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brazenskald · 2 months

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In my first year of university, I was going through a very tumultuous time. There was all the many new things that come from leaving home, some good, some bad. There were the difficulties of a demanding if rewarding job, and I first became acquainted with the not-so-fondly-remembered and not yet fully un-internalized “student lifestyle.” Terrible food, awful sleep schedule, and this omnipresent sense of impending doom that was, at least in my case in Fall 2019, surprisingly prescient. Throughout all of this, I was not prepared to be struck by the warmth and depth and resonant Truth that cut through the noise and spoke to me with a certain book I picked up, by happenstance, because of its pretty cover. That book was A Conspiracy of Truths by @ariaste. You may have heard of them. https://www.alexandrarowland.net/a-conspiracy-of-truths

Now, needless to say I devoured aCoT, and subsequently its excellent sequel A Choir of Lies. I was sorrowfully disappointed to find out after finishing the absolute rollercoaster of Choir that there was in fact, no further reading yet to do. And so, profoundly affected as I was by this (for now) duology, which I will doubtless craft a dedicated and appropriately lengthy treatise at some point in the future, I set the books in a prime place upon my shelf and turned to face the rest of the year buoyed in my hopes for the brightness of Spring and the long lusty laughter of Summer. Alas, they were all of them deceived for another global epidemic was to begin. One (or two) life-altering years in a pandemic later… I returned to university, fully prepared to enjoy the hell out of an actual honest-to-gods academic institution that didn’t begin and end with a computer screen. It hit like a truck. Same awful student lifestyle, more bad habits piling up, and a rapidly growing sense of my own undiagnosed issue rearing its ugly head. I made one decision that saved me, probably. I kept buying and reading phenomenal books. I kept looking for stories to motivate, enervate, and inspire. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I remembered that fateful message spoken by a Chant on a page three years past. To loosely paraphrase, “Stories [are] people, and the way people are.” I chose to focus on resilience, made it my motto, and sure I still had lots of work to do, but it helped. It gave me the push I needed to keep going.

That last long Winter that seemed so dark that the sun was never going to come back? I went a-wandering, and lo, a new instalment from @ariaste ‘s Mithalgeard universe! Not a Chant sequel as such, but I couldn’t get my hands on it fast enough. It was an oasis. A respite from the grind and dreary routines. It was also gay as… well as gay as a rainbow covered in gold, let’s say. And I cannot recommend A Taste of Gold and Iron fiercely enough, because although in many ways I managed to end my degree on a high note, that book drew me out of the darkness of the coldest part of the year. It gave me the sense to smell the flowers, to bask in the green and golden glow of a soon-to-be-attained victory, long overdue.

Alex had by this point also published several shorter works, (and a whole library’s worth of content on AO3, naturally) which I leapt to read whenever they crossed my radar. It helped that I joined their discord community which was leaps and bounds more reliable in terms of getting updates and also just having the chance to share in mutual fandom gushing. If you’re even remotely interested in learning more about what I’ve talked about here, you should join in! https://discord.gg/XHJ9Uy5gef Everybody there is absolutely lovely. So why do I bring all this up? To summarize a preamble that is, to put it mildly, not short, Alex’s writing sings to my soul. I love it more deeply than my non-existent children, and their body of work continues to evolve and grow and deliver on the themes and core messages that hooked me with that first book.

But wait, there’s more! Life carries on, and with it comes new stories! Specifically, Running Close to the Wind! It’s Our Flag Means Death meets Mithalgeard, which if I haven’t convinced you to go and read those other instalments, well just trust me when I say that is a potent and persuasive pairing! It’s also going to be dropping at an important time for me, what with convocation, another big move in my life, and a whole whack of uncertainty. Much like Avra, Teveri, and Julian though, I’ll just have to brave the rocky waters and hold on to those nearest to me, and that’s what I’d like to focus on at the end of this post. A Conspiracy of Truth taught me that stories are people, A Choir of Lies showed how stories can change people, and A Taste of Gold and Iron drove home that stories we tell ourselves are the hardest to rewrite, but also the most rewarding when we take ownership of them. I anticipate that with Running Close to the Wind, Alex will likely show us (with ample amounts of pomp and queer circumstances) how the story of ourselves can only ever be written by interweaving the tales of those closest to us. Perhaps, we’ll even discover how to navigate the often stormy seas of uncertainty that seem omnipresent these days, whenever we deign to pull our noses out from whichever books we’re currently nestled within. I know that’s certainly something I’ll be looking out for, come this June, and now hopefully you will be too! (This last link does go to the webpage for Running Close to the Wind, Tumblr’s just being weird I guess.)

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fox-guardian · 2 months

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do you think they mask up at the OIAR. it's 2024. like. apart from audio quality (and ofc they'd want crisp audio either way) there's nothing suggesting they're Not masked up over there. if so, then RIP to alice's epic snakebites, they never see the light of day.

#ramblings with major #tmagp #this post brought to you by me reading a fic and going 'why aren't they wearing a ma- Oh Yeah There's Not A Pandemic In Blorbo World'#and then going wait.... there Could be a pandemic in blorbo world.... this time....

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raina-at · 1 year

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Green

John sips at his tea, breathing deeply. The air smells of earth and the sea, salty and fresh.

It rained yesterday, but today the sun is out and it’s warm. The grass is lush and green in the summer sun, the birds are singing, the neighbour’s bees are humming in the garden.

They've only been here two days, and John feels - renewed. Settled. Calm.

He turns his eyes from the lush greenery of the Sussex landscape to Sherlock, who's baking... something. He can't tell from here, but judging by the number of bowls, implements and ingredients, he guesses it's something complicated. Right now, Sherlock is either whisking egg whites or whipping cream, it's difficult to say. He looks absorbed and yet abstracted, fully concentrated on the task at hand yet miles away.

John wonders what he's thinking. Why he brought them here.

John needed a break, no doubt about it.

He thought nothing could be worse than the war, but then he worked in a London A+E during the worst of a global pandemic. Of course he’s ten years older than he was when he was in Afghanistan, but it’s something deeper than that. The last two years have taken something from him, something he didn't even know he still had. It’s like a well inside him has dried up.

He looks out the kitchen window, past Sherlock, towards the sea.

It's beautiful here. Quiet. Sedate.

Boring, he hears Sherlock’s voice in his head whisper.

They arrived on Sunday. Took a walk through the village. Went to the beach. Napped. Had savoury pie for dinner. John fell asleep at nine, the sound of the sea lulling him into a deep, dreamless rest.

It rained all day yesterday. They spent the day quietly indoors. Read books, watched some telly. John baked scones, the first time in a long time. It felt a bit like coming home.

They had slow, lovely, calm, dreamy sex in front of the fireplace. Also the first time in a long time.

After, they lay on the sofa, his head pillowed on Sherlock's chest, and John didn't have the words for a truth that’s slowly become clear to him, that has been sitting on his chest for a while now.

He still doesn't have the words. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have them.

The click of the oven door and the whirring of an egg timer being set tells him that Sherlock's contraption is in the oven.

He looks up from his tea. "What are you making? Smells amazing."

Sherlock shrugs, leaning against the counter. There's flour on his cheek. "A three-layered Neapolitan pie.”

John walks over into the kitchen and wipes the flour from Sherlock’s cheek. “Show me?”

*-*

They spend hours in the kitchen, baking, tasting, having tea while the fillings set in the fridge. They don’t talk much, except for simple requests for implements or ingredients.

Finally, the pie is done and the last layer is setting in the fridge, and John is whipping up a quick and easy pasta dish for dinner. He feels more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. Months. Possibly years.

“It’s okay, you know,” Sherlock says after a good half hour of silence, during which John sliced and fried onions, tomatoes and courgettes, tossed a salad and started cooking the water.

“What’s okay?” John asks, adding another teaspoon of salt to the pasta water.

“You don’t want to go back. And I’m telling you it’s fine.”

John freezes. His entire world whites out a bit on the edges. He can’t really breathe anymore, doesn’t remember how it works.

Then Sherlock’s hands are on his shoulders, massaging the cramping muscles between his shoulder blades. Sherlock’s other hand comes to rest on his belly. “Breathe, John.”

John breathes, concentrates on breathing into Sherlock’s hand on his belly, on the warmth of him, the reassuring strength at his back.

“How did you know?” he finally asks, little more than a whisper.

“I live with you, remember?” Sherlock says, sounding just a tiny bit amused, but then turns serious again. “Do you think after twelve years together, I can’t tell when you’re unhappy? Do you think I don’t know what the last two years have cost you? I was there every time you came home after eighteen hour shifts, every time one of your patients died, every time one of your colleagues died. I was there when you got sick, and I know how afraid you were, even though you did your best not to show me.”

John closes his eyes and lets himself lean back against Sherlock’s body, lets Sherlock’s arms come around him, lets his head fall back against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I can’t quit,” he mutters, finally saying out loud what he’s been thinking about. “They need me. I can’t abandon my post.”

Sherlock sighs and gently turns John around so John has to look him in the eye. “John,” he says, gently, seriously, “don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

John bites down on his lips to stop himself from bursting into tears, because he will never believe that anything he does is good enough, and he knows Sherlock knows this, and disagrees. For Sherlock, John needs to do one thing: exist. That’s it. And John’s never been able to wrap his head around the simple fact that he doesn’t have to do anything to make Sherlock love him. He just does.

Sherlock seems to realise that John’s about to do or say something incredibly stupid, because he takes him by the shoulders and says, “I know that if I told you that you don’t have to be perfect to be allowed to exist, you won’t believe me anyway, so I’m going to tell you something else. Something selfish. I miss you. I want you home with me more. I can’t stand watching you like this. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

John blanches, breath hitching in a moment of blind panic, Don’t leave don’t leave don’t ever leave.

Sherlock seems to catch his drift because his hands wander to the sides of John’s face and he presses their foreheads together. “No. Not this. I will never leave you. Ever. But I can’t be happy when you’re miserable. So please. If you can’t do it to save yourself, save me. Please.”

John makes a strangled noise, incapable of responding, but he hugs Sherlock tightly, clinging to him like he’s a lifeline. And he is. He never would have made it through the last two years without Sherlock. And he knows that it wasn’t an easy time for Sherlock as well, but he realises only now how much Sherlock worried about him, how many times Sherlock must have swallowed down his own worries and needs to avoid putting any more pressure on John.

They stand there for endless minutes, holding each other tight, while John pulls himself together.

“I heard you,” he finally mutters into Sherlock’s shirt. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Sherlock says, lips pressed into John’s hair. “I know.”

“Let’s finish dinner before this becomes inedible,” John says, and Sherlock releases him with a laugh.

They finish preparing dinner in silence, then take their plates out into the garden, watching as the sun sets over the lovely green landscape, the sound of the sea a beautiful background music to their meal.

“What would I do instead?” John finally asks, finally puts the thought he’s been carrying around into words.

Sherlock smiles at him, and the relief in his voice is hard to miss when he answers, “Whatever you want, John. Whatever you want.”

I've always wanted to write a Bakers story that deals with John being a frontline health worker during the pandemic. I can't even imagine what hospital staff has been through these last years. Heroes, the lot of them.

This was written for @notjustamumj 's promt Green.

I'm tagging some usual suspects: @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @jrow @keirgreeneyes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @the-reading-lemon @thetimemoves

I hope I didn't miss any horrible typos or anything.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fic #my fic #bakers with benefits #notjustamumj #green #may ficlets #microfic #pandemic #heavy stuff is alluded to in this fic #sorry I know the Bakers are usually so fluffy

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 year

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Hey Steph! How are you doing? It's been a long time since I've been in your ask box.

I was hoping if you could supply me with some cute fluffy Covid/Lockdown era Johnlock fics. Either domesticity in established relationships, or yk... the first kiss, friends to lovers, prolonged forced proximity finally leads them to get their heads outta their arses kind. Gotta love those!

Thank you Stephiee for repeatedly feeding my whims like the most selfless person ever. Take care, lots of love to you <333.

Hey Nonny!

Are you specifically looking for Pandemic-themed fics? I do have a list for those here: Quarantine / Lockdown / Pandemic (MFL’s). If you mean fics written DURING Covid, I ahhhhhhh don't keep track of when fics are written unless they're specifically for "written before this season" types of fics, :P

OTHERWISE, I do have some other fluffy fics in the genres you're looking for:

Weddings / Proposals / Husbands and Established Relationship

Established Relationship Pt 2 (June 2019)

Established Relationships Pt 3 (Nov 2022)

T-RATED Pt. 1: Friends To Lovers Fics || [MOBILE LINK]

Friends to Lovers [FULL POST] || [MOBILE POST]

Friends to Lovers Pt. 2

Friends to Lovers Pt. 3

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Hope those please you, Lovely! <3

Feel free to add more, friends!

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #pandemic fics #friends to lovers #established relationship fics #fluff fics

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talktomeinclexa · 4 months

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Wanna Be My Pandemic Buddy?

By: TalktomeinClexa

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of Covid

Status: Complete (19/19)

Summary: When Clarke, a graphic designer stuck at home during the lockdown hears about the Dutch Institute for Public Health’s official guidance to find someone to “share physical contact with” to limit the risks, she realizes that this might be her chance to get Lexa, her beautiful neighbor, into her bed. They start sleeping together and the chemistry is amazing, but will they manage to get over their emotional constipation before the pandemic ends?

***

Day 1: Agreement

Adjusting her mask for the nth time, Clarke took a deep breath to steel her nerves and resolutely knocked on the door of apartment 4B, across the hall from hers.

Luckily for her, the stupid cotton rectangle covering half of her face hid her instinctive smile when the door opened. Even though she hadn’t been out in days and wore sweatpants and a comfortable T-shirt, her neighbor was as gorgeous as always. And the best part was, in her hurry to answer the knock, Lexa hadn’t bothered to put on a mask, leaving Clarke free to admire the pouty lips she had been dreaming of kissing more and more recently.

“Clarke, hi. Is everything all right? Do you need something?”

“Hi, Lexa. How are you?”

A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose at the tentative small talk. Ever since the number of Covid-19 cases exploded, the government had put in place a series of strict measures to contain the pandemic. Closed borders, masks at all times, social distancing, restaurants and gathering places closed for the time being… Telecommuting was the new norm, and companies developed new tools every day to facilitate digital communication.

As a result, the news outlets reported fewer and fewer new cases every day. But with social quasi-nonexistent interactions, people felt lonelier than ever. Knocking on your neighbor’s door to chitchat was highly discouraged, and Lexa hadn’t expected any visitor.

Still, she was nice enough not to close her door in Clarke’s face, and, encouraged by her curiosity, Clarke carried on. “Have you watched or read the news recently?”

“Not really, no. All they talk about is the pandemic; it’s depressing. Why? Did I miss something?”

“Well, the Dutch Institute for Public Health released an official guidance a few days ago that might pique your interest. With the current danger we face every time we meet someone, they recommend single people find a person to have regular contact with. That way, we can enjoy physical contact while limiting the risks of spreading the virus.”

To her credit, Lexa didn’t outright laugh or slam the door in Clarke’s face, and that counted as a small victory. Instead, she looked at her with curiosity and a glint of something mischievous in her viridian eyes. “Just to be clear, we’re talking about sex, right?”

“Yes. Sex.” Clarke nodded, proud of herself for not blushing too hard or stuttering. “Or you know, cuddles are allowed too. Physical contact in general.”

“Hmm. And you want me to be your ‘cuddle’ buddy? Why me?”

Keep reading

#clexa #clexa fic #wanna be my pandemic buddy #PWP #I finally reedited this one #two idiots falling in love during the Covid crisis

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shibaraki · 10 months

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it is easy to get stuck on numbers and engagement and what trope / rating gets more attention or kudos than another but ultimately you should write for the audience you want. it’s far more rewarding that way

#like when I would force myself to write fem reader when I first started doing insert fic lol #yeah the smut did numbers but I was so uncomfortable and was not vibing well with my audience bc I felt inauthentic #having started from scratch post-pandemic when the interest was ‘dying out’ I understand how a new blog might feel like they need to get #their foot in the door by pandering to a wider audience like that #but writing what you enjoy or find interesting will always bring you the audience you crave #even it is it smaller than others #sorry 2 ramble #there’s a lot of ‘write for yourself’ around which: I agree with !!!!! but I also wanted to say this. I suppose they go hand in hand

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year

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Survivor's Blood (Leon x Reader) - Chapter 1

Survivor's Blood

Pairing: Leon x Reader

Summary: After Raccoon City, Leon became the only Government agent with that kind of expertise. With relentless training, he was now a Special Agent - again, on his first day in the job. He just didn't expect to live Raccoon City all over again... Maybe Leon was fated to always have the worst first-days-at-work ever.

Age Restriction: 18+. It's horror - so expect a LOT of blood, corpses, dismemberments, very graphic descriptions of violence, dubious morals and people doing everything to survive. Nothing we haven't seen on RE, but reader discretion advised.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Ok. Long story short, Leon has PTSD. He'll be trying to deal with that while again living very violent and traumatizing experiences. The reader is also damaged by the whole situation - again, expect PTSD, anxiety attacks, doom and gloom, all that stuff. I'll leave warnings every chapter there is something very explicit and potentially triggering, though.

Author's Notes: RE4 remake is among us! Bet you guys didn't see this coming - I didn't either. I have 50+ pages of this sitting on my pc since before I started this blog. I was writing it in Portuguese just to indulge me, but with all the RE4 thing, I'm quite hyped for it - and it came in a good time, I'm in need of keeping my head distracted. Like Nemesis, I'll try to update this one weekly. The good side, it's already halfway written, so I'll only have to work on translating to post - with Nemesis, I actually have to write it.

This one is between RE2 and RE4 - I wanted to explore the innocent little rookie cop Leon becoming badass goofy special agent Leon, so this is kinda it. Almost like a character study that capcom never does <3

Fret not, I do finish my works in progress ;)

Also very proud of this header as well

Chapter 1

Leon dreamt almost every day with the horrors he had lived in Raccoon City.

To wake up before the sun painted the sky in golden tones, with his hair plastered on his face from the sweat, already grabbing a gun he got in the habit of leaving by his nightstand and aiming it at a random point in the darkness wasn’t a random occurrence anymore.

“Shit…” And he always cursed between a tired sigh, feeling the cold floor under his feet as his elbows rested on his knees, head hanging low.

He could choose the moment that appeared in his dreams, as if he was still there: the cop Leon tried to save and got cut in half right in his hands, the many heads he blew up of innocent people, his very own colleagues who dragged themselves towards him trying to eat him alive, those terrible monsters who followed Leon around as if the was the only living being in that hell…

Leon had enough memories for a whole lifetime. And, most probably, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder also enough for a lifetime.

It was to be expected that the government would find him for intense interrogation sessions and soon decided to turn him into one of its Special Agents – precisely those who do the job that no one else could. And all of that because no one had the experience he had; the Raccoon City experience.

Who would’ve known that from a rookie cop on his first day at the job, Leon would become a Special Agent of the Government.

Even though he had that experience, and it made Leon become a Special Agent, now he was just a rookie again. He had been in some field activities – simple stuff, but, in his dictionary, almost nothing compared to surviving the virus outbreak at the RPD. So, for all effects and purposes, he was still a rookie.

And he never imagined what kind of mission would be his first as a Special Agent. Leon was probably doomed by fate to have the worst first days at work ever.

New Setosa, April 29th, 2001 – 16h43

“The whole city is a mess, Chief Nakai. We managed to rescue a few people, but, truth is, everyone is scattered around and we don’t know what to do.” A police officer reported to the police Chief of New Setosa, the city that turned into hell in a few hours. “We don’t know if there are any more survivors or where they are.”

Chief Nakai kept his eyebrows together, evidently worried. Screams of mayhem could be heard all over the town outside the department, and the officers in New Setosa had been called to help in that mess they found themselves in. They said it was a virus, something that could become an epidemic, and it spread faster than a fever at a kindergarten.

“What about Washington? You spoke to them, right? Are them sending more people? Help? Rescue…?” The police officer himself was desperate. In all his years in duty, he had never been through something like that.

“The Government promised to send a team to help us, with a specialist in this kind of situation.” Nakai sighed, finally leaving his room with the officer – only to find a bunch of desolate people needing first aid and food, terrorized with what could be outside.

“How can someone be a specialist in this?!” The police officer was already far from trying to control himself. “I’ve never heard of anything like this shit! I don’t even know what those… Things out there are!”

“In Raccoon City, around two years ago, there was a similar incident. Do you remember…? They blew up the whole city ‘cause apparently a virus spread around and that was the only way to contain the epidemics…?” Nakai tried to remind his subordinate, but the man only denied with his head. They probably found a good way to cover up the story of Racoon City and only a few people remembered what had happened. “Well. Maybe this Special Agent from the Government will be able to help us with this. Maybe he led the extractions in Raccoon City. Maybe he helped the dozen poor bastards who survived to get out of there.”

As if on cue to the words of Chief Nakai, the symphony of approaching helicopters made everyone pay attention to what was happening outside. They approached and distanced right after, making the sound of coordinated steps at the top of the Police Department – the NSPD – be heard. The steps approached in a hurry – and no one knew if they would be friendly or not. One of the internal doors opened with a loud noise, giving way to men in black uniforms and heavy weapons, led by a tall man with gray hair in a military cut.

“Commander Rogers?” Nakai asked as the man immediately approached, offering his hand to start the conversation in the friendlier tone they could at that time. “It doesn’t look like a sufficient number of men to save a whole city.”

“If our suspicions are correct, there may be not that much people to save, Chief Nakai.” The Commander answered with a strong handshake, observing the despair in the eyes of the people in the NSPD. “What’s the situation?”

“There’s a lot more people to save, but we don’t have enough police force. The entire city is chaos outside, and this is the most we were able to do at the moment. We already had too many losses; many good police officers died today.”

Leon observed the entrance hall of the NSPD, in silence. He remembered when he first entered the RPD, years ago, and there was no one. The silence was deadly, and he could only hear the noises of the undead chasing him through the corridors of the police department. That was very similar to Raccoon City… Too similar.

He hoped with all his heart his PTSD wouldn’t trigger that night. That was the closest he found himself to Raccoon City in years.

“We will try to rescue the greatest number of people we can.” Rogers walked alongside Nakai and the police officer to a nearby meeting room. The Commander signaled Leon to follow him, and he did without a word. As they entered the room, there was a map of New Setosa taped to the wall.

“The issue is that people are spread around the whole city.” Nakai pointed at the map, hopeless. “We tried to gather as much as we could, but those things are at the gates, ready to kill anyone who tries to leave the NSPD. I don’t think people left their homes, and those who did… Well. You saw how it’s like outside. It’s gonna be impossible to gather everyone, we never saw anything like this.”

“We haven’t, but I have a Special Agent who has already gone through something similar.” Rogers confirmed with his head, making Nakai and the officer look at him with hope blooming in their chests. They waited for someone strong and unrelenting to walk in, a war machine, almost like Rambo or the Terminator. “Leon Kennedy.”

As the Commander pointed at Leon, their glances were a little… Disappointed. Leon looked like everything but a war machine like they expected: not that strong, not that imposing, maybe a little too skinny, albeit fit. He looked too young, too inexperienced, too cute for… That.

“No offense, Commander…” The police officer had to say something. After more than ten years working on the streets, he only saw rookies with that face. “But he doesn’t look like the type of person who would know what to do in this situation. We had cops with fifteen years of experience and training dying like cattle today.”

“I told you, Commander…” Leon closed his eyes and took a deep sigh, not in the mood to at least try to smile. He was certain no one would respect him, precisely for looking too young, maybe even inexperienced. And, honestly, that was his first day as a Special Agent, in what could be a copy of Raccoon City. What if he had a panic attack? No one would ever respect him again.

“Kennedy is one of the few survivors of the disaster in Raccoon City.” Rogers words were harsh, ignoring completely how desolated Leon was by his side. “I never dealt with those things, nor anyone else in my team, and even lesser you. Leon, on the other hand, killed dozens of those creatures, survived the massacre, avoided worse consequences and helped other survivors to get out of there alive. Everything new we will see today, won’t be any news for him. If there’s a person here who may know the best strategies for surviving and saving people, this person is him.”

“You survived Raccoon City?” Nakai had his eyebrows furrowed. “Again, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look too young, Mr. Kennedy.”

“It was my first day at work.” Now Leon had a not so happy smile on his lips. “I have a completely different definition of ‘hellish first day in the job’.”

There was something of strange in his eyes; something different. Leon could look too young and even naïve, but something changed when they looked into his eyes. They had something of tired, too harsh and too merciless for someone so young. Those eyes carried something impossible to erase from the mind – as if they would never forget the blood and the death. They expected eyes filled with kindness and innocence, but all they got was cold and emptiness.

“So… Mr. Kennedy.” The police officer looked a little ashamed of his own antics, pointing at the map once again. “What do you think? How was it with you guys? Did you manage to rescue someone?”

“Well… We were able to find a few people. They managed to protect themselves somewhere strategic and had guns for protection.” Leon sighed, taking a look at the city map. “An emergency announcement led everyone to the RPD, but the virus also got there, and it was a massacre. They couldn’t rescue the people fast enough, no one was there for us.”

Leon fell silent for a while, still observing the map. Nakai and the police officer exchanged wary looks while Rogers remained in silence. No one was there, Leon remembered. He and Claire found each other for a whim of fate and had to make their own way between hungry creatures who literally wanted to eat them alive. In the end, the city was destroyed with a bomb. There was nothing left. If Leon and Claire hadn’t insisted so much in their survival, they would’ve had died. The same thing with Jill and Carlos, who now had to battle their own demons because of all that and almost didn’t manage to leave the city on time. They were one of the few who were lucky, very lucky.

“Leon…?” And he was brought back by the Commander’s voice. Leon shook his head slightly and pointed at the map again.

“I don’t think that many people who stayed at home survived. Unfortunately, that’s what happened in Raccoon… We can try to gather some people in big places: schools, hospitals, supermarkets; and then we rescue them little by little with police cars.”

“Most streets are blocked.” Nakai denied with his head, hands on his waist. “We had too many accidents, the streets are pure chaos. Cars, trucks, motorbikes… You choose. They’re all thrown in the streets, in pieces or in flames.”

“In pieces and in flames too.” The police officer had to point it out.

“That happened in Raccoon as well. We can ask people to gather somewhere nearby, and our team goes in for the rescue. We'll call the base and ask for enough helicopters to take everyone away from here.” Leon suggested right after, looking at Rogers for approval.

“And how are we going to gather everyone in one single place?” The Commander still thought about it, albeit knowing it was the best shot they had. “It’s not like we can go around screaming a PSA.”

“Radio and television. When things like this happen, people try to communicate and keep waiting for communication.” Leon nodded as he remembered what happened in his own city, years prior. “When they announced the bomb, it was through a special announcement in the TV, I remember Carlos told me. He woke up and it was basically an audio telling everyone who survived to leave the city ‘cause a missile was programed to blow it up. We can try at least through the radio.”

“Hmmm… Grace is here in the NSPD with her assistant, Chief.” The officer was starting to see the first glimmer of hope amidst that hell. “If there’s still someone alive in the studio, she might be able to record the announcement here and we can start an emergency broadcast in Channel 8.”

“Grace is the weather girl; she was in the middle of a transmission when one of those things almost ate her and the whole team.” The Chief explained, shaking his head right after. “They lost two assistants, but the cameraman was able to flee with his camera untouched. Grace appeared running after him completely desperate, still holding the microphone.”

“It might work. If we can guarantee there’s someone at the studio, it’s possible gather people in… The hospital, maybe?” Leon observed the map, but soon received a frantic negative answer both from the police officer and Nakai.

“That was the starting point of all this disgrace.” The Chief ran his hand over his forehead. “We’re avoiding it like the plague. I’m sure no one survived in there.”

“Ok. Let’s talk to this Grace and see if we can get some communication at the broadcast station.” Rogers fumbled with the rifle in his hands, apparently having no worries with Leon carrying just one handgun, dearly named Matilda.

Rogers didn’t mind Leon’s weirdness. The kid had survived hell. In his point of view, he could be as weird as he wanted to.

“If we can’t contact anyone there…” With that, Rogers glanced at his Special Agent. Once more, Leon’s steel blue eyes carried that quite atypical coldness.

“I’ll go there, and I’ll find someone. If there isn’t anyone, you can just guide me, and I’ll make it work.” Leon had a small smile in his lips, remembering the first end of the world he had gone through. “I already had to learn a couple things the hard way. Making a TV broadcast work mustn’t be that hard.”

“Great. Let’s redirect the survivors to the school, any objections?” Rogers finally decided and got only negative answers from both Nakai and the police officer.

He wouldn’t make it obvious, but he was proud of Leon – for an ex-rookie cop, he was behaving quite well as a Special Agent.

“Grace?” In the packed entrance hall of the police department, filled with crying and mayhem, the voice of the police Chief made a woman with dark hair and shiny green eyes turn around to him, startled. “We need your help.”

“You?!” That’s what she spat back at him as an answer, completely baffled. The red suit jacket and skirt were dirty and misaligned, the white shirt stained with blood. “We are the ones who need help! Are you doin’ somethin’ to take us out of here or just chattin’ and drinkin’ tea?!”

“Charming.” Leon murmured to Rogers, already internally sighing upon realizing they really needed her help and couldn’t just ask someone else for it. They didn’t need someone with a superstar complex at that moment. The Commander just answered with a small, almost inaudible, laugh.

“We need you to make an emergency broadcast to the city. Where’s your assistant? What is his name?”

“His name is assistant.” Grace huffed, crossing her arms and already looking impatient. “What emergency broadcast? You guys want me to go to the studio for that? I am not leavin’ here.”

“Grace, please… Be reasonable.” Nakai gently touched her arm, approaching the woman. The police Chief lowered his voice. “We want all the survivors to gather in one single place. A TV broadcast helped some people to survive in Raccoon City, it might help here too. We need you to call the studio and see if there’s someone alive in there to broadcast while you give the announcement and the assistant records it.”

“In Raccoon City…? How do you know that?” The woman now looked confused and less combative. She also lowered her voice and seemed a little more prone to help.

“I was there.” Leon almost shrugged, being noticed for the first time. “If there’s no one in the studio, I’ll go there, and you tell me how to broadcast. The goal here is to gather the most people we can in just one place so we can get you all out of the city.”

Grace remained silent for a few seconds, observing Leon. She slowly ran her eyes through each of them, confirming with her head as she thought about it, finally uncrossing her arms.

“It might work…” She murmured back. “If there’s someone alive in the station, I know who’s gonna be. Let’s hope they listen the phone ringin’.”

The group headed back to the meeting room, closing the door and putting the phone in speakers. Grace dialed as fast as she could, watching her cameraman lost outside the room and signaling him to enter and remain silent. Patience wasn’t her virtue.

The phone barely rang once until a silent voice picked it up on the other side.

“Hello…?” It was uncertain, probably hiding. They didn’t let the phone ring so it wouldn’t draw unwanted attention.

“Hello? Y/n?!” Grace rested both her hands on the table, almost covering the phone with her body. The voice on the other side sighed in delight and had to contain itself not to scream.

“Gracie?! You’re alive?!” You took a deep breath while the woman affirmed enthusiastically, your heart beating fast and tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“Y/n, oh my, y/n…!” Grace murmured, sighing right after, trying to hold back her tears. “I knew that you would be alive…!”

“It was tough, Grace. Almost died. Where are you?”

“On the NSPD! That’s exactly why I’m callin’! They are here with…”

“Wait…! Stop talking…!” You suddenly fell silent and everyone in the meeting room heard insistent knocks on a door, alongside horrible undead moans. They exchanged quick looks, not knowing what was going on.

After a few good minutes in silence, the banging finally stopped and the dragged steps couldn’t be heard anymore. You controlled your breath and barely made any noise – they started to ask themselves if you still were on the other side of the line.

“Hey. I’m at the Director’s room, I barricaded the door but those things still try to enter here until changing their attention to fresh blood.” You finally got back to the call, speaking even lower than before. They had to make the speakers louder on their side.

“Is there anyone else alive in there…?” Grace was even scared to ask. Actually, she didn’t want to, but she knew they would ask you that eventually.

“No. Not that I know of.” You sighed on the other side, following with a humorless laugh. “But, I think this is going to comfort you: the fresh blood is from the Director. I tied him up one of the windows after he died; he bled so much that he immediately grabs the attention of those things who are feasting on him.”

“Hmmm…” And Grace laughed briefly after hearing the news, a little more content than she should’ve. “It’s a lot more than what that shitty abuser deserved.”

“Well, at least he was useful for something, right?” You shrugged, understanding Grace’s anger. Anyone would understand it.

“Y/n, my dear, I need you to do me a favor. That’s why I called.”

“When do you call me not to ask for a favor?” You tried to joke for a while, making Grace let out a genuine laugh. “Even in the apocalypse you call me for favors. What if I had died?”

“I knew you hadn’t died. Out of every person in that studio, you’re the only one who had a chance; I’m just alive now ‘cause I wasn’t there when all hell broke loose.” Grace suddenly turned serious, looking a lot more professional than before. “Chief Nakai and Commander Rogers of the Special Forces want me to record an emergency broadcast so all survivors will go to the school, and they can be escorted to the NSPD and rescued. The idea is to broadcast it on the TV and the radio, so I’m gonna need someone inside the studio to broadcast the signal of our camera to TVs across the town and my audio through the radio.”

“Hmmm, ok. I’ve no idea how to do that nor how I’m gonna get there, but we’ll worry about it when I actually get there.” You mirrored her tone, immediately understanding the seriousness of the situation.

“Excuse me, y/n?” Leon finally decided to take over the call. “Leon Kennedy, Special Agent and Raccoon City survivor. I can help. Do you have any radio in there?”

“Like a walkie talkie?” You asked back and, from the noise, it seemed like you were going around the room. “Dunno. The Director had all kinds of junk in here.”

“He had one of our police radios.” The officer added with a long sigh, receiving suspicious looks. “How do you think he knew exactly when some interesting crime happened and appeared there out of the blue, sometimes even before than us? The man was never worth a dime.”

“Well. At least now he’s worth something.” You considered in a mumble, followed by a rather loud noise and some things being fumbled around. “Locked drawer, the key is probably still with him. I don’t think I’ll be able to get rid of the half-dead people already feeding on the piece of crap at the moment.”

Grace giggled – that was the internal nickname of the Director to anyone who worked in the broadcast station; specially women.

“Hmmm, found it. How can I turn it on?”

“There’s a switch on top of it that shows the frequencies, can you see it?” Leon’s answer was in autopilot, getting a positive response from you after a few seconds. “We can find a frequency…”

“0.5 hertz. No one uses that channel, you won’t be interrupted.” The police Chief added before Leon could finish talking, throwing him a similar radio. Leon adjusted on that very same frequency.

“Great. You just have to press a button on the side to open the channel to talk to me. I’m gonna test it here and you tell me if it works, ok?” He didn’t even have to say much for you to agree. With a few words, you could hear him loud and clear.

“Ok, it works. What about you?”

“Working as well.” Leon smiled. Luckily, you seemed to be a fast learner. “Talk to me as you walk around the studio, and I can help you around those things. I was a cop in Raccoon City.”

“Yeah, I know. Claire and Jill told me about you.” Your answer came with a sigh, not at all happy with the perspective of getting out of the room you had made so secure for yourself. “Gimme a minute to get ready. I’ll call you on the radio, ok?”

“Ok, that works.”

“Y/n.” Before ending the call, Grace called you one more time. “Just… Don’t die, ok? I wanna see you again. I don’t wanna be the only one left from the studio.”

“Don’t worry, Gracie. We need a lot more than half a dozen slow zombies to kill me.” You had a cocky smile in your voice, making her laugh before finally ending the call.

The only problem was that there was a lot more than half a dozen zombies in the studio.

To be continued...

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