms around your waist. He didn’t let you go for a long time.

—

Years came and went, your visits with Leon stayed the same. You spent most of your summer at the beach now, talking with Leon, swimming with him, eating with him, any excuse you could find to be with him, you were there.

August of 2004 is nearing its end, it’s late right now, you don’t know whether it’s before or after midnight. You’re soaked through to the bone, salt water clings to your cold skin as you lay on a beach towel. Leon is next to you, he’s never not near you when you’re at the beach.

Leon gets more and more handsome each time you see him. You’re not sure what’s going on under the surface of the water, but something has hardened him. His eyes are a bit colder, he’s gotten a bit stronger, he’s more serious about things.

You don’t think you ever really knew Leon, you liked to think you did, but he’d never be able to come into your world and you’d never be able to go into his without an oxygen tank strapped to your back. You had to settle for this.

Leon’s never mean to you, though. He still asks questions, he still brings you shells, he still loves flowers. He’s gotten more touchy, he likes your legs, you continue to like his tail.

Leon shifts beside you, rolling onto his side to face you, you do the same.

“When are you leaving?” He asks.

“I’m not sure yet.” You couldn’t stay at the beach forever, you tried to work jobs that were more lenient, but you still need to eat and have a roof to sleep under. Your family notices how you keep returning to the beach for longer periods each year, they think you’ve fallen in love. You have.

“Just be sure to say goodbye.” Leon says this each time you have to leave, you always say goodbye, you’d never just leave him without telling him you wouldn’t be back for a while. You don’t say anything as Leon sits up, reaching for a tulip from the bouquet of flowers you brought, you grab one as well.

It’s silent between the two of you, you’re picking off the petals of your flower, reciting “he loves me, he loves me not��� in your head repeatedly, you haven’t done this since middle school.

“If I had legs…” Leon starts, you stop what you’re doing, pausing on a he loves me petal. “Would you take me with you?”

“Take you where?”

“Just with you. I just… I just wanna be around you for more than a few weeks.” Leon’s words both warm your heart and make it clench at the same time, you turn your attention back to your flower, picking off more petals.

“Of course I would. I’d take you anywhere you wanted.” Your eyes flick to his face, catching his smile.

“I miss you, y’know.” You stop again, he loves me not.

“I’m right here.”

“I mean when you’re gone.” Leon huffs beside you, letting his hands fall down to his lap, still holding the tulip. “I don’t like when you leave. Every single day for the past six years I’ve swam up to shore waiting for you, even when I knew you weren’t going to be there. You’re the first human I’ve ever met, I’m pretty sure you’re the kindest one out there, too. You can go anywhere you want in the world and I’d never know it. I just want to see you.”

“And I want you to come with me,” You admit with a shaky breath. “Believe me, I think about you everyday, I try and find things that I can bring to you, I try to be here more than I probably should be. If- If we were able to be around each other every waking moment, I’d spend my life with you.”

“… I don’t want to be in the sea anymore.”

“Leon, you have no idea how easy I wish it was for us.” You can feel tears pricking at your eyes, you look away from Leon, the only petal left on your tulip is he loves me.

“Would you ever move here? To the beach?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Then do it.” Leon meant it as a demand, but he said it so softly it sounded like he was begging. You toss your tulip to the side and look back at him, scooting closer, letting sand stick to your skin as you leave your towel.

Leon is still blonde, he’s still pretty, he’s still pale. His skin is still wet to the touch and you’ve come to love the scales plastered onto his skin, he’s not awkward when he holds you anymore, and there’s a different ache in your lungs when you’re around him that certainly isn’t you being waterlogged.

You bring a hand up to cup his face, his webbed hand closes around your wrist, leaning into your touch.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your palm, pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you, too.” You whisper to him. Leon doesn’t pull away from you, he never does until he absolutely has to. His hand slides up to latch onto yours, he holds it against his chest and leans in until his forehead is resting against yours.

“Please, say it again.”

“I love you.” You’re the one who leans in for the kiss. The summer you first met, you had found yourself laughing at the thought of kissing him because you thought he’d taste like fish. Instead, he tastes like salt water you’ve swallowed more than enough times, you’d drown in it knowing it tastes like him.

[goldenfigtree]

Tick Tick Boom

Summary: A tiny glimpse of what it's like to be in a relationship with Leon. More specifically, when Leon gets jealous...

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Fluff

“One more day” you murmur to yourself, drawing a red X with a dry erase marker on the calendar hanging on the fridge door. For a normal person, the fact that there was one more day left until their significant other came back from work would be exciting. Yet, your impatience seemed to overpower optimism at the moment. It was killing you on the inside to wake up to, not him but the lonely indent of his side of the bed instead.

So much so, you didn’t get a blink of sleep since he left. Dark shadows of puffiness circled your eyes, contorting as you impatiently rubbed them in hopes that when you stopped, you would be in tomorrow. But no, life didn’t work like that unfortunately. With a groan vibrating in your throat, you plop onto the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table and point the remote at the tv.

Maybe some tv static would drown out the repeated disappointment of experiencing another boyfriend-less day. It wasn’t guaranteed but you’d do anything at this point to try and ease your anticipation. The Gilmore Girls theme song played as per usual, you bobbing your head along with it, the evidence of some strands of your hair defying gravity exposed by the sunlight projecting through the windows of your apartment. Your eyelids began to slowly slide down, luring you to sleep before quickly snapping up. You keep trying to fight off your body’s need for sleep until your vision immediately goes black.

Back to back the episodes played, but you didn’t notice. Head leaned back on the couch’s head rest, your mouth falls agape from the angle. You were out like a light. So deep in slumber, the jingling of keys and the creaking of the front door left you un phased. Kicking off his boots, Leon drops his luggage at the door and follows the sounds of your snoring. A warm smile forming on his lips as he eventually takes in the sight of you fast asleep on the couch, snoring loudly. An amused chuckle leaves his lips,

Stealthily sitting next to you on the couch, he pulls out his phone and takes a photo. Surely this is what you meant when you asked Leon to take candid photos of you right? Either way, he was keeping it, every picture he had of you, unflattering or not, was adorable to him. Not realizing the flash was on his phone, he blinks in surprise when your snoring abruptly stops. Slowly, you drowsily blink your eyes open and shoot your head back up as you smacked your lips. Squinting your tired eyes to adjust to the sunlight and to figure out who was sitting next to you, you’re met with Leon’s royal blue eyes. A sleepy grin creeps onto your lips as you lean forward to pull him in for a hug,

“You’re home” you say sweetly in a rasp residue of your nap. With a deep chuckle of intrigue, he pulls you into his lap by your waist while you instinctively drape your arms around his neck.

“Sorry I woke you” he murmurs as you sleepily drag your lips along his. He could feel the smirk curling along your lips as the two of you kissed,

“No you’re not” you bluntly retort pulling away to give him a knowing look. He merely smirks back, letting a puff of air exhale through his nose in amusement,

“You’re right, I’m not” his arms tighten around you body as he leans in to feel your soft lips against his. His smirk failing to fade away as he feels and hears you giggle mischievously against his lips. Subconsciously, he inhales deeply and releases in a sigh. Feeling that he can finally relax.

“You’re early” you eventually say after pulling away,

“They let me go for good behavior” he jokes with a grin, clearly proud of his dad joke. Unamused you raise an eyebrow,

“Ha-ha” you deadpan, “I missed you”

“Missed you more” Finding that saying it just wasn’t enough, he proves it by squeezing you tighter with his biceps, earning a strained panic noise from you as you tried to wriggle free,

“Okay, okay I get it” you squeal, patting his biceps, “uncle!  Uncle!”

Letting go, he smirks as he watches you pant for air and weakly punch his chest as punishment, “sorry did I take your breath away?” He proudly flirts. You can’t help but snort at his cheesy attempts,

“Jesus Christ you’re on a roll today” you say breathlessly, a smile you fail to control appearing. You can’t help but giggle at this rare sight of cheesy, happy Leon. The rarity of it wasn’t this side of himself in itself but it was coming home from a mission and being this way. Usually, when he walked through the door, he was either exhausted, grumpy, or very very clingy.

Can you blame the man?

This side of Leon that you were currently enjoying was usually cocooned until the next day or two when he recovered from the work that often drained him mentally and physically.

“Yeah I am” he triumphantly agrees, “hey, let’s go do something”

“You’re not tired?” You ask, tilting your head to the side,

“Of course I am, but I hardly get to come home early, we should celebrate” he suggests with a shrug, trying to play it off cool. But, you saw right through his nonchalant act. The excitement that danced in those blue irises was a dead giveaway. Combing his bangs back, you kiss his forehead lovingly.

“Yeah we should” patting his pecks over his t shirt, you hop off him and head to the bedroom to get ready.

—

After a nice dinner at your favorite place downtown, the two of you stroll along the paved streets, and with little convincing, some shopping,

“Thanks for this babe” you coo happily hooking your arm through his and resting your face on his bicep as the two of you walked out of a store with a large paper tote bag in your grasp swinging with every step,

“Any time” Leon modestly responds, a shy smile on his lips as he looks down at you. He felt a twinge of pride that he was able to get this reaction out of you and it only compelled him to want to spend more on you. Before he could continue his mission of spoiling you, however, a voice calls after you causing the two of you to halt and turn around. A man that perfectly resembled the description tall, dark and handsome came running up to the two of you. It was none other than your ex boyfriend,

“Hey! Small World” He greets heartily, seamlessly pulling you into a hug, “Wow you look great!”

“Declan! It’s been a minute” You greet being the first to pull away from the hug and make your way to stand alongside Leon, a sweet smile on your lips. Since the two of you ended on good terms, you didn’t think twice before greeting him happily.

Leon on the other hand, wiped the grin from his face and replaced it with a stoic expression. He took a good look at him, remembering you mentioning his name once. Something along the lines of Declan agreeing with you that you were better off as friends. Yet, Leon had an inkling that was far from the truth. Narrowing his eyes he watches Declan like a hawk as you and him catch up,

“Oh! Declan, this is my boyfriend, Leon” You cheerily introduce, gesturing towards him with a hand. You blink a bit in surprise by the sudden firm grasp of your hand in Leon’s and look up to see Leon with a polite, closed mouth smile. Leon doesn’t say anything and only nods to Declan in greeting.

Don’t show weakness

he thought to himself. Even though he would like to tell this guy to back off his girlfriend, the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you by making a scene. He didn’t wan’t to show Declan that he was threatened by him either. Even though he was. Just a tiny bit.

“You’re a lucky guy, my friend” Declan charmingly says with a toothy grin,

Friend? We are not friends

His disgruntled thoughts circled around in his brain, yet the polite smile remained. He had some good practice with it, constantly working along side the president. Letting go of your hand, his hand instead travels to your lowerback and pulls you subtley to his side,

“I know” He responds, his tone friendly, mismatched with the triumphant smirk on his face. Declan’s pearly white smile remained, yet his eyes were boring into Leon’s skull like laser beams.

“Well, it was good to see you” Declan eventually bids his goodbyes, “It was nice to meet you, Leon” with a polite yet somehow sour goodbye, Declan leaves the two of you to enjoy the rest of the evening. Leon didn’t mention the encounter for the rest of the night, which would be puzzling to some. However, after all the years you two have been together, you sort of knew how he ticked. It was only a matter of time that he would bring it up and do so abruptly,

“He’s definitely still into you” Leon blurts out, raising his coffee mug to his lips. It was the very next morning, where you two often shared a cup of coffee, hair in disarray from the night before, and you magically wearing the shirt he was wearing last night; a tradition that you two stuck to religiously.

Tick Tick Boom. There it was.

His blue eyes stared at you as he gulps down the remnants of his coffee, nervously. You stifle a giggle at his sudden burst of nerves that he was so desperately trying to hide. You merely shrug and smile at him reassuringly,

“Doesn’t matter, I’m taken”

Eyebrows scrunched together as if processing her response he murmurs softly, almost to himself, “Right” quickly he clears his throat and repeats it more confidently before tilting the mug to sip the rest of his coffee, “Right”

Chuckling and shaking your head, you take his mug from his grasp and place it on the kitchen counter, “Someone’s jealous” you tease in a sing-song voice, wrapping your arms around torso,

“Busted” Leon bashfully admits planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, hugging your shoulders, “I just love you too much to give you away”

“You couldn’t give me away even if you tried” his eyes avert, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he believed it. So, you cup his face with a hand, soften your voice and look into those eyes that captivated you at first sight, “hey, I’m not going anywhere alright?”

Leaning his face into your hand, he turns to kiss your palm, and smiles, this time more securely, “alright”.

[love-toxin]

Retrieval - entry I

plot: after escaping the horrors of Los Iluminados, a piece of your heart is still stuck in that desolate place. you won't truly be able to rest until you find him--or until you put him down like the monster you wish you'd saved him from.

(cws: post-canon divergence, re4make spoilers, yandere!plagas!leon, fem!agent!reader, guns & blunt weapons, blood, gore & injuries, violence, grief, funerals, pining [chapter smut cws: wet dreams, mild choking, possessiveness, unprotected]

wc: 5.3k

(future entries to come! <3)

No matter how much time passes, you're certain this place will always reek of blood and death. It will always be the place that you lost the person most dear to you, and in such a vile, cruel way that it still haunts your darkest nightmares.

It's been awhile since then, but it all still feels the same when you step down from the car and let the door shut with an unapologetic thud. The air hangs heavy and thick with humidity, and although the distant stench of rot is lesser this time around, it still lurks in the background of your senses like a shadow creeping by the windows of a house. The trees hang low and sway gently as you pass them, crows beckoning you deeper into the brush with their croaking trills echoing all around you. Aside from a pitiful line of cautionary police tape strung across an iron gate, even the entryway and the path leading into the village all look exactly as they did weeks ago.

The last time your feet hit the dirt here, only Leon had been your much-needed company in your venture. You'd walked through the mud and ran through the mist together; searching the lodge and being chased into the heart of the village had only been the beginning. His breathing had been the thing to keep you calm then, of all things. Those heavy pants when he scrambled through doors and soft puffs of his chest when it was a touch too quiet; it reminded you that he was alive, and saved you from having to glance over and pray in the seconds between that he wasn't being carved into a bloody stump by a Ganados.

But all that? That was a long time ago. It feels like a lifetime, and yet neither of those timelines are the truth–really, it's barely been a month since you and Leon had been separated, but it still feels like years since you've seen him.

The scent of charcoal pulls you away from the memory of him as you draw close to the circle of houses, your gun out of its holster the moment you cross underneath the main gate. You at least have the sense not to go slinging it around when you hear the crackle of twigs in the underbrush, though the sound that resembles a gasp has you eyeing the forest to your left…just long enough to watch the offending group of birds chitter and take flight suddenly up and away from the trees as you draw close. The policemen that had accompanied you here have long since granted you their goodbyes, their eyes dark and fearful at the sight of this village looming in the distance before they had driven off in a frantic hurry. When you think about it you can't really blame them, not with them knowing the unfortunate fate of the two men they had probably rubbed shoulders with back at the station. Knowing that both of them had been made sacrifice for no better reason than violence and power.

That would've been you and Leon once upon a time, if Umbrella and the virus and everything hadn't screwed it all up and blown it to pieces. Sometimes you daydream about what it could've been like at RPD, but most times it's too painful to even consider and you just end up drowning your sorrows in a bottle of liquor instead. Leon would be admonishing you for dealing with it in that way and he would've been a total hypocrite for it, but he hasn't been here to do so. The thought that he won't ever be again fills you with so much dread you can feel it in each step you take into this dilapidated heap of pig slop and manure.

It's been over a month since you've been here last, about 37 days if you've been marking off your calendar correctly. You had to take into account the retrieval, your hospital stay, and the few days that seemed to meld into each other when you'd slept almost every hour away in recovery, but altogether it totals 37 days since you last stepped foot on this soil. Over five weeks since you last saw Leon, and only a couple days since you gave a eulogy at his funeral. It had all felt fake and pitiful even with you having organized it yourself–most of the people there were the reasons he even came to this disgusting place, all those government agents and well-to-do politicians that ate up yours and Leon's survivor stories and demanded you join the military's special ops. They should be the ones paying the price in the grave, not Leon.

But as you look around now, there really isn't much to speak of in the first place, now that you feel the sense of urgency wane and lower your pistol in the wake of dead silence. Aside from the bullet holes, the crumbled tower, and the blasted-out windows that cake the dirt with glass, there's not many signs that you and Leon had even treaded ground here. It's getting later than you'd like based on the position of that hot, Spanish sun, though. You've got to get moving and quit moping around this ghost town if you want to make any progress on his retrieval before night falls.

This isn't a trip down memory lane, after all. You came here with your own rescue mission in mind; you're here to find Leon's body, and you're prepared to give him the mercy he deserves if your suspicions about his supposed death are correct. Because you can't keep living with that memory of him in your head, that version of Leon burdened with black veins and vermillion eyes and a pained gait as he tried to kill you. When there weren't enough injections of the suppressant to go around, he gave you his own–and when it came time for you to go under the knife, Leon insisted on you and Ashley going first even when he had a death grip on the lever, the Plagas taking over him quick enough that he knew exactly what he was doing. Leon gave his life for you, Ashley, and Luis to live–and you've taken on the job of returning the favour, whether it means dragging him home in a body bag to give him a worthy burial, or putting a bullet in his head and ending the monster you never wanted to see him become.

"La Americana!"

But the moment you take another step to climb over the rubble of the church, a voice shouting from behind you sends a chill rocketing right up your spine. You thought you would only hear it again in your nightmares–but no, as soon as you turn on your heel, your eyes scan over a mob of Ganados shambling right for you. Drooling, bloody, rotting villagers wielding their pitchforks and sickles, and in that momentary panic that freezes you to the ground, a cold feeling erupts inside your chest that you've never experienced before. Acting on base instinct alone you make a mad dash for the house on your right, but you're left skidding to a stop and backing away just as quick when another monster lunges out of the doorway and makes a swipe. You're being cornered, trapped, with nobody left to save you like they did before.

This is wrong. It feels wrong, it sounds wrong, it's all wrong. This is exactly what happened before, but that was a nightmare you fought through and survived. You shouldn't be here again. Why are you here again? Why are you being so stupid to feed yourself to the same monsters that took your Leon from you? Why haven't you learned your lesson? Why?

When the first gets close enough to strike, you barely even register the hot, vile presence of its foul breath on your skin. Your muscles tighten and you swing indiscriminately, the butt of your pistol smashing into its temple with a force you didn't even know you were capable of. The scythe in its hand is halfway to hitting the ground before you're crossing the distance to the second one, movements almost robotic as you empty half your magazine into its forehead and don't stop until you're standing over it. For some reason, the gore and the blood splattering over you doesn't disturb you like it should. It doesn't even feel…real.

You're all to blame for this. This is all your fault.

Whether those thoughts are self-inflicting or self-soothing, they plague your mind in a constant, changing loop as you stagger from villager to villager. There's no other option; either fight or die, because reason won't get you anywhere but closer to your own grave. It's not even worth running at this point because they'll just chase you down, and you want them to just leave you alone more than you even want to live.

Getting hit doesn't feel real. Watching the Ganados choke on metal doesn't feel real. Not even your gun clicking empty and burning hot in your hands feels real, even when your brow furrows and you whip it at the nearest monster with a grunt that sounds more feral than ferocious. It's a slaughter but you can't tell that time has passed, or that you've gained bruises from the beating you've taken, or even that you've been blowing off the faces of people who were probably just people once. It just doesn't matter in that short, fury-driven span of time, not until you have nothing more to attack and you blink yourself awake with a hatchet gripped in your hands, soaked from head to toe in rotting blood.

With one final, blood-curdling scream from the deepest pit of your stomach, you throw your arm down and send the weapon flying across the ground like a tempestuous child. The pain, fury, and grief have been building up inside you for long you've forgotten what it feels like to be free, what it once felt like to laugh away your troubles when they got too big to deal with. Now you've been planning your best friend's funeral on the days you don't drink yourself into a stupor, and nothing matters anymore. This was a stupid idea and all you've done is set yourself up for a bigger, stupider failure than you've already proven you could accomplish. Right now, the best relief would come if you just dropped dead.

….But it doesn't come, even after you've fallen to your knees and sobbed into your hands. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. You count each breath, but each of them are just as heavy and laboured as the last, never slowing or getting shallower. If anything, you feel more alive as your senses come back and you cringe at the blood starting to crust over your skin and clothes. Taking your hands away, all that fills them is a sheen of dark, wine-deep red, splattered with tears that sting just as much as your skin that's been hacked with small, shallow cuts and bruises. As the episode passes, your desire to get up is stronger than your want to just lay down and relinquish your strength.

So you press on. Not for want of something better, but for the simple fact that you have nowhere else to go but forward. You put yourself into this mess, and as you can hear Leon's voice in your head, "You can get yourself out of it."

So you walk. You scoop up your gun from the ground and wipe the blood from the handle with your shirt. You stumble over the chunks of stone and rubble that litter your path, weaving through the half-open doors that haven't leaned right since Leon had first kicked them in or shot them open. You just keep walking until the gate with that familiar symbol comes into view, and upon pushing it open you're met with the sight of a sea of graves and dead grass–and a murder of crows watching you through the tree branches while they await a new body to pick at.

Seeing the church looming over the hilltop is enough to give you a chill. Maybe the graves are helping with that, standing as crooked and crumbling as they were before, but whatever it is about that place just plagues you with a sense of unease. Each step up the hill has you on guard, peeking around to see whether more Ganados will come out–but it's just as eerily quiet as you expected it to be, and you don't even spot much more than the crows until you're past the gate and standing on the front step of the chapel. To your fortune, the door's still unlocked–as you hoped it would be, considering all that you and Leon had to endure to get it open the first time. You'll never forget that feeling of your stomach sinking when you watched him retch up all that blood over the side of the boat, nor the heat of his tight grip as he had grabbed your wrist and whimpered in pain before slipping into unconsciousness on your lap.

Life had been scary enough then, but in some way seeing Leon go through the Plagas infection hit you harder than any other mission you'd gone through…especially since you know now that he would never be cured. He was just so strong in the face of everything, even during Raccoon City, when he truly had no idea what he was doing. He had such a kind heart that he would do anything for anybody. Even if he could be a hardass at times, he was pure.

Thinking about Leon always ends up leading you to memories of his funeral, especially so as your shoulders relax and you step into this church that somewhat resembles the one that housed it. You drop your bag on the nearest pew and let it spill over on to its side, and when your wallet tumbles out, your eyes pass over the picture inside that makes another memory pop into your head.

"This world is undoubtedly worse off without Leon. It won't ever be the same, and I…I'll miss you, Sancho."

Luis hadn't more than dabbed at his eyes at the service, but he'd hugged you so tightly at the reception he could've broken your bones with ease. You sat at a pew just like this one and held your hands between you throughout the eulogies, quiet and empty while Ashley cried her eyes out a few rows ahead. Other than a few close friends from the academy, a couple surviving members of RPD, and a handful of people Leon got to know in the military, the rest of the service was populated by complete strangers to you. Including the president himself, whose hand you openly refused to shake when he approached you with his "condolences". Without Luis there to guide you away to go get some complimentary dinner, you might have told the leader of your country where exactly he could stuff his condolences.

At the very least you can get some healing by actually burying your best friend, you think as you check the perimeter of the church to ensure its security. If you succeed, which you're hoping might actually happen if you can keep the grief and overwhelming anxiety to a minimum.

"Mh?"

Perhaps it's a good sign already, but going unnoticed by you up until now you spot something out of your peripheral that looks out of place here–and when you step up to it to take a look, sitting at the crest of the church where the podium would be, is what looks to be a washbasin that might have come from one of the nearby houses. Peering over the lip it looks to be filled with nothing but clear water…and when you dip a finger in, a sigh escapes you when you feel how warm it is. There's even a towel hanging over the nearest pew that you could've sworn wasn't there earlier, but it's getting harder to see with all the blood caking your eyelashes. And not one to turn away a perfectly good miracle, you're all too happy to strip off your clothes and dunk your head, hair, and limbs into a clean, semi-refreshing bath.

While you scrub the dust, dirt, and dried entrails from your skin, your mind wanders yet again into another world–the one you lived in before, so blissfully unaware of how bad the outcome could truly be. You'd met Leon for the first time at his debriefing in the RPD, when he'd been quietly optimistic with that baby face and a well of enthusiasm that had come out in the strength of his handshake. Marvin introduced you first as his immediate superior because you'd been in that same position before; you had been the rookie from out of town the year prior, and aside from the beaming sense of pride at moving up a peg in the force, you also liked how sweet Leon was.

He'd greeted you with honorifics you didn't need, smiled when you gave him a tour, and not once did he ever scoff or roll his eyes when you were giving him advice before he had even started. You noticed him because he was new, but also because he respected you and pretty much everyone else with barely any hesitation. In his plainclothes surrounded by decorated officers he treated everyone he met like a friend, and although Marvin had expressed concern about him being a little naive once he went home, you remember that moment as you watched him get into his car, and you remember thinking that the world–and Raccoon City–needed more people like that. You liked to think that you always knew he was a hero at heart.

Your brow softens as the water starts running clear down your body, the basin filled with blood and muck that you've been scrubbing off your skin until it's raw. The tiredness is setting in now from the plane ride and the tension, and all you want to do is sleep–but a sudden start and pain flooding through your abdomen has you alert and gripping the edge of the basin. Easing your chest out of the way to look down, you watch in frustrated horror as your fingers brush by the opening of a much more significant wound than the scrapes and bruises just beneath your breast down towards your stomach. At only about a half inch wide and five or more inches long the cut isn't severe, it doesn't even seem like it's been touched by the filth you've been doused in as you pour a little more water over it. But now that you've noticed it the sting is much more palpable, and with no desire to have it infected and die a slow death you fumble for your pitiful first aid kit and work away at closing the wound. Strips of medical tape and gauze are about all you can do, though the process is slow and awkward with you trying not to stretch or strain it too much for it to hurt worse. Just your luck. It's only the first day. You just count yourself fortunate that Leon isn't here to see this because you know he'd both fuss over you and tease you to no end…although you do find yourself glancing around more as you fix yourself up, your mind on high alert while you're in this state of vulnerability. For some reason you do feel watched, although with no sounds or odd noises to tip you off you're tempted to assume you're relatively safe. You can only hope that you are, because rarely have you ever been so sluggish and desperate for rest than you feel right now and you'd rather not wake up with an axe in your skull.

When you're done and with your clothes still hanging wet over the pew, you've got little choice but to tug on an old shirt and thin shorts from the bottom of your bag, the spare set of clothes an absolute emergency item that you're glad you at least brought this time. The summer heat's still strong so hopefully it doesn't get too cold in the night, the darkness of which you can spot creeping over the horizon through the stained glass windows. Luckily for you the layout is fairly simple and you'd already rediscovered the upstairs room where Ashley had been kept in your search, so after pushing the pews with a grunt to block the doors, low windows, and finally the ladder to the second floor, you take your gathered things inside and set up on the thin, downy cover that will have to do as a mattress for tonight. You've certainly slept in worse, less secure places than this anyways.

But before you allow yourself the chance to drift off, your fingers stretch for your wallet again that you'd tucked back into your bag, the picture greeting you once more when you flip it open and slide it out. Leon's beaming face smiles back at you, and your gentle self stands beside him six years younger in front of the RPD's grand foyer statue. Him in his jacket and you in your uniform, waving and grinning at the camera with his arm around you like nothing bad ever existed in the world. You knew in your heart that day would be the start of something different, but just how different wouldn't occur to you until it was too late. The picture sits tightly in your hand for immeasurable moments that melt into one another, up until your eyes finally flutter closed and you drift off in neverending silence.

When sleep finally comes, so do the dreams. And in them, you get to see Leon in a much more visceral way than the pictures on your desk or the smell of cologne on his jacket. The walls behind you look to be the same as the room you'd fallen asleep in, but in smooth fashion a hand cups your chin and pulls your gaze back from the floor to the one who wants it the most.

Leon looms above you on bended knees, his chest bare and hair tousled as if he'd yanked off his shirt in a hurry–he's always like that, always in a rush to begin only to take his sweet, agonizing time when he's actually performing. His lips look bitten and flushed like he's been kissing you already, but maybe that's because he's been nibbling on it like he is now out of shyness, or maybe embarrassment.

"I missed you." Your voice comes out muffled as it usually does, and Leon shifts around, his hands dwarfing your knees in comparison as he moves them to fit himself between them.

"I'm right here, sweetheart." His smile lights up your world with a glow, he makes it brighter even though a shadow still casts itself over half his face from the lantern on the other side of the room. "I'm always here for you."

But you died. Those words play on your lips, but you don't allow them to slip out. If you do, the dream may end here and now, and you can't afford to let such a precious moment of affection pass you by. "I love you, Leon." You whimper instead, and he gasps with pure, undiluted need as he makes that push inside you that he's been waiting for all night–that soft, wet heat welcoming his stiff self in like it always does and always will. The pressure stings at first, it beats hard in your chest and between your legs where he lies, but it's a forgiving ache and not a dull pain. When Leon kisses you again, it all disappears just as quickly–even quicker when he eventually starts to move.

"I love you more. I'll always love you, even after you're gone." He whispers against your lips, breathing his sentiment in and capturing yours on every exhale back. His fingertips leave trails of searing desire up your flesh, warm hands guiding your arms higher to rest around his neck and keep him as close as you can. You wouldn't need to, you don't have to, but he wants to be closer and you know you do too. Being inside you isn't enough for him, he needs you to want him, to desire him so deeply you can't fathom being apart. And you do, you always do, but you never seem to manage saying it out loud even in the throes of a perverse dream…but he can.

"I'll love you even if you leave me again. I'll fuck you so good you don't even think of doing it to me." Your lover pants, his pace picking up while your pleasure jumbles up into a heated, twisted mess. It seems like he's just entered you but at the same time it feels long, like you've been at his mercy for hours or days on end and the pressure keeps mounting higher and higher too fast. These fantasies usually end too soon for your liking but that's always because you're the one folding first, legs shaking and nails digging blunt marks into his arms when he makes you see stars. You're getting close to that mark now, yet you've barely even started.

Leon suddenly holds his hand up to your throat, fingers splayed over your delicate neck to squeeze it with a growl low in his throat. "Don't ever leave me again. Promise me." At your absent reply he tightens his grip harder, and the stars in your eyes have you choking out an answer that isn't good enough. "Promise me I'm the only one. Swear on your life you won't choose him over me."

"I-I promise! Leon, p-please, I promise! I-I'm coming to–c-cumming, Lee!" You cry, overwhelmed as you look up with wet, hazy eyes at the man you've always loved. The black veins start spreading across his golden skin, and his own gaze grows cold and dark before a sudden pulse turns his irises to a bright, piercing red. The killing blow comes with a chuckle as his lips curl into a sinister smirk, and his hips plummet down to meet yours in a cacophony of sounds that will echo in your mind for days on end, just before he stills and a shudder rolls through his body. As tight as he says you are, he never fails to press himself deep enough that he releases that pent-up desire as close to your womb as possible.

"Mine. All mine. You promised."

In the next moment of bliss settling in and a groan erupting from his throat, the world blots out into darkness and you jolt up from the floor with a start.

"Shit!"

The curse just flies from your mouth on instinct, the heat having disappeared and the pressure of a body on top of you making way for cold, aching emptiness. An uncomfortably warm, sticky wetness pooled between your legs has your attention immediately, but you've got no choice but to cringe and ignore the discomfort for now. Your breathing labours in your chest for minutes upon strained minutes before eventually quieting, and only then do you groan and shift in your spot to glance at the time just to remember that you aren't in your bed nor at home. As you would hope not, considering how stiff your back is from sleeping on the ground.

Without windows it's impossible to tell just how long you've slept, and a glance around the empty room offers no clues either. So when you manage to get up and stretch, the only thing you notice fluttering down from where you'd let go of it is that same photo of yourself and Leon–with that dream in the back of your head, however, you can't bring yourself to look at him and shove it back into the plastic holder in your wallet.

Still, with that being a normal practice for you being around the person you've been harbouring feelings for, that dream in itself was stranger than most. The last thing you want is to dwell on it right this minute, but Leon's words still echo in your head regardless; what did he mean when he spoke those words? Did they have a shred of truth to them, or were they just the frantic machinations of your brain still trying to make sense of his death?

Either way, you don't really want to know. You just want to leave this place altogether–but with that option out the window, the least you can do is leave this church and get some fresh air. With the skill and briskness of a trained agent, you gather your things and briskly slip on your newly-dried clothes downstairs, a few bites of a protein bar all you need to sustain you at least for a couple hours.

Upon pushing on the heavy entrance doors, the crack of light between them opens up into a bright horizon with the sun beating down on the soil, the burst of morning light blinding you temporarily as you take those first few steps outside. It's just long enough for your surroundings to come into focus that you get a whiff of the humid air–and in seconds your nose scrunches up, the foul stench of decay pervading your senses in the instant that it takes for you to take a look around.

Lying in droves around the cemetery, piles at the bottom of the hill, and strung in pieces all around your feet, are the bodies of the Ganados. The sight of it strickens you immediately with shock, but then nauseates you to the point of clutching your mouth to keep what little food you brought from coming back up.

The corpses have been strewn around like some sort of macabre dollhouse; lying in pieces splayed every which way, facedown in the grave dirt or strung up in the trees for the crows to peck at. Some have been gutted and others dismembered. A few have their heads missing. Intestines and gore lie in bloody wake around the site of the massacre, sticking to the soles of your boots from one step into the aftermath, and you want to vomit. God, how can you not want to vomit at the sight of it all? What god could be so cruel, even to monsters?

It's sickening to the point of panic–run, you just want to turn tail and run far, far away, but your destination hasn't been decided quite yet. Ideally you would have sat down with your map and plotted it out, found your next objective, maybe would've scoped out the closest place to rest once you're finished your search. You would've been thorough and confident like any rescuer should be.

But the cowardice in your heart screams louder than courage. In a moment, you're rushing down the path and running out the gate, frantic in shoving it open just enough to slide yourself through but too disturbed to look back towards the carnage. In seconds the church is far behind you, and in a matter of minutes you're on a new path you haven't yet considered the danger of.

All you know is that you want out of this place, you want to go home–even though home has been within arm's reach since you got here. It's never too far away, especially when you inevitably follow the road that leads right towards that infamous castle gate, and your destiny.

[welp-back-on-my-bs]

Ok- ok- what if- like ikesen/vamp we had a timetraveler for prince and villain

How would that work?- I have an idea-

For ikepri, I was thinking you are a historian working with scientists to figure out time travel. Your interest, well the four kingdoms of Rhodinite, Obsidian, Bennonite, and Jade.

Let's say here historically someone else chose Leon, while Gilbert, Silvio, and Keith took the throne of their respective kingdoms.

So, you were sent back in time. Your goal is to make a historical impact and/or have a letter sent to them in the future to show you have made it and weither or not you would return.

Your life started three years before the main game (because Rio needs to survive). You have a little house and farm, with some seeds from the future along with some other things.

You still worked at that bookstore, since money is important here. But you also had a side hustle of your garden's greens.

Rio: you still saved Rio from the verge of death. It was two months into your stay into the past. He often spent time helping you out with surviving. It was nice for you both to do something so fulfilling and made so many happy. He was allways quite curious about what you hid in your secret chest, but understood that you had secrets too.

Getting selected as Bell wasn't was you were expecting at all. But hey- it works. Why? That historical impact and the fact you changed the future with it. You had a history book with the possible times you could've went to (Sengoku Era Japan, 18th century Paris(?), and of course 1??? Rohdinite).

So far, only thibg that has changed is that your name was added to the history books instead if the one who was originally Bell.

You already had the Bell contact memorized front to back so when Sarel asked you to sign it, you did, no hesitation. Witch earned some teadeing from the man, before you recited the entire contract to his shagrin.

Next is IkeVil

You were training a new recruit to the present-day crown. He had the curse of the white rabbit. So, in the midst of your training, he accidentally sent you down a rabbit hole to 19th/20th century England.

You ended up meeting William by literally falling into his arms. Well, you don't exactly meet everyone by literally catching them from the sky. So, he took you to the crown because something about you was... differnt.

What would that be?

Well, nothing other than your curse, of course!

Along with wearing pants as a woman. And oh, so many more mysteries you had on your person.

Here, you end up as the fairy tale keeper still, but I think your curse can very much depend on what route you are on.

William: Curse of the Little Mermaid (ability: able to breathe underwater personality: childish, curious, selfless fate: will one day disappear into thr depths of the ocean)

Harrison: Curse of the Snow Queen (ability: able to see the worst in people personality: cold and pessimistic fate: betrayed)

Liam: Curse of the Phantom (Phantom of the Opera)(ability: able to map out any biulding when stepping into it personality: creative, obsessive, outcast fate: to be alone or die in a fire)

Elbert: Curse of the Beauty (Beauty and the Beast)(ability: to tell ones true character by looking them in the eye personality: kind, clever, ambitious fate: to be outcasted)

Alfons: Curse of the witch (various) (ability: to fly personality: chaotic, judgemental, protective fate: to be killed by many)

Rodger: Curse of Gretel (ability: can follow crumbs to safety personality: stubborn, childish fate: burnt alive)

Jude: the curse of Rumplestiltskin (ability: to create whatever is asked for our of something else personality: cunning, strict, manipulative fate: to be thrown to their death)

Ellis: the curse of the Piper (the pied piper of hamelon) (ability: able to enchant living things to follow them by playing/singing a tune, diffent tune draws differnt audiences personality: kind, spiteful, cunning fate: to drown alone)

Victor: Curse of the Wizard (the wonderful wizard of OZ)(ability: to create illusions of what the seer fears personality: clever fate: to be abandoned)

Darious: the curse of the Little match girl (ability: to create illusions of desire with fire personality: sweet, emathetic, loyal fate: to die in the cold)

Nika: Curse of the hunter (because future bitchesssss)

Ring: Curse of the nightingale (ability: to heal all those who listen to their song personality: kind, stubborn fate: to be replaced and abandoned)

[reobsessed]

A Knight and His Squire- Part one

Content warning- 18+, light smut, (for the time being) Luis x Leon fic Summary: Leon and Luis are trapped together in the basement, shackled together. Tensions rise as Luis begins to undress, desperate to find his smokes. Can the two men resist the alluring pull, trapped in the close confines of one another’s presence?

Here's a link to part 2!

Leon groaned as he strained to release himself from his restraints. His heavy panting filling the room, prompting the other man to raise an eyebrow.

"Ey need a break there, cowboy?" 

Leon responded with an exhausted grunt. 

“Perhaps you’re in need of an inhaler? Wait, this reminds me!” his loud proclamation, drowning out Leon’s heavy breathing.

“Reminds you of what?” Leon responded through grunts.

“Do me a favour there Sancho, perhaps you could put those large American hands to use and reach into my pocket and get me a smoke?” he punctuated the request with a sly grin.

Leon stared back in disgust, before shaking his head.

“Got gum if you want that?” 

Luis recoiled.

“You Americans, such killjoys. More than willing to light up an entire country but cigarettes? That is where you draw the line?”

Leon ignored Luis in favour of tugging at his restraints once more, pulling the Spaniard along with them. 

“I’m doing you a favour, those things’ll kill ya.”

“Ah yes I’m sure they’ll get me before the village full of monsters does,” Luis remarked sarcastically.

Leon continued to busy himself with the chains. They must have stripped him of his weapons back in the basement. He looked around the room once more, maybe there was a scrap of metal or stray paperclip he could use? Not that he could pick a lock with a paperclip but at least then he would feel like he was doing something. His mind didn’t fare well with silence and his hands needed a distraction. He was broken from his thoughts by a thud and the sound of metal clanking to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Leon asked quizzically.

“Well if you’re not gonna find me my smokes I’ll do it myself.” Luis began rummaging through his jacket pockets, pulling at Leon with every motion. “Ahh don’t tell me they took them, thieving bastards.” He was close to giving up when, in pure desperation he threw off his jacket and began rifling through the inner pockets. With the chains in the way he was unable to remove his jacket entirely, with it hanging limply on the string of chains behind him.

Leon had his back turned to the other man and was doing his best to ignore him but the constant tugging on his wrists sent him over the edge.

“Hey. Will you cut it ou-” his breath hitched. “What are you doing, what happened to your clothes??”

Luis looked up, his eyes full of uncharacteristic innocence. 

“You wouldn’t help me, so I removed my jacket. Got a problem?” 

The lack of a jacket wasn’t an issue. However, upon removing his jacket Luis had revealed a simple white button down shirt, a shirt in which he had neglected to button at least five of the top buttons putting his tanned chest on full display. Leon swallowed a lump in his throat, trying not to analyse every detail of the open window. His eyes latched on to each and every stray hair that protruded and curled below the man’s collar. It didn’t take him long to notice a scar etched deep into the man, starting just below his right shoulder, descending far below where Leon could see.

“Ah c’mon.” Luis had turned his jacket inside out, shaking it vigorously. Leon watched as various bits of rubbish fell into the man’s lap. Leon slapped his forehead with one hand, the sound of the slap and clanging metal caused Luis to snap his head up in Leon’s direction. 

“What is it?” Luis began to crawl backwards on his hands upon meeting Leon’s intense glare. Panic struck him as Leon began moving closer. “Wait wait wait. I’m sorry my friend, I didn’t mean to cause offence.” Luis tried retreating further but his back hit a wall. Leon was directly in front of him now. He slumped to his knees, inches away from where Luis had cowered away.

“You’re a goddamn mess.�� as Leon reached out Luis flinched, his head hitting the back wall. He squinted his eyes expectantly, waiting for the approaching punch but he felt nothing. Tentatively he opened one eye, and then another. He stared wide eyed in shock as he watched his new companion fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

“WAIT A SECO-” Luis froze. “Er, why are you doing up my buttons?”

“You shouldn’t expose yourself like that,” Leon scolded him, continuing upwards to another button. “Maybe it’s a culture thing,” he mumbled the last part. His pace had slowed considerably, the act of buttoning another man’s shirt wasn’t supposed to be this drawn out. He thought about the fabric of the man’s shirt, how creased and unruly it was (though the same could be said about the entire man’s appearance), the way dark hairs would tickle against his fingers as he fumbled with another button. Luis had gone silent for the first time since they’d been trapped together, he dared not even breath under Leon’s imposing presence. 

Luis couldn’t help but compare his current situation to one he’d been in many times, no, not this exact situation but whenever he’d had any sort of success with a woman there had always been a considerable roadblock that prevented him from going any further, what would cause such a delay you ask? Why, man’s most despised invention of course! A detriment to both men and women alike (or so Luis thought) his hands had always felt twice as large and clumsy in those moments and even under the threat of death he would never admit to the times he’d failed. 

Accursed bras he swore inwardly.

“Ah look at this.” Leon’s gaze dropped to the man’s lap. “Are you always this much of a mess?” Without thinking he reached out and began brushing paper and lint from Luis’ crotch.

Luis let out an unusually high pitched shout as he grabbed hold of Leon’s wrist.

“Are you er, dusting my porch Señor?” 

 Leon’s eyes grew wide when he realised what he was doing, he attempted to stand up but Luis’ grip wouldn’t give him up.

“Perhaps back in America they lack certain freedoms?” Luis’ mouth twisted into a conniving smile. “Chained underground with another man was all it took to send you over the edge.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leon growled, trying to remain as stoic as possible. Luis gave him a sympathetic and knowing smile in response as he moved Leon’s hand back to his groin. 

Leon looked at his hand then at Luis’ face, comically looking between the two repeatedly. Luis laughed at the man’s indecision.

“Such a gentleman.” Luis pressed Leon’s hand deeper into his crotch, letting out a soft moan as he did so. Leon paused, staring intently into Luis’ eyes.

“Wait, slow down. You don’t have to do anything,” Leon stammered, his eyes darting round the room desperately.

Luis laughed leaning forward on his knees until he was looking down on Leon.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, neither you nor anyone in this village can make me do anything I don’t want to do and I should think the same goes for you,” he stated, wrapping both arms round Leon’s neck.

Leon hesitantly brought up a pair of shaking hands, placing a hand on either side of Luis’ waist.

Does this guy eat properly, why’s his waist so damn small?

His thoughts were cut short as Luis brought Leon’s head closer, planting it directly into his chest.

“This is what you were so transfixed onto, no? Maybe instead this time we do the opposite of before?”

Leon felt his heart race and his head empty of coherent thoughts. He should have been focussed solely on his mission but it was as though an animal had awoken within him in that underground room and he was no longer able to resist his innermost desires.

He steadied his hands and this time grabbed onto Luis’ hips assertively, pulling him down with his firm grip. They were now sitting eye to eye. 

Luis liked to think he exuded confidence, no stranger could resist his suave charm, especially not the ladies, so why was it that Leon intimidated him so? He couldn’t even look him in the eye without turning away abashedly. 

All of a sudden he let out a yelp as he felt Leon’s hands creep up from the hem of his shirt. His fingertips were ice cold but soon acclimatised to Luis’ body heat. The cold chill of the basement was no longer an issue as Luis warmed the both of them. 

Leon leaned in, planting tender kisses down Luis’ neck, nipping slightly at his collar bone. His hands rose higher and it took every ounce of strength not to rip the feeble cotton shirt from Luis’ chest. The man had given him the go ahead but he wasn’t so sure he’d take kindly to having his clothes torn, he seemed the materialistic type. 

His hands returned to their earlier position, undoing each of the remaining buttons precisely and in almost no time at all. Luis couldn’t help but feel a little impressed at the man’s efficiency, perhaps the earlier comparison wasn’t so accurate after all.

Finally Luis’ chest was in full view. Leon took no time in tracing a finger all the way down the man’s scar. 

“Quite the scar isn’t it? I imagine you have a few yourself?” he said while dragging the leather jacket off Leon’s shoulders. Getting Leon’s shirt off would be damn near impossible without tearing it and so Luis settled with lifting it with one hand, whistling while he took in the view.

“You got something to say?” Leon’s voice was laced with irritation.

“Just admiring the view and might I say you have quite the pair of asset-” Luis was abruptly cut off as Leon forced him to the ground, climbing on top of him in the process.

“How about you keep quiet and we expedite this process?” He unbuckled his belt as he spoke. 

“Ye- yes Señor!” Luis sputtered as he attempted to pull off his jeans, an impossible task given Leon was directly on top of him.

“Allow me,” Leon stated coolly. As quickly as he’d unbuttoned Luis earlier he unclipped his belt. He hooked his fingers over the top of Luis’ jeans and went to pull them down when all of a sudden he paused. “Might be a little hard getting these off with that in the way,” he emphasised his point by flicking Luis’ growing bulge with a finger.

Luis covered his face in embarrassment.

“I thought you wanted to speed things up,” his moans were muffled beneath his hands.

Without warning Leon removed Luis’ jeans in one smooth motion, chucking them in a heap along with his own. He raised an eyebrow at his companions' now visible underwear.

“Why does your underwear match your jacket?”

“WHY DO STUPID AMERICANS ASK SO. MANY. QUESTIONS?!?” Luis had had enough, foreplay never usually took this long, at least not when he was the one topping. 

This is what I get for letting the pretty boy with the big mouth top for the first time ever in his life. 

Just as Luis was ready to throw the younger man aside and take care of things himself, Leon brought his mouth back to Luis’ neck and bit down hard. Luis moaned in approval as Leon buried his hand into Luis’ hair and pulled.

TO BE CONTINUED....

[residentfurry]

u don't have to answer this but another sherry self harm truther here.... it's so real and true in my mind

(I just want to mention what I say below isn't meant to romanticize self harm, it's an exploration of Sherry's feelings/character and what SHE might think as it applies to this headcanon of mine. I take this topic seriously and I want to display her feelings as realistically as possible, without any censoring.)

it is!! I think it makes the most sense for her character, considering what she goes through.

Raccoon City was traumatic in it of itself, but she was a CHILD surrounded by walking rotting corpses being personally hunted by a flesh monster (which was her father, which is a whole new level of fucked) who's whole purpose is to infect you with a parasite and force you to eventually go through the same transformation he did. Not only that, but her mom rejected her and refused to help her after the infection and all she had was a lady she just met that cared more about her then both of them ever did. (Not that they didn't care in some way, but both of them eventually chose other pursuits over you and your safety.)

How much of this Sherry understood at the time we don't know, but she had plenty of time to think about when she was taken away from the people who saved her (the people she saw as surrogate parents) and put into the care of another stranger. The stranger who allowed people to test on her... the game doesn't go into detail, but I like to think that they actually took samples of her flesh to test her regenerative abilities and also did some "stress tests" to what her body could take. (The fact that she is only wearing a gown when doing similar tests in China supports this theory).

Remind you, she is at the most a teenager during these tests. It's these tests that she talks about with Jake, and she seems really bothered by them, at least to me. More than Raccoon city, but that's just my opinion.

(detailed self harm talk below.)

I think this familiarity with pain/cuts and sharp objects inflicted upon her out of her control would lead her to do the same things to herself as a act OF CONTROL. It's just so familiar to her, it just kind of makes sense, ya know? Like she's SUPPOSED to do it. After all, with her fast regeneration, they wouldn't bleed much or even scar at first.

I think medical stuff is very triggering for her (from being sick in umbrella labs as a a child, as her being infected + her mother died right in front of her there like wtf; and all the medical testing) so it's usually after testing she does it too.

She does it out of feeling a lack of control in her life. I like to think she's more like her father than she realizes; she needs to be kept busy to survive and when she's bored it feels like the end of the world. So it's when she's bored she does it the most.

When she becomes an agent and testing stops she drowns out her thoughts with work and ultimately stops harming. I like to think when she's on the Jake mission she's been "clean" for a while, but again relapses when captured in China, and again after the mission when she finds out about Simmons' crimes.

By the end of re6 I think she really starts her journey to recovery with the help of those around her. Having met Leon again really helped her, and I like to imagine they get to have that conversation of WHY Leon couldn't take care of her anymore, as much as he wanted to, which really lifts a weight of feeling unwanted off her shoulders. Hearing about Leon's struggle with alcohol really strikes a cord with her and they vow to get better together.

Also finding a kindred spirit in Jake, who went through the same stuff as her in China, really helps her. Not feeling alone helps her A LOT.

But even with all that (and it an undisputable headcanon in my mind) I almost didn't draw her with scars! One of the reasons was that I wasn't sure that even if she did harm herself that her scars would show, but what made me make the choice to do it was the fact that I think there should be more art of people with sh scars outside of vent art. Which is also the reason why I tag my art with cw (content warning) instead of tw (trigger warning) because I believed people with scars should just be able to exist without having to be a "tw", if that makes sense.

Anyways ya! Sorry for the long post but this topic is neat and dear to me, and I love exploring the mental health effects of characters who've been through trauma. I also headcanon other resident evil characters as self harmers (not all in the same way) like Leon (though that's p much canon) Mia, Chris (I imagine the time between re5/re6 he purposefully gets into fights to hurt himself), AND JILL OFC JILL. It just makes sense to me.

Thank you for the ask and have a wonderful day!!! ^-^

[lil-ms-darkness]

ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 Angst

You remember his lips on yours; warm, fierce, skilled. His breath always smelled of whiskey and smoke, and when he touched you, it always sent a wave of excitement through you, fluttering like an earthquake.

You remember the way he would nibble on your earlobe, or tease you on a mission. The way his voice switched between cocky ladies man and the veteraned soldier; the way he held you in his arms as if you could keep the nightmares away and you alone could save him from the dark.

There was something intoxicating about him, something that drew you in. Maybe it was his courageous heart, or his drive to protect, or maybe it was something as simple as his kind, yet dominating and intense blue eyes.

The eyes that could never hide from you, the eyes that saw through you just the same. You remember the feel of his calloused fingers draped over your slender knuckles at his favorite steakhouse. The fingertip that grazed over your bottom lip when all was quiet and he drunk in the sight of you.

You remember the anger and tears that followed the Arklay Mountain incident, after losing Jill on Rockford island, after the massacre in China, after his entire team, after Piers. You remember the tense muscles and twitching fingers as he fought to contain his rage in your arms, as he fought to stay in the present and not let the memories whisk him away into the pain and helplessness again.

You remember the man you promised your heart to.

Not once did he look at you with such fright in his eyes. Not once did you feel his hands stutter with uncertainty.

"No, no, no. . ." he groans as he holds you in his arms, scratchy shoulder straps digging into your already itchy flesh. Your skin boils, every touch akin to dragging broken glass across rubbed raw tissue. Your throat feels deliriously dry, and somewhere deep in your gut a twisting stirs. The itch in your flesh draws your focus from everything else, and no matter how much you had itched, it wouldn't go away. Not even when your nails dug away flesh from your arms. "please not her. . ."

His voice is so far away, as you cough into the back of your hand. Pulling it away, you spot the splatter of blood across palid skin marred by black veins, exploding like a lightning strike across grey clouds.

You look up at him, the man who stole your heart, and want to ask him what's happening to you. You remember every nightmare he had ever told you, of him losing you, of him succumbing to Umbrella's experimentation, and worse.

As you rewind your memory, splotches of black drown out bits and pieces, once peaceful memories drift from your mind as the ache and burning in your body becomes worse.

You're exhausted, but calm. Somehow, you don't feel afraid, you had always been his rock, his comfort. Cool drops land on your cheeks and when his hand guides your face up to meet his, you find that it was his tears that fell. He speaks to you, but all you hear is the dull heavy thrum of your heartbeat.

You blink, slowly, the thirst and hunger stronger than ever as you look at him, the thick column of his neck, the juicy thickness of his biceps. Your mind drifts away, slowly, and you feel the pain ebb away as you give in.

You're not frightened.

You're hungry.

You're itchy.

What were you supposed to remember?

Remember. . .

Hey everyone, I know it's not the next part of M&P, but I was playing RE4 Remake and this came up in my mind, and I had to write it down.

Resident Evil is one of my lifelong hyper fixations and I just love Chris so much, even if he's a womanizing butthead sometimes. I have a cold heart, and angst always has such a macabre beauty to it, and in this instance, I felt like after losing so many people, Chris likely wouldn't want to get close to anyone, but what would happen if he did and then they got infected?

Imagine Claire calling to check in, only to find out what happened to you? I would imagine she'd love you and be devastated, as well. Maybe Jill, Claire, Leon, Chris, Sherry (and by proxy Jake) all came to your funeral?

Idk, I'm just word vomiting at this point. Hope you like, and if not, I'm sorry.

If you're waiting for the next part of M&P, it is in production, I promise.

Thanks for reading,

𝕷𝖎𝖑 𝕸𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 🥀

[twoidiotwriters1]

Until The Very End -(WITS Sequel)

A/N: I love my little children everyone is so precious -Danny

Words: 2,271

Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next chapter

2008

Reg can't wait to go home. He's tapping his foot so much that his friend has to hit his knee with her quidditch magazine.

"Stop it! You're driving me mental!" She scowls.

"Sorry," Reggie replies, briefly glancing her way before sinking further into his seat.

"Tsk," Penny shakes her head, resuming her lecture. "You're squirming like there's a niffler in your pants."

Penny and Reg have been friends for a year and a half. They met during their first potions class and have been inseparable since. Penny is a Slytherin, and she reminds him of Mel a lot. She was the only kid who stood up for him when McLaggen started to harass him. 

Penny's a muggle-born, so she didn't understand why everyone was so intimidated by David's last name and had no problem telling him off. She's obsessed with becoming a head girl one day, so she has no patience for arrogant people. Sometimes, when something upsets her—like right now—it's very hard to look her in the eye. She's got the darkest eyes Reg has ever seen. It's scary.

He loves her though, they're similar in many ways. Penny likes to tease him saying that it's the Black blood in him, but she doesn't joke about that often, Reg doesn't find it very funny.

"You know, you have no reason to worry," he says, knowing that's part of her current grumpy mood. "My family will love you more than they love me."

"Tsk," Penny clicks her tongue again and wrinkles her nose. She's not a talkative girl, but she's very straightforward when she talks. "Don't be daft. Your family worships you."

Reg grins. His face is much lovelier when he smiles, or that's what the classmates who have a crush on him always say. "Well, your family worships you too, so you have no right to mock me."

Penny says nothing, but she smiles a little. She was adopted two years prior to finding out she was a witch, and her muggle parents received the news pretty well. Reg's met her parents, and they treat her like she's made of angel dust.

"Don't try to cheer me up by being condescending, that's what I'm saying. I'd appreciate it better if you were honest."

"I'm being honest," he raises a brow. "You underestimate how my mum and sister feel about strangers. But you'll know what I mean once we—"

The door to their compartment opens and Reg's guts tangle as soon as he locks eyes with David McLaggen. The boy is looking at him with a lopsided smirk.

"What?" Reg scowls.

"Just came to drop a dung in its rightful place."

One of his friends drags forward two smaller forms, Reg's blood boils as soon as he spots the kids behind the older Gryffindors.

"Layla!" Penny gasps. "Finn!"

"What did you do to them?" Reg stands up and elbows the older kids out of the way to examine his friends.

"We didn't do anything," David snorts, already walking away. "Ask them—while you're at it tell them to never try something like that again, or next time we won't be so generous."

Penny and Reg carry the second-years inside their compartment. Layla, a second-year Gryffindor, is wet from head to toe and smells like she took a dive inside a dumpster. Finn, second-year Ravenclaw, is also wet, but he's more awake than Layla and he's fuming.

"I'm going to drown you in Granpa's pond as soon as we get there, Layla," he growls, pulling the cloak off his body grumpily.

"What happened?" Reg questions.

"This idiot happened!" Finn points at his cousin in outrage. "Layla tried to get your book back!"

Penny and Reg look at the blonde girl with matching scowls. "I told you to drop it," the boy says.

Layla mumbles something, but she's too out of it. 

Penny scoffs and draws out her wand. "Rennervate!"

Layla sits up gasping, she coughs and gawks when the smell around her hits her nose. "I... ew! Is that the dungbomb?"

"You dropped it when David disarmed you," Finn throws his wet cloak at her. "Leon told you to forget it— and yet you went and did it, you absolute—"

"Can someone tell me the whole story?" Reg huffs, pulling the wet cloak off Layla's head. "You! Start talking!"

Layla coughs again, she holds her nose as she explains. "Your mother gave you that book! He has no right to steal it!"

"It's a stupid book," Reg scolds her. "I can buy another copy, it's not a big deal."

"It's a family heirloom!"

Reg rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Lay, that prat's doing me a favour. I bet Mum was half-hoping I'd lose the book, she's too sentimental to admit they're a waste of space."

"Books aren't a waste of space!" Penny argues. "If you find them inconvenient, I'll ask her if I can take some with me before I leave, you're a spoiled wanker."

Finn flushes at Penny's language, but Reg chortles and pats the girl's arm. "Be my guest."

"I just wanted to help..." Layla mumbles in a nosey voice.

Now that the shock of seeing his friends in trouble is over, Reg softens. "I appreciate it, mate, but you're a lousy dueller, you should leave that stuff to me and Finn."

"Precisely what I said," Finn scoffs, trying to dry his pitch-black hair.

"If I don't practice I'll never learn," Layla disputes.

"When we said you should practice, we meant joining the duelling club, you twat!" Finn responds.

"Stop it, she's learned her lesson," Penny sighs. "Right, Lay?"

The girl glances up at Reg with a guilty expression. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, I appreciate the effort. But a book is really not worth it."

Her bright green eyes fill with relief, and then her expression shifts entirely. She turns to her cousin and hits his arm. "You were supposed to back me up!"

"Ouch! How was I—Stop hitting me! How was I supposed to back you up against a bunch of fourteen-year-olds!"

While Layla and Finn bicker, Reg can't help but think of Emily Flint. He really can't wait to get home.

Mel promised she'd pick up her brother from the train station. Somehow the news spread and now there was a whole army of children around her eager to see their friend after six months apart.

"Mel! Mel!" Elizabeth Flint squealed. "Is it true Reggie's bringing a friend from school?"

"Yeah. You've heard of heard, Penny, haven't you?"

"She's a Slytherin like our dad!" Emily piped in, full of excitement.

"That's right," Mel nodded, adjusting little Lily in her arms. "Kids, has anyone seen Harry?"

"Here!" Harry had their twins held one on each side, both four-year-olds were quite squirmish and he was struggling to keep them steady. "Where's Matty?"

Mel glanced around and spotted her two-year-old son calmly seated on the bench a few feet away from them, holding onto Teddy's hand while the oldest Lupin animatedly talked to Victoire and Dominique.

"The train's coming! Mel! The train's coming!" Elizabeth tried to run forward, but Emily caught her by the back of her jumper.

"Calm down, Lizzy, he'll come to us," she reminded her. 

Mel was almost as excited as Lizzy. Her brother was growing at an alarming speed, and although he was no longer the little kid she used to scold for dipping his hair under the faucet's stream, he still was a young boy, and she wanted to enjoy him before he grew up and away from them.

Once the children started to pour out of the train, Mel spotted the auburn tuft of her brother's fluffy hair surrounded by a couple of children. He was playfully holding Finn Maverick's head while the boy kept elbowing him trying to escape his grip.

Layla Bach was orbiting the two boys trying—and failing—to join the fight. They were purposefully keeping her at a safe distance from their wrestling. She reminded Mel of Neville Longbottom, though definitely way more hyper and extroverted.

Reg then looked up and locked eyes with Mel, his face lighting up when he recognized all the children surrounding her and Harry. He let go of Finn and said goodbye to him and Layla, then grabbed Penny and dragged her all the way to where his family was waiting.

"Reggie!" Elizabeth shouted, escaping Emily and wrapping her arms around Regulus's middle.

In a matter of seconds, Reg disappeared under the weight of nine excited children who were beyond happy to have their friend back. Mel laughed at the scene, even her twins had joined the avalanche, hugging their young uncle and struggling not to topple under the strength of the older kids.

"You must be Penny," Harry spoke.

Mel gave a start, the little girl had been so quiet she'd forgotten Reg had brought her along. Harry remembered how he felt the first time Ron invited him to stay over at his place. She was a muggle-born, and meeting a family of wizards and witches was nerve-wracking.

"Hi!" Mel eyed the girl with loads of interest, after all, this was her brother's best friend.

Penny had dark skin, curly dark hair, beautiful dark eyes and was a head taller than Regulus. She was looking at Mel with reverence, which made her a little anxious.

"It's so nice to meet you," Penny was holding her quidditch magazine tightly against her chest. "Leon has told me loads about you."

"He's told us loads about you too," Mel beamed, nudging Harry. "C'mon, Glasses."

He searched in his pocket and pulled out a bag of sweets. "Merry Christmas, Penny. The kids insisted on giving you this as a way to welcome you to their group."

Victoire pushed through and took the bag of sweets from Harry's hands. "Hi, Penny! We're Reggie's friends, which means we're your friends!"

Penny was eyeing the bag with genuine surprise. A second kid untangled from the group hug. "Hi!" Ted Lupin tripped over his own foot and almost knocked over the bag of sweets from Victoire's hand. "Sorry, Vicky! Hi, I'm Teddy!"

"Hullo," Penny cleared her throat. "You're a lot of kids."

"And these aren't all!" Mel replies happily. "You'll get used to it, Penny."

"Let's go get your trunks," Harry suggested, sensing Penny would need a moment to process all the new faces.

"Wait—Where's mum?" Reg pushed his way out of the hug, picking up Matthew and carrying him like a teddy bear.

"She had lots of work at the Scamander Sanctuary, but she prepped my old room for Penny to sleep in."

Penny blushed when she heard this, staying in Mel Dumbledore's former bedroom was a dream come true.

"But she's going to sleep with me!" Reg asked, sounding bossy.

"She can't sleep with you, she's a guest," Emily scowled. "What kind of host are you?"

Reg snorted, poking the nine-year-old's cheek teasingly. "She can if she wants to! I've got no problem with it. What about you, Pen?"

"I want to sleep in my own bed, though," Penny admitted confidently. "I don't like sharing a bed."

Reg frowned. "Is it because Layla said my feet are smelly? That was one time—"

Mel laughed and pushed the boy forward, interrupting their conversation. "C'mon, children, we should get going."

Harry was already in bed, reading through a file from work. Mel jumped under the sheets and snatched the papers out of his hand.

"Hey!" He tried to take them back. "Give them back here, it's work!"

She hit the top of his head with the file. "What the bloody hell are you doing reading awful things before bed? It's going to give you nightmares!"

The young man chuckled, trying to keep her from hitting him again. "It's alright..."

"It's late," Mel dropped the file and then sat on his lap. "Christmas is in two days. Please, stop thinking about work."

She cupped his cheek, and Harry leaned into her touch, kissing her wrist. "Have I told you lately..." he began, pulling her closer by the waist. "That I love you?"

"Flattery won't work, Glasses," she grinned. "You're almost thirty, you should know better."

Harry rolled over and pulled her close under him. "I'm just asking a question!" He leaned in and kissed her neck. "You still look after me... and I love you for it," he kissed her cheek. "And you look after our kids, and spoil the rest," he smirked. "We'll need a bigger car if you keep taking them everywhere."

"I can't say no to them, I love them so much," Mel pouted. "And someday they'll grow up, won't be as adorable—and they only like to come when Reg is here."

Harry lifted himself up to look at her. "I'm glad they all welcomed Penny so easily, she's a nice girl."

"She is," Mel held his face, she kept stroking his beard lovingly. "And his other friends look really nice too. I'm glad Reg's got good mates, I was so worried when he sent that letter about McLaggen, Uncle Lu said that he's constantly harassing him..."

"Reg's a natural leader," Harry shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "McLaggen's a prat just like his uncle, he probably sees your brother as a threat—"

"My brother is twelve and he's fourteen!"

"David's family isn't exactly the best and brightest, right?" Harry continued with amusement. "And to be fair, Reg acts and sounds way older."

"Well, he grew up surrounded by adults. Reggie was already running around on his own when Teddy was barely old enough to stand. He's used to getting things done by himself, and doing more for others," Mel sighed. "He's a great boy, pestered by the not-so-great."

Harry kissed her forehead. "He can take care of it, so don't smother him."

Mel glared at him, it gave Harry a pleasant shiver, it reminded him of a younger version of his wife, the one he loved to tease just to see that expression.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," she poked his ribs. "I know how annoying I can be—"

"I'm just saying—"

Harry's speech was interrupted by a flying pillow. Mel stifled her laughter, rolling over to escape his retaliation.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

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[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

Five years ago the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

(Angst and fluff and smut) Changed up the format because it was starting to look so silly with 20+ chapters.

Check it out on Ao3 from the beginning or jump into chapter twenty two below the cut.

If the last few days had Isolde feeling out of her depth, then there was no reason that the present situation should be an improvement. But, she checked her heartbeat, her breathing, and examined her feelings and found that she was no longer panicking, no longer on the edge of drowning. She felt a little guilty about the whole thing, actually. Astarion’s life was falling apart, and somehow, her presence within it was contributing to that, but she felt a kind of relief. This might be the extent of the punishment that Mephistopheles had in mind. It was only then that she realized that she had been expecting something much worse for him. In comparison to the possibilities, being fiend-marked was manageable.

She did feel guilty for that thought, though. Astarion wasn't able to take this optimistic view, and why would he?

He knelt on the floor of the ballroom, clothing in tatters around his changed body, concentrating and failing to transform, either into one of his typical animal shapes, or back into his true form. Every moment that passed and he was still in this new, fiend-marked form was clearly agonizing for him.

Alice kept the gith child at an educational distance. Close enough that he could still see the master, but far enough away that he wouldn’t feel threatened by his very presence. She was whispering to him quietly, and he was nodding, so Isolde imagined that some reductive explanation was in order.

Leon and Aurelia were closer, but speaking in hushed tones that Isolde couldn’t catch a single note of. She didn’t see guilt in their countenances. Good. They shouldn’t feel guilty about any of this, she decided. It was his doing, in the end.

But, she still wanted to help him manage the consequences, if she could. Just because he was responsible for what had happened, didn’t mean he deserved it. She didn’t know what she could do to help, but to start, at least, she decided that she wasn’t going to keep her distance. Even if this new form made her uncomfortable, she was going to endure it.

Except, she didn’t feel uncomfortable with it at all.

It was tempting to attribute it to her childhood with Vovka, but honestly, Astarion and Vovka still didn’t resemble one another, even now that they shared some specific hell-touched attributes. Being in Astarion’s presence didn’t feel quite the same as being in the presence of a cambion. He was still himself.

And, even on a purely aesthetic level, the differences were stark. Vovka’s horns had been lacquer black and smooth when he was younger, drawing in and pointing high above his head like a wicked crown, and as he’d gotten older, they started to split with yellow and orange lines of infernal light, like molten lava, cracking through that smooth exterior, especially when he was upset. By the time he ran away from home, they were almost always burning bright through the tips.

In contrast, Astarion’s looked more like a sort of horns she’d seen on some of the humble tiefling citizens of Bladur’s Gate; they resembled white, unpolished bone, carving in more of a halo arc, and running parallel to his pointed ears in a way that complemented the angles of his elven features. His skin remained the bloodless, vampiric shade of pale that she was used to, though the sclera of his eyes had changed to black as pitch, and though the irises remained red, the new contrast seemed to add a sheen that hadn’t been there before. He also didn’t seem to have quite so many of the extra prongs, ridges and vestigial claw-like nubs that dotted Vovka’s skin. His tail was ridged though, that was a little different, and with a subtle lean and a swerve of her eyes, she could see that the ridges continued up his spine to the nap of his neck. 

The strangest thing was his wings, and his back.

The scars that his master had carved into his flesh were no longer in their original place, instead, the marks were distorted and stretched across the reach of his leathery wings. The infernal glyphs were huge, and now, easily exposed and readable. 

He flexed his claw-like hands and then fisted them against the ground with a crash of frustration. “Godsdammit,” he lamented in an almost imperceptible whisper. Another failed attempt to take control of his own body, and transform back.

It had only been minutes, and so Isolde was not ready to write off that possibility, but it seemed unlikely to her that Mephistopheles intended for the change to be anything less than permanent. At least, on some level.

Tentative, but determined not to leave him feeling worse, or abandoned, she scooted nearer, placing herself directly under the shade of one arced wing. He looked up sharply, sensing her, but he couldn’t quite lift his eyes.

She thought about telling him how very handsome he still was, but knew that wouldn’t make him feel better, even if it was true. The point of being marked as a fiend was not to lash one’s vanity, but to send a message, not just to the soul being punished, but to everyone who saw them. And the message about Astarion was clear, red, and written in angry infernal on his new wings. He was bound. Mephistopheles had him in his collection: a new monster.

“Why would he believe that you might try to go back on the deal?” the question slipped out from between her lips, thoughtless at first, but in the silence that followed, Isolde did think, and decided that the question was a very good one, though she might already know the answer.

Astarion finally met her eyes, and she read pain and shame and fear in them like she’d never seen before. “Because, even if it’s not what I intended, there must be a way to reverse the rite of profane ascension. I haven’t yet done anything to take any of those souls back from him, but… if it’s even possible.” His voice went toneless, and he managed to remark on the seemingly impossible task with no passion, even as he declared, “It must be possible.”

Isolde nodded, that’s what she had been thinking as well. Mephistopheles was warning him not to mess with the parameters of the deal, because, as with any deal, there was some way out of it. But, it appeared that it was not as simple as using a few scrolls of true resurrection on the victims.

Still. It might be something down that same path.

“If you knew how. Would you?”

“I don’t. I don’t know,” Astarion said in barely more than a murmur, and it wasn’t clear whether he was simply reiterating that he had no idea how to reverse profane ascension, or if he was saying that he didn’t know if he would even want to, if it was possible. He seemed to pick up on this ambiguity as he watched her face, and with a sigh he clarified his explanation, “I don’t know how, so there’s no point speculating—”

“—for the sake of pointless speculation.” Isolde pressed him.

His wings dropped, his shoulders slumping as his head tilted, almost crashing into his own chest with the new weight of his horns. “I suppose it would depend on how difficult it would be, and what it would mean for me,” he admitted. “Becoming a vampire spawn again would not be desirable. I’d never see the sun again, be limited in how and where I can live. The hunger would rule me again,” he winced at that last thought.

“But it still depends?” If it would only bring him inconvenience, and if he’d already purchased what he wanted from hell, why even entertain the idea?

“Well. If it wasn’t such a huge amount of trouble,” he groaned, “I suppose—not that there’s much hope for it,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes, “honestly—I’ve known for a long time that the best afterlife I could hope for would still be faithless and lost. But. That might be better than whatever is fated for me now.” But his gaze flickered to Leon and Aurelia, softening ever so slightly before he steeled himself and looked back at his hands, frowning, perhaps at how growing claws had positively ruined his manicure. He tsked.

“And if it’s very complicated and difficult? Likely impossible?”

“Well, it must not be impossible, if he’s this worked up about it,” Astarion gestured to himself in such a way that the last of his torn shirt flopped over his wrist and he flicked it away in annoyance. “But. I’ve had a few years to get to know myself, and one thing I have learned is that the longer a plan may take me to execute, the more likely it is that I will get distracted or lose interest.”

“Or, despair,” Isolde wasn’t sure why she said it, and she kept her voice quiet, but not so quiet that Astarion couldn’t hear her.

His gaze was hard on her face. His jaw clenched over his fanged teeth. “Yes,” he said the word in a clipped, dangerous tone. “Or that.” If he was angry with her, he fought it off, and when he spoke again his tone conveyed only concern, even if his words were harsh. “Now you’ll see how fickle I am. Just last night I begged you to stay, but you must see now that your plan to leave the city was a wise one. You should pack your—my things and go.”

“No,” Isolde said flatly, because for all his bluster, she didn’t believe that was really what he wanted.

“I think that I can land you in more trouble than either of your former horrid masters.”

“Undoubtedly,” Isolde agreed. “The hells already know I’m here with you.”

“But if you run—”

“—consummate predators,” she stated grimly. “The devils see us as things to be exploited or consumed. As I am, I’m in reserve. If I run, I incite their instincts to chase.” 

Growing up, Isolde was firm in her stated beliefs that there was nothing inherently evil about her brother. Unfortunately, Vovka himself often advocated the counterpoint. He’d confided in her about the drives he had, many of them dark and destructive, and aimed at himself as well as those closest to him. He’d once said that he never saw someone run without feeling the urge to chase them down like a dog.

Astarion was gazing at her like he wanted to argue, but for once he didn’t seem to have words.

She leaned in and caught his mouth softly with her own, taking him by surprise, it seemed. He didn’t so much lean into the kiss as she felt him resting his forehead against hers. His hands found her fingertips, and as though overcompensating for the new claws, his touch was more tender than usual.

Aurelia approached them, tugging Leon’s wrist and dragging him along, and glancing back as if to present him. She waited, looking at Leon expectantly.

With a sigh, Leon admitted, “I can probably put together some kind of glamor. It will take a little time though. And money.”

If Astarion heard him, he didn’t seem to comprehend what he was saying. He nodded, but his ascent felt mindless to Isolde. 

“I can see to Alice and Barnes and your little ward,” Aurelia offered, “if you need to take some time.”

Again, Astarion’s main form of acquiescence came only through silence.

He let his siblings leave him, Aurelia leading Alice and the gith child away as well. Their shoes were still clicking on the ballroom floor when Astarion finally gathered up enough will to say something in farewell. “I don’t regret it,” he declared, voice filled with the gravel of defiance.

Aurelia acknowledged him only by glancing back over her shoulder without slowing her stride.

Alone again, Isolde thought that she would be glad to spend the rest of the night sitting here with him while he failed to work it all out in his troubled mind. She wasn’t sure what she could possibly do to help—probably nothing much. But, his efforts to send her away aside, he didn’t want to be alone, of that much, she felt certain.

Heavily, Astarion began to lay back, tentative and awkward with his movements. He winced as his wings spread flat, his back arching and the tips of his horns clicking on the floor behind his head. “Oh gods. You really just can’t lie on your back like this, can you?” he sighed, “even if I could find a comfortable, folded position for the wings, or tail, the horns won’t allow it. So much for sleeping as a hobby.”

“Vovka always had to lie on his stomach,” Isolde recalled, “he didn’t sleep much either though.”

“...Perhaps some kind of neck splint.”

“They sell those for tieflings,” Isolde tried to remember where she’d seen them, or at least which vendors she could ask about the item. From a practical standpoint, these were problems that had solutions. He could use Leon’s glamor, or various temporary spells to change his appearance back, even if his true form was indeed, forever altered. Again.

And that was the real problem, she realized, with a pang to her heart. The issue wasn’t a practical one. It was a matter of emotional turmoil. A reminder that his body still wasn’t his own.

After a few moments, Astarion gave up on his attempts to find a comfortable position on his back, and struggled a little to sit up again, accidentally pinning one of his own wings as he tried to find purchase with his palms. He glared at nothing in particular.

Somewhat invited, and somewhat intruding, Isolde’s thoughts turned back to moments just mere days ago, when they’d made love less than a few yards away from where they sat now. Everything had seemed so complicated at the time, but looking back, those were surely the very simplest of days. The palace had felt so empty, and their time together was entirely dictated according to their own devices. And gods, had they ever spent it well.

That could easily never be the case again.

A low chuckle from the shadows made her start from her dreamy recollections. If Astarion too was startled by the sudden appearance of an on-looker, he only expressed it through another aggravated sigh.

From the far corner of the room, shrouded, a long body unfurled itself from dark leathery wings. Isolde’s denial only lasted a few heartbeats, but for an instant, she was certain that it was any monster in the world other than her own lost Vovka.

She might not have recognized him, if she hadn’t already spent so much of the day remembering him and recalling the details of him. He was so changed.

That Astarion deemed his height inconsiderate made perfect sense now that she was seeing him in the flesh. Vovka wasn’t larger than a human man could be, but she couldn’t immediately recall having ever seen a man taller. The horns and wings enhanced this impression. When she’d seen him last, they'd been roughly the same size, and he’d been wiry and lithe rather than muscular like he was now. His hair was long now, piled back off his face with the sides shaved lower, but still, undoubtedly long when it wasn’t tied up. Their parents had always kept it cropped rather short for convenience and because their mother wasn’t convinced it couldn’t catch fire from his horns when they sparked and smoked. His face was grown, and more than ever before, his bones made him look like their father, and her guts twisted at the implications. She’d speculated, as had others, that the mortal parent was not the one who carried the child in her womb, but that her mother had only been used as a forced surrogate for their father’s indiscretion. His maturing features seemed to confirm that theory.

His eyes were different from how she remembered them. Like Aurelia, and now, Astarion, the sclera was black, but his iris was not the wreath of flame she remembered, there was a cool, bright light to them, nearly a flat white straight on, though even as she thought this, the sheen and the angle of his face sparked red, then yellow, then purple.

Though he’d announced himself with a laugh, there was no hint of amusement on his face. He approached at a worrisome pace, gradual, like he wasn’t quite ready.

“I honestly didn’t know what he was going to do,” Vovka offered, cocking his head at Astarion, and then she saw the amusement, but it was fleeting.

Whether or not they should believe him, Isolde decided it didn’t matter. She couldn’t imagine a world in which anything anyone thought about it could sway an archdevil. She didn’t even realize she was on her feet until they had carried her directly to her long lost half-brother. She charged at him, still in a debate with herself over whether she should strike him, embrace him, or perhaps some combination of both.

It the end, she only managed to come to a halt directly in front of him, just inches before she might’ve wrapped her arms around his waist, or her hands around his throat. She looked up at him, and for the first time she ever remembered, couldn't read his face.  “I looked for you. Everywhere.”

“A waste of effort.” Vovka informed her curtly.

“It was not.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly trying to create a barrier between them, and now, for some reason, she could bring herself to hug him. First, she grabbed his arms and untangled them to his visible discomfort, and forced him into an embrace. She’d forgotten how warm he was. Of course, it was the fires of hell, so the longer she stayed close to him, the more painful it would become, and she released him mere seconds after he started to relax just a touch.

“Should I leave the two of you to catch up?” Astarion managed to infuse his voice with a little of his old bravado as he rose to his feet.

“No,” Isolde and Vovka said in unison.

“Too painful,” Isolde clarified.

“Too much trouble. Not in keeping with our family tradition of avoidance.” Vovka cocked his heavy brows.

“Precisely,” Isolde agreed with Vovka’s cynical correction.

“So that’s it?” Astarion seemed to welcome a momentary distraction from his own drama, at least.    “Two decades of estrangement and—”

“—more than that,” Vovka grumbled, “time can pass in hell according to its own metrics. I might be older than you are now, big sister,” he seemed amused by the idea, but it made Isolde feel despondent in the extreme. He gave her the slightest reprieve from his so familiar and yet so different gaze, and turned his attention to Astarion instead. “You know, the Erinyes used to be regularly mistaken for aasimar by mortals. Big feathered wings and serene countenance. But, they traded all that for cloven hooves and more bestial features.”

“By their own leave?”

Vovka laughed at that, “when is it ever?” he shrugged. “I can teach you the spell to take on your old appearance.” he added, “no charge,” just at the moment that both Isolde and Astarin started to open their mouths to ask about the other end of the bargain.

Astarion regarded him suspiciously, but after a moment said, “thank you. I’d appreciate that,” slowly.

“It’s going to hurt. A lot.”

“There it is.”

Vovka sauntered over to the spot of ballroom floor that was severely scuffed from where the githyanki’s woman sword had connected with it, and drew his boot over the marks absently. “It’s not perfectly reliable, and it's not going to be something you can use all the time. It might take you years to get a decent number of hours out of it.”

Isolde remembered vividly how frustrated he had been when Vovka was a child and couldn’t maintain his human form long enough to spend any substantial amount of time outside of the house. It was a kind offer, but freely given? “Will he be unhappy with you? For helping us?” Isolde asked, foregoing the temptation to just thank him. Leon’s glamor might be safer, less likely to cause trouble, if only because it came from Leon.

Vovka gave a shrug that said for all the world he didn't give a shit if Mephistopheles was unhappy with him, but Isolde knew better. They all did.

“Why help me?” Astarion asked bluntly. “Feeling impervious?”

“Apathetic,” Vovka corrected. “They want me to keep close? Keep watch? They know how this works. Why bother sticking to the shadows when a soul is already bound? If anyone asks, I can turn the question around and wonder at what methods they would use to keep you close and beholden to hell? Offering help is usually more effective than threats when dealing with mortals. Even devils out for their first harvest know that.”

His blunt delivery and deadpan tone was a bit chilling to Isolde, but Astarion’s mouth lifted into a sharp smile for just an instant. She could have sighed audibly, of course, he'd find that reassuring. Astarion desperately craved compassion and understanding, but could never quite accept those things when they were offered freely. He was more comfortable with artifice. “Independent contractor, you said?” He asked, contemplative.

Vovka groaned. “Slipped out. Bad joke.”

“But you're not one of them. Beholden to them yourself, I gather.”

“I’m just a cambion. I can serve an infernal purpose, when it's demanded of me, or I can be a light snack for Tiamat.” He shrugged again, this time with a little shudder through his wings that suggested that was less a casual example of hell’s cruelty, and more an anecdote. “I’ll serve.”

Astarion stole a glance Isolde’s way. She wanted to read it as conspiring, at first, but decided after a moment that perhaps she simply needed to get used to reading him with the newly blackened sclera. Astarion looked away after a moment, lips pursed before he reasoned out loud, “They’re just using you too.”

Vovka furrowed his brow a little at that, but not like he didn’t understand. More like there was nothing more obvious in the world.

[fawnsflowerbed]

(hi!!! before I actually ask for anything I just wanna say how absolutely stunning your works are, please please never stop writing these they're so comforting and encouraging at times. I love you seriously you absolute god-send!!!!! mwah ♡)

can I request re6 leon comforting the reader while she's having a slight anxiety attack? like she's trying to hide it from him but he knows it's happening... thank you alot!! ♡♡♡

Absolutely my lovely!

Something's off. You don't know what it is yet, but its there. And as much as you'd hate to admit it, you know Leon can sense it's there too.

Warnings/content: Mild anxiety attack description, GN reader, 2nd person (you/yours), lil fluffy moment <3

Word count: 1,214

 ⊱ ─────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─────── ⊰

 ⊱ ─────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─────── ⊰

You couldn’t put it into words or draw it out on paper in front of you, but you could feel something creeping up on you. You were somewhat used to this feeling by now, but you were still hoping it wouldn’t hit you in a moment like this one. It was something burning. Something that couldn’t be fought off by the warm clasp of your hand in Leon’s while you walked around one of the local shopping districts for the late night event of the summer. It was supposed to be a peaceful night of regular couple activities to make up for lost time, make up for how long he’d been sent away. But something was still off.

You were an anxious person at heart. You usually hid it rather well, laughed it off from time to time until you had a moment to drown in your own insecurities. Luckily now that Leon knew about your anxiety he was making an effort to pick up on your triggers and the things that sent you down spiralling. Words couldn’t even  begin to describe how much you loved this man.

His soft blue eyes were scanning over the last of the stands on your way around the outer circle of stores. “We’ve still got some time to check out that new steakhouse if you’re in the mood for it. Might be a bit early for dinner, though.”

In all honesty, you couldn’t take in a word of what he’d just said. It felt like every LED sign around you was giving off some kind of soft buzzing. One that built over time with each building you passed. Like a mosquito darting around your head in quick circles, a television frequency only you could pick up on.

“I could eat.” Your brain was on autopilot at this point, speaking words that didn’t feel like English anymore. It was all gibberish, all garbled. You were too focused on how your heart was ready to leap out of your chest if you didn’t find a place to take a break. You’d take a bathroom stall at this point, but you just couldn’t focus long enough to see a sign.

“Great. I think we’ll have one last look around and then make our way over. What do you think?”

“Sounds good.” Another answer programmed into you, rasped out by your quick inhales.

Everyone’s breathing was too loud, you could feel each exhale on your skin no matter how far away they were. It made your skin prickle almost to the point of painful, like a slap to the face every few seconds. You were focusing on everything too much; the way your hair stuck to your skin, how your clothes felt, every unsteady breath heaving from your lungs.

“Hey, you doing alright sweetheart? You look a little antsy.”

“Huh?” Shit. Damn him and his sharp eye for human reactions. Eagle-eyed, if you will. But he was still gentle on you. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. I’m good. We’re good.”

He doesn’t look persuaded, not at all. It’s like you’d just tried to convince him the sky was bright green and he was having none of it. “You sure?”

A hard swallow. “Positive.”

Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, he decided not to bother you on it anymore. That was one of the best things about Leon. He didn’t question you if it was clear something was wrong, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

Well fuck. That meant he knew something was wrong.

You don’t know where you’re walking, Leon’s feet taking the lead as if he knows you’re not in the best mindset right now. Maybe he could sense it radiating off of your tensed body, like how a predator can sense prey’s fear. Only this time the wolf was your companion, your lover that stopped for a moment to look you over with an eyebrow creased in worry.

“Baby its nothing.” Even you can tell by now that that was the least convincing response ever. You might as well have written ‘I am falling apart’ on your forehead.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He muttered with a hand holding the curve of your jaw, the other going to press the back of his palm against your chest right about your heartbeat. That crease deepened.

“Your heart’s racing. Not in a flirty ‘oh I make you nervous’ way. Do you want to sit down?”

He was mentally going through the list you’d given him on what to do in public settings if you ever looked a little too uneasy. The one you’d written out together when you finally worked up the courage to tell him about your struggle. You were scared at first, worried that he may leave you or think of you as a burden. But he did the exact opposite. And now he was the definition of absolute perfection, still checking you over.

“Lee I swear I’m fine.” That was the biggest lie you’d given him, possibly ever. And it clearly wasn’t believable because you were already being held closer.

There was no arguing with Leon when he got like this, bringing you towards the escalator with a hand firmly keeping you against him in case you may stir or sway too much in your anxious state. When at the bottom, he sat you down with him on the closest bench. As soon as your body hit the wooden seating you were closing your eyes with a shaken breath. Your mind felt like it was collapsing in on you despite how grounded you now were.

“Do you know what set it off?”

His voice was a nail hammering you back down, keeping you safe and secure on the ground. But you were still hesitant to say it. Whether that was because of the negative reactions you used to get from teachers, ex-friends or carers, or the fact that you felt ashamed for falling apart like this, you were fighting with your tongue to tell him the truth.

“Nothing.” He frowned, saying your name once more. Not as a warning or a threat, not as a way to coax an answer out of you. Just the recognition that he was there for you, and even if you didn’t end up saying anything he’d like an answer from you.

“C’mon, I know the signs. What was it?”

All hesitance was gone with the wind as you blinked back a few tears, overwhelmed by the weight on your chest and the searing pain in your head. “I don’t know- maybe the lights? All the people I just- I can’t breathe or think.”

“That’s alright sweetheart, c’mere.”

With a gentle pull, your head was resting into his shoulder to nestle against his body. It was like a switch flicking on, the overwhelming suffocation you’d felt earlier on now trying to swallow you whole. But Leon was your anchor, he was the one stopping your ship from sinking. The light at the end of the tunnel you used to thing went on for forever. He wrapped a steady arm around you to hold you against him, his chin tilting to press a kiss to your forehead as you waited out the worst of it.

“I’m right here, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”

[quibbs126]

So here’s something I’ve been drawing today

*Technically it’s still a WIP, because I don’t know how to do backgrounds. They’re supposed to be sitting in front of their fireplace, but I don’t know how to draw a background for that, at least not from this angle. I tried to find references on Google, but I couldn’t find any with the perspective I wanted, so this is what I’m stuck with. I’ll finish it whenever I figure out how to draw it (if anyone has any tips please share)

So there’s supposed to be story here, though I suppose it’s not so evident from what I drew. Inspired by a short snippet given in a fanfic I once read (I believe the fic was called Professor Sick-a-more), basically the story here is that one winter night, the Bronev family (and by that I mean mostly the boys) went out into the snow. Theodore and Rachel stayed behind to build snowmen, while Hershel and Leon just went out to explore the area now covered in snow. Unfortunately during their escapades, Hershel ends up accidentally slipping and finding himself in the middle of a frozen over pond(/lake? It’s not small, but I don’t think it’s big enough to qualify as a lake), and the ice is cracking under his weight. Leon tries to get him back to land (mostly by guiding him since he’s too heavy to go on the ice himself without it breaking), and Hershel’s getting close and gaining a bit more confidence in his movements, only for him to hit a weak point in the ice and for him to fall through, and the shock of it all leads him to start drowning. Without hesitation, Leon goes to dive in to the water to reach him, and he’s eventually able to reach him and pull themselves out of the water. Leon hurries back with Hershel shivering in his arms, and Rachel goes to call a doctor. Meanwhile, she has Hershel put on warm clothes (his pajamas), wrapped up in blankets and put by the fire. She also makes Leon do the same, since he went in the water too.

The scene here is just Leon and Hershel sitting by the fire, trying to stay warm, while Hershel still shivers from the cold

I imagine Descole/Desmond recounting this story, saying his memory of the events were hazy, but he remembers sitting by the fire, with his father right beside him, and while still cold, he had felt safe

I dunno, I just want nice moments between the Bronevs, particularly Leon and Hershel, given what happens to them later

[everythingheard]

As Claire repeats his name once more, Leon watches the way she forces back her tears and sets the gears turning in her head. Typical Claire. Although he wishes he could tell her to pause for a second to breathe, to rest in this momentary relief before they run headlong back into the awaiting nightmare, he knows he can't. Not right now anyway, while they're in a glorified supply closet with armed guards traversing the hallways searching for them. We'll get out of here, and then we'll see. It's the only answer he can allow himself for the time being, whether he likes it or not.

' What are you doing here? ' The question that follows strikes Leon as funny, although he understands what she means. Claire wants to know how he learned what's happened to her, why he had been aware of her location; of course she does, though he can't quite help himself as he says, "Well, you remember how much I love old castles." He had told her all about Spain two years ago, just like he used to tell her everything that he felt he could — everything that mattered.

Staying quiet as she unravels the rest of her disjointed thoughts and questions, Leon notes each of them in turn to answer when she's ready until she suddenly draws back from him, his hand falling from where he had placed it on the side of her neck to steady her ( to steady both of them, really, though he would never say so ). His brow furrowing, his lips part to ask what she's doing when those dreaded words drop like a weight in the newly allotted space between them: ' I'm infected, Leon. ' No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

He traces the darkened veins trailing along Claire's arms with widened eyes, the inky black of the infection stark against the paleness of her skin. This can't be Spain all over again. And yet it is, the sight Leon can't turn away from intercut with memories of Ashley in the church in Valdelobos, yanking the sleeve of her jacket over the telltale tendrils crawling up her wrist as she sobs over hurting him. His own experience with the Plaga, of feeling his mind dragged down so that he was drowning in visions he couldn't control, underscores it until, for a few beats, he's all but frozen in place.

He's not certain how long he would have stayed that way if Claire's insistence hadn't shattered its spell. ' You need to save yourself. You can't keep sacrificing to protect me. ' Leon's gaze snaps up to meet hers, his blood suddenly running a different kind of cold. Where's this coming from? She can't be inferring what his thoughts jump to, but the gravity of her expression leaves him with few other possibilities. "What do you — " He pauses, then cuts himself off with, "Never mind." They don't possess the time such a conversation will necessitate, and he has to force himself to focus on what's relevant in this moment.

"Because you're right, you will fight this. But I'm not going anywhere. We're getting out of this together." Or not at all: unspoken, yet implied. The idea of leaving Claire behind to protect himself isn't only unthinkable, it's unfathomable. This will be like Spain, Leon decides then. They'll remove the virus, and they'll go home. Only this time, Luis isn't here to help them. But there is Mara and, judging by Claire's comments, she's still alive. Another wave of relief hits him at the reassurance. We'll bring her home, too.

He doesn't release his hold on Claire's arm as he continues, "And I didn't come alone. There's another agent — Myers? We got separated, but he's looking for you and Mara. If we gather what information we can find and meet up with them, we can figure this out. Mara's smart, she got in contact with Hunnigan and she'll know what to do when it comes to the vaccine." Leon doesn't question this. Even if it would do him any good to doubt ( which it wouldn't ), he believes what he says: his cousin is brilliant, and if the vaccine isn't finished already, she'll ensure that it is once she gets her hands on it.

While his eyes had strayed as his mind raced, they return to Claire's now. "You've been here for about twenty-three days, and we're not about to make it an even thirty. Just — don't ever say anything about me sacrificing or ' saving myself ' again. It's not a sacrifice, alright? Saving you is saving myself."

somewhere in the castle complex

well, didn't this just get interesting!

a man who was not just a man stands, shoes staining with the oozing blood which pools upon the floor they rest in. a waste, perhaps. the blood which seeps into stone rather than provides lifeforce yet what had been displaying upon the monitors before him proves much more attention-getting than the measly life of a man who truly believed himself worthy of his gift. perhaps he should have allowed him to become infected. no not with the perfection that was omega but perhaps the alpha strain. it'd have served the nuisance right for his actions. playing both sides. there had been a certain tactical advantage that the old vampire could appreciate. maybe there was some conscious there too. that, he appreciated less.

the doctor had played with fire and gotten burned. he'd aided the girl, both of them, if they were being transparent in this ever-growing situation while also attempting to solidify his own survival in the aftermath of how the players would shift the game. but the good doctor had failed to anticipate the vampire's understanding of the players. the insight that life force could grant him. he understood-- planned for-- the doctor's actions. he allowed them to transpire. a bit of fun to color the hours it would take for his plans to fully mature. moving parts took time to place after all. there was no stopping what had begun.

oh, the players believed they held some semblance of hope for such.

let them.

let them believe they held some form of control when their little lives were all in his hands.

the world was to die soon, and be reborn. a new world order, a new food chain would be unleashed. no more shadows. no more. and he would be at the top of it for when it was done even the eldest elders would bow to him. him and his beautiful virus laden army. the doctor had served a purpose in this. he set a game into motion. and now, now the vampire could sit back and watch as it played out. they would die too. the players on the board. most of them at least. not the girl. no. his plans for her were too great and he thought perhaps it would make his victory sweeter to see how her path played out.

let her have her hope.

let her run around this maze of corridors and think perhaps there was an end in sight. he would take her back when the time was right. he would watch hope fade and give birth to something dark within her. something new that the world had yet to see. something that would grant him power. something that would be part of his new world. and what a sight it'd be, to watch his creation form. to feel as it took hold of her with every passing hour, changing her. bringing her to him. how satisfying it would be to see the last of her fight and resistance leave her. maybe he'd let it play out until the final moments, the man who'd finally seemed to find her alive until then. maybe he'd make him her first victim.

a sacrifice to the new world.

to the goddess who would surely reward him. perhaps this hadn't been how it began when the girl's name passed to him. she had been a means to an end. but her fight. her spark. her ability to resistant when others would have been crushed with the weight of what was done to them, had shifted something in his mind. he wanted to defeat it and mold it and reshape it into his greatest creation. a creation that was his. that would bring forth what he wanted. what he needed for his new world. and no one would stop his new world now that all the pieces were in play. oh, he could sit back and have his fun. watch the tragedy unfold.

'will you watch it with me?'

he questions the bloody corpse at his feet, the man's death grip upon his pant leg shaken off with little fanfare. a few minutes later the body would be seated across the desk, dead gaze directed toward screens like a morbid audience to a game show. the feeds were not everywhere in the complex and the old stonework often caused interference to the signals but he did not need it to know where certain players were. it certainly was fun to watch when they did cross paths with the feeds though.

a phone rings, words emitting as he listens. good, good. he holds no doubt that the small group of bsaa transports that broke off from the main forces and were seen leaving the city and heading in their direction would hold the other players in this game. let the fun begin. let the games begin. they had time and he had his current players to toy with in the hours it'd take them to arrive. and it wasn't as if he didn't have a few presents in store for the thief's daughter and girl's brother.

meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle complex

warmth pulsing, radiating. she can feel it, sense it, know it. his hold is real. living. breathing as her blue-gray hues bore into his. her eyes burn with salty tears, breath labored, mind confused, warring as reality continues to crash into her. leon. leon was there. leon was real. leon was holding her arms. had she hurt him? she attacked him! fuck. he's okay. he tells her he's okay. that's what matters. he's real. this is real and he's okay. she takes a breath in, deeply, attempts to center herself. to regain some form of barings as his hand moves to her neck and rests there. is he searching for a pulse? does he think she's already? no. no. he's looking at her. he's seeing her. she knows it with every fiber of her being because she knows him even if she forgot for a bit. let herself believe what she'd wanted to instead of seeing the truth. 'and we're going to get out of here.' he speaks it with such conviction, his eyes still watching her as if she's all that exists in that moment. maybe she was, he was for her. now, right now, in this moment. a thread back to herself. back to reality.

stop crying. stop fucking crying. get it together. get it together. you need to get it fucking together.

'claire--' he speaks her name and finally, finally she's seeing him with semi-clear eyes that aren't halfway lost in her raging thoughts. she's her, claire, almost-- she's getting there. she's in a castle (she thinks). she's infected (she knows). leon was there. mara was somewhere. bad things were going to happen if they didn't stop them. leon was there. leon was there with her. they were together now, in this. there was an outbreak. there were vampires. they were together. she had to get him out of this. she wanted to get herself out of this too. but she understood that want and how things could play out were two different things. or, could be. she'd choose to believe together they could. but she'd accept if together wasn't the endgame in this. leon was there, with her, she could feel his warmth.

"leon." she repeats, once. clearly. mostly clearly. as if she's finally accepting the reality of the moment. she's claire. she's here. they both are. move forward.

the tears stop because she commands them too. takes another breath in and out to steady herself, gaze never leaving his. it questions, it wonders, it somehow figures that this was how the universe would play this out. it always circled back to them having to figure a way out of a shit situation didn't it? "what are you doing here?" she repeats, clearly, trying to figure out what him being there means. was chris there too? how long...

"did mara contact---" she begins, mind thinking. mara had said she'd try. she doesn't wait for an answer. it doesn't really matter. not in the moment, but something does. she needs to know for her own peace of mind. (except she doubts very much it'll actually grant her peace.) "how long as it been since my mission failed? since they took me?" because claire doesn't know. she tried to keep track until she couldn't anymore. it'd been too hard. "i tried.. at first. it seemed like i could tell the days. the gash i gave the one doctor had scabbed over. so time had passed. at least a few days. i killed one.. they got mad about that.. really mad. i think they killed another for letting it happen. i didn't see the other one again and they were worse after-- but then too much time was passing. i couldn't remember everything after they-- but there had to be some time between infections.. even with the vampiric acceleration it had to take time, right?" she's becoming lost in it again, half speaking to him, half speaking to herself. trying to sort fever dreams from reality. trying to find a path to center herself.

she takes another breath, looking down at his arm, to the small tear she managed in his shirt with her attack, then back to his face as if finally, finally everything is fully clicking for her. as if with a second's passage everything's hitting her, pieces coming together. she recoils slightly. or at least tries to. shifting her weight backward though she can't quite fully separate herself from his hold at the current angle. (she doesn't want to, but she thinks she should. she's scared to hurt him.) still, she pulls back enough to drop the hand on her neck, to show more of her appearance, but she doesn't shake off his hold to her other arm.

"i'm infected, leon."

she makes this clear and in the dim light of the room if one really, really looked at her they could see. she's paler, the contrast making the dark veins spreading on her bare arms more visible. there's marks on her skin, injection sites on her arms where the dark veins also congregate in smaller jagged lines around them as if they refused to heal even with the vampiric blood she was forced to consume. there's other marks too, from where she'd fought people and restraints, the infections making it slow to heal but quick to begin to change other things. she's thinner than she's ever been, even with the strength she'd been able to display moments before when she'd attacked him. the virus weakening parts of her and strengthening other parts.

"i don't want to hurt you but i think it's going to make me want to. i think he's going to try to make me. i can't hurt you, i won't." she pauses, gaze and voice the embodiment of claire-- a claire with renewed clarity; the determination and conviction in her tone too. "i haven't, it's not fully taken hold yet. it takes time. it took longer the other times, they treated it at the end stages before it could fully take hold." the other times she'd been experimented on, hurt, used to further their tests. but he needs to know so he understands she knows herself, knows when it becomes too late. it might save him if it comes to it.

claire's more focused now. she's in the moment. she needs to share critical information because she doesn't know what awaits them but they can't go out there without him knowing what she knows.

"mara was working on a vaccine. they have one for all the strains but this one was the latest. i think they're planning something. to release it. the labs are downstairs, there might be more information there.. i got away, to here. i wasn't thinking about information. i--i wasn't myself, i wasn't clear like i am right now. i don't know if the vaccine for this one was ready. mara would know but i don't know where she is. if we can get it--" claire looks at leon, really looks at him. "--i'll fight this leon. i want to get out of this together. but if i can't and it comes to it. you need to save yourself. you can't keep sacrificing to protect me." she has to make this clear before anything else though she doesn't quite consider the admission her words also reveal. (it doesn't matter, it's not the time.)

[savage-rhi]

Hi can I get a pt.2 on ada meeting leon daughter

Hey nonny, I hope this is the one you were referring to!

The car ride to Leon's residence was quiet, save for when his daughter Jade asked Ada questions. It seemed like they would never end. The teen had a wicked brain from Ada's experience thus far. Sharp as ever like Leon, but much like him, could be too gullible for her own good.

"So lemme get this straight," Jade began as she leaned forward in the backseat of the car. Her hands on either side of Leon's and Ada's seats. "You two were agents from different governments and sometimes worked together to fight monsters and arrest people?"

The light laugh that slipped past Leon's mouth had Ada smiling big.

"You can say that," Leon adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He furrowed his brows, debating on what to say next.

"There's some things we can't tell you because its classified. You know, like a secret. Only it's for life." Ada interjected, deciding to steer the conversation when she saw Leon appeared to be backed into a corner.

"That's boring," Jade said bluntly.

"Tell me about it. I don't like being a boring woman." Ada scoffed. She felt proud of herself seeing Jade smirk from amusement. She liked the kid already.

"Can I ask something else?"

"Shoot kiddo." Leon smiled, looking at her in the rearview.

"Did you guys ever date before you met mom?"

Both Ada and Leon were stunned in silence. This was something they neglected to talk about before Ada arrived, how to address the elephant in the room should his daughter pry.

Ada decided to let the ball be in Leon's court. This was his child after all, and she didn't feel comfortable imposing her account of things. Ada went so far as to give a gesture with her head for Leon to speak up. If the silence continued, it would draw more suspicion from Jade and more than likely, lead to an awkward situation. More than what was already happening.

"We did for a time," Leon started. He gave himself a reassuring nod, feeling Ada's gaze upon him. "It was nice, but it wasn't meant to be."

"Ada, is he lying?"

Ada chuckled, shaking her head. She could see the flush of pink that touched Leon's cheeks as he made a face.

"He's telling the truth. Our jobs were difficult. Your dad always wanted a family. As for me, I wasn't ready to settle."

"You screwed up big time, dad." Jade laughed.

"C'mon. It's only been four hours since you've guys met and you're already taking her side?"

"Can't help it. She's cool and career driven." Jade countered. "Besides, what did you get out of breaking up with Ada?"

"I got you." Leon offered sincerely. He chuckled seeing Jade become embarrassed. The teen rolled her eyes playfully then fell back against the seat.

From the rearview, Leon watched Jade take out her headphones from her pocket and fiddle with her phone. There was a pulse of noise coming from the buds seconds later. Jade would be drowning in music for a while, not paying much attention.

Leon felt comfortable to approach more personal subjects with Ada knowing how loud Jade liked her tunes. He made a mental note to talk with her about hearing issues at a later time. For now, he was going to take advantage of the situation.

"She's very spirited," Ada complimented and smiled.

"An understatement, I assure you." Leon laughed. "I can't believe I was worried you two wouldn't hit it off."

"I may not be a parent, but I do know how to handle kids."

"True," Leon nodded. "Already having you here is great."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

Leon furrowed his brows, turning his head to Ada for a moment before focusing on the road.

"Yeah, I do." He thought it over. "Why wouldn't I?"

"We can talk more when we get to your place." Ada said. "Tell me more about your work."

"I didn't think you'd be interested in scholar work," Leon huffed. "Being a college prof is a boring job. Truly."

"Maybe I like boring." Ada said as a matter of fact.

"Explains why you endured me for so long." Leon teased.

"Shut up."

Ada looked out the window, seeing that rain would be coming soon as the storm clouds rolled in. Her brows furrowed for a time. There was so much she wanted to say, but relented her pursuits. When the time was right, she'd know it.

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[nicolecossack]

"Combine, Meklord Emperor Skiel!", Leon screamed and summoned his Monster.

Hello everyone! Unlike normal where i would write something here . . . eh, no mini story, because Spoilers. I Still wanted to draw him though! This here is Leon, 10 years old. He is a Psychic! Got into trouble with the law, however only because of his parents doing illegal stuff and he sadly had to suffer the consequence of being in the facility for about a year. His Parents are locked up to this day, and frankly he doesn't miss them. He is also not alone, he has a 16 year old Sister, who was also that year in the Facility with him, the two where not punished harsh or anything, but sense their parents did force the two kids to get involved, they still had to remain there and both have a Marker. Leon only has a small one, his sister has a bit more notable. Currently he is living with his grandparents that do a much better job of taking care of them, he visits a special school for Psychic Talented children. His deck is a Gusto deck.

Now his older Sister had gone missing some time ago, no one knows where she is, but he swore he would find her and help her out as he believe she got kidnappend. Not only is he psychic, he also bared a birthmark on his right arm shaped like a core. One day, when he encountered someone who had the Synchro Monster "Scrap Dragon" in his Possession he challenged that person, saying he stole that card and it actually belonged to his sister. The man said that he was correct in that assumption, but also states he was looking for Leon.

During the duel, Leons birthmarked glowed when he was in a pinch, with his draw he got, Meklord Emperor Skiel, a card he did not own nor ever seen before. Not only that, but he swore he could hear someone laughing madly in his head. He didn't lose his cool though, and asked who was laughing, the voice he heard was surprised he even heard him and revealed himself to Leon as a ghost or hologram, and introduce himself as Lester. He said he could use his card to win the duel. Skiel could absorb any Synchro monster on the field and the man had summoned Scrap Dragon. Wasting no time, Leon gained an upgraded duel skill thanks to the birth mark, which allowed him to play a new trap card to him, Icarus Blast. By destroying one Psychic or Winged-Beast monster he controls he could also destroy a card on the opponents field, he targeted the one backrow card, which was a drowning mirror force destroy it along with his then Ace Monster Daigusto Eguls. The destruction of his own monster allowed him to summon Meklord Emperor Skiel to the field and absorb the Scrap Dragon and attack for game. The man, seemingly happy he lost told Leon he is going to the facility he works at with him, but before he could ever capture the boy, a white haired girl on a duel runner came between the two, knocking the man of his feet and telling the boy to hop on. Despite them not knowing each other Leon felt comfortable trusting her, and she took him of to safety. Lester commented to Leon that he felt something really familiar about the girl, like someone he knows really well.

Who is his sister? well, i believe i already had showcast her~ she had a different idea, but i decided to bring her into this~

I wrote more then expected, with spoilers! nice. thats fine.

Thats 2 out of 3! can't wait to draw that old fart.

I shouldn't say that so load, he might beat me up with my own duel runner . . .