#so all he can do is just....take whatever ''act of love'' prime gives him because.

[darth-sonny]

No thoughts only Leo knowing that Prime is in love with him and his strategy brain finding a way to weaponize that to protect his family.

Thinking good ole fashioned, "I'll stay with you! Please I will let you do whatever you want, I'll never run, I'll be yours just... Just don't hurt them" kinda beat, ya feel?

Prime of course doesn't fully take the bait, but he probably would definitely let Leo know how much he's tempted by that offer

don't mean to pop your bubble fam, but that isn't gonna happen. Leo isn't very receptive to most things (unless it's Prime and his own feelings of uncomfortableness)

the only things he can think of are pretty much self inflicted victim blaming thoughts. Leo has legit no idea that his dream world is a dream world, he thinks it's real life, so he has no reason to bargain for his family's safety when he doesn't think they're in danger at all

#it's even worse in the bad end route where he's too broken and despondent to even think at all #so all he can do is just....take whatever ''act of love'' prime gives him because. #why bother #sonny answers #prime leo au

[shadesoflsk]

RETROSPECTION & OUTCOME

pairing: leon kennedy x afab reader.

summary: The journey of healing is not an easy one. Obstacles and doubts filled the path Leon decided to take. However, the agent had planted the seed of self improvement and with your help, a strong and resilent tree will grow.

warnings: strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of reader being a nurse, age gap (reader is 25+) angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of gore, blood and violence, no alcohol consumption but Leon attempts to, Leon's inner thoughts, self doubts, lack of self confidence (from Leon's part) mild mentions of religion trauma, smut, handjob, Leon cries during it, kind of switch Leon, needy Leon (give him a hug please) p in v, creampie, fluffy at the end (yipeee)

word count: 14k

author's note: helloooo :] This is my first try at writing a long fic, I had so much fun writing it. It all started as a character study for Leon and then it ended up as... this lmao. For the first chapters, I had vendetta Leon in mind and at the last one we finally have DI Leon! Please... if you see any mistakes no you don't. Anyway love you guys hope you like this as much as I do.

— masterlist

I. ETERNAL DAMNATION.

His cold blue eyes are a pool of misery and misfortune. The dreadful gaze of an individual who once was and continues to be subject to the violent reality of what a government can do.

He remains stoic to whatever adversity he has to face, one look at him and you would believe this man has no feelings whatsoever. He kills, he gets paid, repeat. A never-ending loop in which many would believe Leon finds pleasure. Especially since he carries himself as the Government Golden Boy aka best weapon. To use and to dispose of, Leon S. Kennedy.

Shoulder pats and praise words stir up a pot filled with anger and hatred — emotions that Leon doesn't often feel with others, just with himself.— He tries not to dwell on them, but it gets so difficult and challenging whenever he hears that his own achievements are cause for celebration. Do these assholes know how many people, infected people, he had to kill in order to bring peace? No, they don’t. Unbeknownst to them, those people could have been saved.

At least in Leon’s mind. 

The suited men surround him. Privilege and smugness are qualities that Leon would often use to describe what those who hire his service are. Those congratulations and fake praises ring in Leon’s mind as he keeps thinking about the people he had to betray and kill for the ‘sake’ of his country, for his nation, and for the ego of his president. 

But he takes the compliments, like a good boy. The president believes he hit the jackpot with a rightful agent who is proud of his country. God Bless America and in God we trust, he says as his hand reaches for Leon’s. The blue-eyed agent hesitates each time, out of fear of tainting his oh-so-dear boss’ white shirt. Because nobody cared enough to spare him new clothes and a wet towel to clean himself. A trophy to show the world what a powerful human weapon they had. Rough, tall, and with calloused hands, hands of a killer. 

Leon S. Kennedy is proof of what the cruelty of a government can do. He is no longer a human, but the shell of a man. His name is printed in many documents which shows the gruesome acts he had to endure, in the name of the country. “Agent Leon S. Kennedy had successfully retrieved a sample of the virus.” “Condor One saved Baby Eagle.” He has received a plethora of names yet none of them really encapsulated who he was.

They have shown that they do not care about their citizens, like at all. Raccoon City was a prime example of that. He sounds like a broken record, the memory replaying in his memory every mission he gets assigned. But, for him, it was his first-hand experience with how cruel and gruesome reality could be.

Tough call, they say. We did what we could, they added. Leon knows all of those phrases by heart now. His gentle nature remains in him, even though it was covered by layers of a rough past and self-taught distrust. But even now, at his grown age, he fully believes they could have done so much more.

His mind is all over the place whenever he comes back from a mission. The usual white and never-changing walls surround everyone at the gathering that the president holds each time Leon ‘succeeds’ in a mission. His fingers seek any type of comfort, they twitch, they pinch his own clothes but nothing works. 

People notice, they do. It’s obvious that the spotlight is on him yet he never embraces it. Simple nods and awkward smiles are his way to go and signature gestures. Deep inside, he knows those white-collared dicks spare him weird and pitiful glances every chance they get.

His chest burns with a desire for solidarity and altruism. He feels a lot and feels everything too deep for his own liking. His core dances between his hatred for heroism and the need to be a hero. He doesn’t believe he’s one. Throughout his life he has contemplated who he is and the type of man he has grown to be. His mind is a living hell and he’s the demon incarnated.

He wonders when it all started. Maybe he was doomed for the start, as he stood in front of his parents’ grave asking God why. 

Deuteronomy 31:8; “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” The catholic father who used to hold the mass every Sunday said one morning. Now, did God forget about him? He should have prayed harder, to escape his own damnation.

Strained screams and the reek of rotten flesh fill his dreams. Madness and chaos are the main plots in his nightmares in which he pleads to stop having. His own reality was a mirror of every agony he has to face every day in his line of work. Why is God punishing him even in his dreams?

Those cries of pain and the smell of both burnt flesh and gunpowder are a toxic combination to Leon’s messed up mind. To him, they served as an everlasting proof of his devilish nature. He realizes that the image of innumerable lifeless bodies’ guts all over the floor with his brains smashed over the ground is a common occurrence for him. He becomes desensitized albeit his soul hurting for those who lay at his feet.

Now, he knows that what he's doing is in the name of survival. Millions of people live unaware of the dangerous situations he has to fight on a daily basis, they get to sleep on a warm bed next to their loved ones. If he wants to keep that on, he ought to kill.

But he wouldn’t do it otherwise, he wasn’t built for that life.

But despite that, the usual eerie feeling washes over him whenever he has to pull the trigger. He has grown accustomed to them, on the battlefield he was a fiery pawn, following orders as they told him to.

But as soon as his character ends his performance, his facade and mask falls off his face. He’s no longer a puppet from his higher-ups, he was just him. Leon.

II. RECOGNITION.

He places Matilda — his brush to paint every ground with blood — on his nightstand. To be fair, that’s a habit he can’t just let go. After every mission, his mind is all over the place for the next few days. Every sound activates a fear deep within him that keeps him awake at night and worried during the day.

He washes his hands, a thorough ritual he follows step by step. His hands touch the water, lukewarm to bring him some kind of comfort. He rinses away every blood spot he may have engraved on his bruised skin. The warm and clear liquid reaches his fingernails, which he meticulously scrubs, washing away any leftover of someone’s brain. 

He takes pride in being clean. However, it had developed into an obsession at this point. Being dirty meant killing, and killing meant despair. So, he tries to avoid his gaze on the mirror each time he arrives home. Sadly, he usually doesn’t recognize the man that is staring back at him.

Eventually, he turns off the faucet and walks towards the couch. He’s tired, both mentally and physically. He doesn’t get any younger and living as an agent surely doesn’t help his case. But at last, his home. Safe.

He turns on the TV, he’s welcomed by the News Channel which he quickly changes. Nowadays, it appears that nothing good happens in this messed up world, and he doesn’t want to bring sorrow to his home too. He searches through the vast choices of channels until something catches his eye. Casablanca.

A feeble smile forms on his face, a simple thing like that brings Leon a small percentage of happiness, which it’s a lot given his constant state of dullness. 

He sometimes quotes phrases from the movies he watches. He genuinely expects someone to notice, his tired blue eyes would roam over the numerous faces of agents, hoping someone catches the meaning behind his words. He’s tired, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to chat with someone.

Nobody seemed to notice, maybe they were busy.

Curiously, he had changed the channel just at the right moment when Rick Blaine said his line. Leon’s favorite.

“I never make plans that far ahead.” Both the character and Leon say simultaneously. It brings Leon a sense of joy. Pathetically enough, his hobbies remind him that he is, in fact, still human. 

He sighs, looking around his apartment. It was dull, it showed his lack of decoration and personal touch. He believes there was no point in placing ornaments or things of that sort since he doesn’t even spend most of his time there. In recollection, he has no home. At least not physically.

He’s a man of the world, people look at him and see someone who is strong and independent rather than a simple man. But his heart’s heavy, with a burden and anguish that no painkiller could ease.

He’s tempted to grab a bottle from his cabinet. Drown in the burning liquid and pass out. He doesn’t like alcohol. But he has always been weak to addictions. So, even when he was a rookie cop and his girlfriend broke up with him, he ran to the nearest bar and took all the booze he could. Maybe he should’ve noticed the red flags, and maybe gone to therapy or something like that. But… oh, right, the next day the world literally ended for him.

But, he refrains from doing so. Deep down, he knew that letting his addiction win would be a deadly solution to his problems. Acknowledging is the first step to recovery, experts say. However, he knew that he couldn’t do it alone.

Before even letting more negative thoughts come into his mind. He gets up from the couch and walks toward the bathroom, again. He stays in front of the door for a few seconds, as if scared of going back there. Eventually, he does enter.

His hand reaches for the switch and the lights are turned on. The luminescent white light revealed his face in front of the mirror. He takes one, two, and three deep breaths before fully opening his eyes. 

He bites his lips, seeking a sort of relief from that action yet he bites too hard that almost draws blood. He’s trying his best, this mundane act is no longer something that he does daily. So, grant him some recognition. 

His eyes travel and land on the mirror and after a while, he fully sees himself. His eyes are wide open, not because he was surprised to discover the man that was in front of him. But to compare him to the one he used to be. 

Just a few years ago, his blond hair was still bright, showing signs of his thorough routine. But now, it has turned into a black mop that could no longer be compared to his past self. His stubble has grown too, he was a late bloomer, he didn’t grow a beard until he reached the age of 27 when he could finally see some signs of pores growing hair. But to see his face so… rugged and rough was definitely a slap back to reality.

He takes two steps back, his hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Swiftly, he takes it off, revealing his chest and abdomen. He was no stranger to his own physique since he obviously showers. 

However, the sight that the mirror provided was very different from seeing his point of view. His eyes were observing someone else’s perspective, if he ever had the chance to date someone they would see… that.

A chest which was filled with scars and bruises. They were like tattoos, imprinted on his skin. Those will never fade and if he grants someone the misfortune of dating him, will they be repulsed by the idea of witnessing his tainted self?

He wasn’t a hero, he was far away from calling himself that. But he is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, those marks can remind him of his arduous path. Not in a condescending way, but in a fulfilling memory.

III. FURTHERANCE.

He feels… weird. It’s been a while since he last got a haircut, and having someone holding scissors next to his neck wasn’t something he was looking for. But, there he is.

It took everything in him to call the hairdresser. He has long forgotten how to even speak to someone in a normal setting. “Agent Kennedy here, haircut, out.” He couldn’t say that! 

At last, he booked an appointment. It wasn’t the most expensive place, not because Leon didn’t have the money but rather, because he wasn’t looking to be surrounded by luxuries and opulence. A cheap but nice place would do.

Once he arrived, he noticed that he didn’t match well with the place. He knew he carried an aura of mystery and unapproachability but Jesus, it was now obvious with the way some old ladies kept looking at him as if asking: Who the hell is this man?

All of his previous actions led him to where he’s sitting now. 

The granny behind him keeps showering in compliments which he couldn’t quite understand. A few years ago, he may have blushed and waved a hand dismissively, but now? He doesn’t see how he could be called a handsome man.

For him, looking good and taking care of himself had stopped being a requirement a few months ago. But it wasn’t something that happened out of the blue. He gradually started noticing the changes and once he realized, his whole appearance had changed. 

His eyes are piercing and never changing, an unmistakable aura of exhaustion and helpness surrounds him. Yet, once the old lady's eyes land on him, he can’t help but smile back. It was always in his nature — he lives for others.

It’s always been like this. Naturally, his gullibility and his unfounded faith have shaped and molded him differently throughout the course of years. Having to survive an apocalypse, taking care of an infant, and getting betrayed by a certain someone would sequentially take a toll on him. Nonetheless, his primal wish for altruism and hope will always remain in him. They were his roots which led to creating a strong and fortified trunk. 

He’s still hoping this tree will thrive.

The lady asks him how long has it been since he last cut his hair, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Normally, he would cut it himself, since time was priceless and he couldn’t nor wanted to go to a specific place to get his hair trimmed. So he learned by himself, which wasn’t the safest option.

By the way the old woman’s hands brush on his hair, shaking and trembling due to the years, he knows that she knows. It’s obvious by the way some strands are awkwardly cut and overall most of them were misshapen. A poor attempt at maintaining his heartthrob boy hairstyle.

He remains silent — for most of the time. —  He doesn’t answer any questions that were directed at him. Not because he didn’t want to, it’s just that his line of job never prepared him for small talk. In fact, chit-chat just meant that someone was trying to gather information out of him, which prompted him to just refrain from speaking

The government has fucked him up.

He acknowledges it. But it’s not easy to make a change when that something is the only thing he has known for at least 15 years of his life. The curse of despair had so unlucky landed on him and he knew no witchcraft which could prevent him from that.

His mind register most things people would overlook. Given his duty at the job, he ought to be an observer. Yeah, he is also a fighter but he relies heavily on his analyzing skills before attacking. Knowing your enemy before striking is what has saved him every damn time.

His permanently furrowed eyebrows and cold eyes are the first thing he notices in the mirror as the woman keeps cutting some of his hair. A hand unconsciously reaches for the little space between his brows. 

Maybe if he stops frowning.

Maybe if he stops scowling.

Could he give a better impression of himself?

It’s lacking authenticity, he feels like he’s acting rather than being genuine. But for now, he tries forcing a gentle smile which doesn’t meet his eyes yet it’s better than almost pouting every time he breathes. 

All of a sudden, the bell of the door rings announcing that someone else has arrived. Some of the old ladies who are waiting for their turn start getting up from their chairs to greet the person who had just come in.

An everyday customer, that must be. Leon thought.

He was oblivious of how much you are going to change his life.

He can’t see you, not yet. But as the observer he is, he can deduce that this said individual is genuinely loved and appreciated. A drastic contrast between the way he’s received when he returns from a mission. Fake laughs, fake thankful words. 

A complete fraud.

You walk as if you own the place, but your stride doesn’t come off as haughty or arrogant. You exude an aura of familiarity, hospitality, and therefore a gentleness that it’s foreign to Leon. 

You walk towards his seat, where the granny is cutting his hair. As soon as the gray-haired woman sees you, he observes how her eyes light up with delight and joyfulness he hadn’t seen before. 

“Adelaide…” You stop before you even reach Leon. He admires the scene developing through the mirror. He sees you for the first time, you’re definitely a nurse or at least you work in the healthcare area given your uniform. You have your hands on your hips and a playful glare was formed on your face. If he could guess, you just caught this lady doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.

“I think I told you you should be resting.” You squint your eyes as you keep looking at Adelaide, Leon takes note of her name. You are accusing her, yet your friendly demeanor doesn’t falter. 

It’s refreshing to see innocent social interactions. It's a welcome-back reality check. At least, at this moment, he could embrace the tranquility. Although it will end as soon as the hairdresser informs him that his hair is done.

“You know I can’t stand still…” Her voice comes out as a booming melody. Even though the years were obvious by the wrinkles on her face, she sounded so animated and beaming. “This job is everything I have ever known.”

Now he can agree on something. However, he is fully aware the situation is deadly different. Between cutting hair and slitting someone else’s throat, there is a vast difference. But, in his mind, he could already make up a conversation based on that information.

“I know, but…” You take a step further and place a hand on the granny’s shoulder. Leon couldn’t help but feel like an outsider now that the three of them were reflected in the mirror. “You could just take a few days off… Your shoulder will thank you for it.”

As you advise the granny your eyes dart from her eyes in the mirror to Leon’s. 

For the first time.

You acknowledge his presence with a nod and a simple smile. Time seems to stop as he scans your face. You look younger, you are definitely younger than him. Not young enough for him to feel weird about it, but there was a certain glint in your eyes that told him you haven’t experienced misery and desolation in your life. Unlike him who has yet to experience happiness.

He doesn’t want to indulge so much, but his thoughts are having a blast right now. Maybe it was his lack of social interactions and meaningful relationships but he wants to know more about you. 

“It’s quite unusual to see a man here. I would have thought someone like you would go to a barber.” He comes back to reality as he notices you are talking to him. Your eyes remain fixed on his as your smile continues to be displayed on your face. 

Someone like… him? Yeah, that statement isn’t new to him. Especially since his demeanor is still so rugged. But hey! He’s making a change even though you don’t know.

“Barbers don’t know how to cut my hair.” He realizes his voice came out rigid and plain. He didn’t intend to, but he is used to his military speech and tone. “They… just don’t get it right…” His last sentence is definitely more hushed but not any less monotone. 

“Fair enough. At least Adelaide here knows exactly how to keep your hair safe from a buzz cut.” Leon lets out an amused breath as you joke about his hair. It feels like a gentle breeze, indulging in light-hearted teasing with a stranger. And not any stranger, but you.

He has felt attraction, he’s a man after all. His line of job wasn’t the most ideal to find a partner but he can’t deny how some agents were pretty to look at. However, he couldn’t form a romantic relationship there. Between death and violence, the battleground wasn’t the place to have a partner, form a family, and live happily ever after.

“Yeah…” He sheepishly responds, he doesn’t know what else to add. You had taken the reins of the conversation as soon as you teased him. Now, he hopes something comes into his mind to keep the conversation flowing.

“I haven’t seen any other gentleman wearing this hairstyle,” Adelaide says as she resumes her work. She moves the scissors gracefully. She is — with no doubt — an expert in this area. Though the simpleness of her salon tells him otherwise. “If I may say, I think it really suits you.”

“You should have seen me in the 90s.” Those words leave his lips before he even registers them in his mind. It was an innocuous joke, nonetheless, it carried a hint of self-deprecation. He doesn’t look like his old self, he knows that. Especially after seeing himself in the mirror that night. But nobody there has to know, for them, it was a simple light-hearted joke.

The whole salon erupts in laughter, he doesn’t think his words are that funny. But hey, he will take the compliment. 

However, his eyes catch a glimpse of you not laughing. At work, most people wouldn’t laugh at his own words because they weren’t needed. He knew that. But then again, none of you were in a life-or-death situation. Leon doesn’t want to overthink, but… did he come out as a pretentious dude? Or an arrogant dickhead? 

Or maybe you have caught the real meaning behind those words.

You let out a breathy laugh, not too long to be considered a giggle but not short enough to be a chuckle. You don’t add anything else, your eyes just linger on his face for a few more seconds before turning on your heel.

For a moment, he’s taken aback. He feels like he’s going crazy but for a split second, he sees himself in you. Not because you shared the same past or path and there was no way you had the same traumas. But the way you had observed him, made him feel analyzed, as if you were studying the way he talked and expressed himself.

Maybe he’s indeed going crazy.

Leon watches you taking a seat on an empty chair, next to another customer who gives you a polite smile. From there, he hears you telling Adelaide that your shift at the hospital has just ended and you just wanted to check up on her. 

For a while, he relaxes until Adelaide tells him that they are done. She persuades him to bleach his hair after he accidentally told her that he had blond hair in the past. But he escapes her attempts by telling her that he wants to pay.

He walks towards the register and pulls out a 20-dollar bill. It was quite cheap, especially when he had cut so much hair. At least he looks more presentable now.

You appear out of nowhere as he was paying. Your frame leans over the counter and for a second, you let the awkward silence linger in the air. 

Eventually, you speak.

“You don't belong here.” You say without an ounce of malice. You're expressing a fact. Leon has never been around the salon and doesn't look the part.

He frowns slightly, he was keeping up his laid-back appearance just fine until you blurted out your thoughts.

“It's my first time here.” He states before turning around and facing you. 

“That I know.” You nod.

“Then… was your comment really necessary?” Leon's words could come off as rude even though it wasn't his intention. But, it seems they don't even phase you.

“Not really.” You shrugged. Your voice was nonchalant. “But as you could already guess, I'm a nurse. And I have seen people like you come and go out of the hospital.”

He is trying to understand what your point is. Under any other circumstances, he would have told the other person off for even daring to speak about him and his lifestyle. He wasn't violent, not at all. But sometimes his limit was put to the test.

“What I'm trying to say is that…” He sees your attempt at explaining yourself. “I think It's safe to assume you're an agent or something of that sort, right?”

Leon doesn't react nor wants to. People knowing he was an agent wasn't a problem since it wasn't a secret. 

After a few seconds, he lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and nods. Being honest could be the start of a friendship, at least that's what Leon thinks.

“Was it my frame and physique that gave it away?” If he was an artist he could easily say he was getting better at the art of improving. Just a few weeks ago, he would have never left a comment like that lingering in the air. 

“Nope.” You cross your arms at the level of your chest. 

And there you go breaking his fantasies. He thought his phrase was so flirty.

“There's a scar on your cheek, it looks pretty deep.” You gesture to Leon where the scar is on your own cheek. He instinctively brings his finger to where it is in his. 

That's one of the few scars he remembers exactly how he got it. 2004, Spain. He experienced what betrayal was beforehand. Who he used to hold in high regard was the one who didn't hesitate to hold a knife and leave a nasty reminder of his deception. 

“I got it in a fight.” He sticks with a simple phrase, not diving deeper. Nonetheless, he realized you’re a perspicacious individual, lying won’t get him anywhere.

“Fight… right.” 

Both of you smile knowingly, the smirk giving away a sense of teasing between the two of you, for the first time. Even though you know nothing about how far and wild his job actually was, you had an idea that this said fight wasn’t just a normal and common one.

“So…” Leon sees how you shift your weight from one foot to another. There hasn’t been a shy bone in yourself ever since you entered the salon but now words don’t come out of your mouth as easily as before. “If you ever need a nurse, you can call me.”

As you rummage in your bag, you speak once again. “I may not be the most experienced but believe me when I said I had experience with some military and agents.”

You hand Leon a business card, your full name was there as well as your phone number and the hospital you work in. Your name falls swiftly out of Leon’s lips as he reads the content on the cardstock.

“And senior citizens.” He flashes you a dazzling smile, he doesn’t seem to realize that it’s been a while since he last smiled so freely and so.. natural. It feels like the sun hitting on his skin after a cold day. A warmth he had long forgotten he could feel.

He knew it was soon. Too soon to even imagine being your friend. But as he puts the card in his pocket, he wishes that this could be the beginning of something more.

IV. RELAPSE & RESTART.

He almost falls once he opens up at the door that leads him to his apartment. Another gruesome mission to add to his mental diary and more scars that will adorn his already hurting body. 

The same never-ending story, the same story being told once again. He doesn’t know when it will end. 

If it even ends.

The last months have been all about his ‘recovery’. He was a patient man, he was sure of that. However, he doesn’t understand how doing mundane things would help him. He was taking baby steps and walking on eggshells, trying not to fall back into his old addictions.

Which were slowly creeping into his mind.

A call from Hunnigan was the last thing he expected a few days ago. He was surprised not to get any task earlier but that didn’t mean he wanted to go back to fight off bioweapons and kill walking undead who were once rational people, with dreams and wishes just like him. 

But as much as he wanted to hang up and leave that world behind — knowing that the government wouldn’t give two shits about him and would walk through the same door he previously did and blow his brain — he accepted the mission.

In his own story, he’s a tragic character who can’t break the cursed loop he’s trapped in. The soft sounds of the rain no longer brought comfort to his aching heart, since those constant pitty-patter reminded him of the blood dripping from the people who were killed, by no one else but him.

He often thought he was going crazy, especially now as he walked towards the kitchen and stumbled on his own feet. Seeking something to grab on while he fights off the exhaustion. This last mission had taken a toll on him, both mentally and physically.

His fingers reach for the edge of the counter as he finally stays on his feet without the fear of falling onto the floor. His tired eyes close for a moment as he takes in his surroundings, his lonely apartment and his lonely life and his lonely self and his —.

He shakes his head, he wasn’t exactly in solitude. After that hurried meeting with you, he gained a new friend. He got to know you personally, something that he had missed for the longest time. To actually know someone deeper and not only their last names and occupations.

In exchange, he gave himself the chance to be more vulnerable. He couldn’t deny the attraction that he felt. But he was too afraid to fuck up the chance to have something meaningful with you. He told you about his years at the police academy, and he briefly shared his experience in Raccoon City, trying to be as vague as possible. In other words, he bared his soul to you.

But that didn’t mean everything was filled with butterflies and rainbows.

One night when you were treating one of his injuries (which he never treated in the past) he accidentally told you about his addictions and dark thoughts. Those which showed a persistent state of numbness and trauma. It was never his intention to worry you about those minor things, which he truly believed were not important.

But, as he recalls that night, he realizes that sadly, he can’t just end it all with a bullet through his brain. He has always thought about it, it’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed his messed up mind on those lonely nights when he wished someone would grant him a blink of sleep without having to dream about death and despair. 

His eyes open as he once again walks through the kitchen, the moonlight provides a faint source of light that casts on his dark space of living. He remembers that you once told him he should get some lights, and he indeed bought them but he can’t just seem to find enough time to put them on.

His mind wanders through the moments he has spent with you. You always said the most soothing of things, when you wanted to. You advised him, told him how worthy he can be and how special he must be to others even though they don’t know it yet.

Another step.

He didn’t quite catch the meaning of those words. For him, he only brings despair wherever he goes. A demon of destruction and annihilation. If hell had a list of its next guests he believes his name would be on the top of that list. God wouldn’t want him in his paradise.

One more step.

Nonetheless, you weren’t a teddy bear who only chanted words of praise and fairy-tale stories. You called out his bullshit, especially when he dared to joke about going back to his old habits.

Stop.

“Would you like a glass of whiskey?” He would sarcastically ask you whenever you visited him at his apartment, knowing the kind of reaction he would get out of you. You had none of that, though. As soon as he uttered those words, the grip your hand had on his arm would get tighter to the point that Leon would beg you to stop it. 

He knew you genuinely cared for him and he convinces himself that you’re wasting your time with someone like him. Someone already broken from the start. You were younger, with a life ahead of yourself, and a career to follow. And like the devil incarnate that he is, he is stopping you from that.

The story repeats itself, everything he touches turns into dust. He’s no longer a human but the shell of a man who once had dreams of becoming a cop. To become someone who would help innocent people. But instead, he’s killing those same poor souls in the name of the fucking government.

His fingers graze over the cabinet.

He despises his life, he hates everyone who forced him to follow this path. The resentment flows in his system as his hand grips the cabinet door even tighter; if he wasn’t so tired from his mission, he would have broken the tacky wooden furniture.

Why does it have to be this way?

Why does he have to continue witnessing the horrors of his life every day? 

Why do the ghosts of people haunt him every day as he tries to close his eyes and relax? 

Why has he become so desensitized to the bloodshed and yet as soon as he comes back to reality, it knocks the air out of his lungs?

And why is he already unscrewing the lid of his whiskey?

Time slows down for a moment as he gambles his choices. It's been months since he last took a sip from his so beloved whiskey. But at the same time, just one tiny drop would crumble all of his progress.

But why is progress so important if the product is going to be the same? Even if he gets better, his life won't. The only difference is that he may smile more during missions and act like everything is fucking alright even if it isn't.

But he isn't so lucky to fall deeper into his hell that easily. As soon as the cap falls onto the floor, the front door knob twists, announcing that someone is entering.

And who else has a key to his apartment?

The last person he wants to see right now.

The door creaks, antagonizing the imminent moment when you would see him at the scene of the crime with him being the culprit of his own homicide.

“Leon?” He hears you say as you step in, the darkness of the room allowing him a couple of seconds to hide the murder weapon – the bottle – and act clueless. But it seems that not even his nervous system is on his side. He just stands still.

“Sorry for being late. I had one hell of a shift back at–...” He sees your frame as you approach the kitchen. Your face falls momentarily, taking in the sight you were watching. Disheveled hair, bruises all around his face, and dark eyebags that gave the impression he hadn't slept for weeks.

Your eyes fall on the bottle in his hand. There was no cap which leads you to believe that he was drinking. Leon wanted to scream and tell you that you got it all wrong, but no words left his lips.

“Are you drinking?” Anger-filled, you take long strides before reaching for the bottle. Your eyes scan the content, seeing that it is half empty. Your accusatory gaze falls on Leon's.

“It's not what it looks like.” Worst phrase ever. He knows that he's telling you the truth, yet he couldn’t come up with anything worse than that. 

He looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide open as you keep staring at him with those eyes filled with… disappointment which it's worse than being screamed at. He wasn’t built for that. He was used to resentment looks, to punches and kicks. But disappointment came every time he had to tell families that their father wouldn’t make it that night because he died on a mission. It came each time he had to inform a mother that their beloved son succumbed to a virus. 

The once rookie cop still lives within him. The one who hates disappointing people, the one who wants to save everyone. But especially the one who can’t do it alone.

“Then help me understand.” You place the bottle on the kitchen counter. Your stare doesn’t falter yet a hint of concern washes over your face. “Because all I see is you drinking after literally promising me that you’d never do it again.”

As a matter of fact,  you didn’t actually see him drinking. He wanted to say that, but he knew it would bring even more anger to your already burning expression. However, as soon as that thought left his mind, another one came.

The sole fact that he didn’t drink, doesn’t spare him from any culpability. If it wasn’t for your intrusion, he’d be lying on the couch, wasted and intoxicated waiting to pass out. 

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. Leon isn’t dumb, he’s exhausted but he’s aware of how much you’re holding back. You would never scream at him, that’s obvious. But you didn’t want to bring even more self-hatred to him.

He had his own mental battles, ones you will never understand no matter how much he describes them to you. His anxiety was always bothering him, like an annoying bug buzzing in his ear. You knew how overwhelming everything was.

And you knew how recovery wasn’t an easy step to take, but it definitely takes so much maturity and perseverance, something that Leon surrounds himself in – even though he doesn’t see it. He’s a fighter, he’s a hero, he’s a lover. He keeps fighting and fighting even when he doesn’t see an end. But he mastered the art of moving forward.

So, he’s allowed to fall from time to time.

“Did you drink?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Were you planning on doing it?”

He’s silent for a moment, he’s afraid that his answer will mean more disappointment from you. That you will get to see how pathetic he really was. 

“Yes.” He eventually confesses.

You absentmindedly nod, letting out a long sigh.

“Another mission?”

“...yes.”

You didn’t ask for the details, knowing – to an extent – about Leon’s job, you knew it must have been so impactful in order to almost throw him back to his old friend, alcohol. And you knew Leon was like a sponge, he absorbs everything he experiences and never tells anyone. You thank God that he accidentally told you about his addiction, now you can at least protect him.

“It was…” Leon continues speaking, his fingers scratching a spot on the kitchen counter. His eyes don’t meet yours, as if he’s trying his best to make the words come out of himself. “It was really bad this time.”

He lets out a dry chuckle that sounds more like an attempt to water down the situation. One thing about him is that he doesn’t cry. He wouldn’t let someone see that side of him. He’s rigid, he’s stoic, he’s unemotional. He’s a DSO agent, born to serve his country and die for it. 

But right now he wants to be a child again. 

He wants to be that same infant who would fall on purpose just to get kisses from his mother. He wants to be that same innocent child who could come back running to his mom’s arms when the world was too scary. 

He wants to stop the world for a second and cry at the top of his lungs, he wants to punch a wall until his knuckles bleed, he wants to be held, he wants to be told everything will be okay even if it will never be okay.

His thoughts drift to when he was younger – to when he could imagine himself being a better person. If he could speak with himself, what would he say? The image of a tiny him crosses his mind, a young Leon playing all by himself with tiny police cars.

Within him, there’s a rookie cop begging for help amidst the gruesome scenario he had to face back in 1998. Beneath all the layers of self-hatred and resentment, hidden in that dead gaze.

He shakes his head, in a poor effort of swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. An imminent sign that his emotions will fall like a waterfall, reminding him of his own weaknesses. His curtain of hair falls onto his eyes, blurring his vision. 

Or was it his tears? He no longer knows.

He deserves an award for how hard he’s trying to stop the inevitable. His fingers shake, his breath gets heavier and his heart aches. But he couldn’t bear it for much longer, especially knowing that at least, he had someone to go to when his mind was too much for him.

So, he allows himself to feel human again.

“It was horrible…” He finally breaks down. He silently lets the tears fall from his eyes as he sobs. The thought of every mission is on his mind as the constant spams of his sobs control his body. 

He feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs, the uncontrollable way that he chokes on his sobs makes his throat constricted. 

He lowers his head, he doesn’t want you to see how weak he has become. A tough agent simply doesn’t cry. An agent bites, chews, swallows, and shuts up. 

Silence sets in the kitchen, occasionally broken by Leon’s tears and choked breaths. His fingers itched to grab something, to hold onto something. To feel that he wasn’t alone, that he was indeed not all by himself in this messed up world.

You slowly reach for him. Baby steps, for someone who was touched starved, even if he was unaware of that fact. For someone that’d jump whenever he feels touched, because his mind can’t let go of the fear of being bitten, of being killed. 

You quietly made your way to Leon’s hand, your fingers ever so grazing it. Feather touches brushes against the back of his hand, making sure to notice if he shows any signs of discomfort. There were none.

However, you surely notice that his sobs have stopped for the time being. He’s still sniffing though. As if on cue, his glassy eyes lock on yours, before you fully intertwine your fingers with his.

You didn’t hug him immediately, you didn’t throw your arms around his neck at the very right moment when he started crying, and you especially didn’t give him a shoulder pat as if saying “Don’t cry.” He appreciates the fact that you took it slow, you gave him a warning and proceeded further when he allowed you to.

Loving takes time, and loving Leon would surely take longer than anything you have experienced.  You have treated many patients, you know that the injuries in a body heal fairly quickly. Now, the wounds in a soul that was doomed from the start are not something that easy to mend. 

After a while of your fingers being intertwined and sweat covering the palm of your hands, you feel the faintest squeeze, coming from Leon’s side. You look at him and see a tiny smile formed on his lips with some dry tears adorning his face.

You say nothing, scared to break the atmosphere of tranquility that had formed after Leon stopped crying. It took some seconds for Leon to muster up the courage to go further, intimacy and platonic touches were already something he was unfamiliar with. Now, he had to add romantic feelings to that list.

If he had met you when he was younger, he’d have surely asked you out. Take you on a nice little date and steal a kiss or two. But now, he was trapped in the course of the years, older and supposedly wiser. However, you were the one who was being strong – for him. Not the other way around.

But, as much as he wants to pity himself and wonder about those what-ifs, he has a friend now. He would take care of that heart of his in the future. For now, he wants to embrace the one friendship he hasn’t tainted yet.

The one person who still hasn’t seen the horrors that this world has to offer.

He untangles his fingers from yours and looking at your eyes one last time, he brings your hand to his cheek. The palm of your hand bringing some warmth to his skin.

With his eyes closed now, you see an expression you haven’t seen before. A peaceful one, as if he was sleeping without his usual nightmares. It was comforting, in a sense, knowing that you have brought a moment of serenity to his tumultuous life.

You were surprised at first, not expecting Leon to show that display of affection. However, part of you understands that he was seeking comfort. It’s been a while since he last felt safe with someone, someone who he could cry with, someone who wouldn’t judge him.

Your thumb grazes over his stubbled cheek, wiping away any proof that he has been crying. 

“Thank you…” His voice is barely a whisper, you almost didn’t hear him singing his gratitude.

You want to say “You’re welcome” or “It’s okay” but none of those phrases convey what you really wish to show. Saying the first one would dismiss all of your previous actions as a simple attempt to comfort him. And the latter was a lie, it’s not okay, even if you wanted to believe it yourself.

“I got you.” You stick with that one. It wasn’t a lie but a promise you plan on fulfilling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” He asks, opening his eyes. His tone is a hopeful one.

“I do.” You reassure him.

With your free hand – the one that wasn’t on Leon’s cheek –  you reach for the bottle of whiskey that was long forgotten after their little situation.

“But before that, we need to get rid of this.” You show it to Leon before he chuckles. “We’re now only drinking apple juice.”

He didn’t miss the use of we instead of you. Maybe he’s reading between the lines, but he hopes that you’re by his side now that he wants to leave his addiction for sure. He wants you to see how much he can achieve if he sets his mind on it.

“Apple juice it is.”

V. ABSOLUTION.

The nakedness of his body didn't override the vulnerability he showed once he let you in his life, mind, and soul. But as you help him wash his back, he can’t help but reminisce about that first night when he first saw himself in the mirror.

He remembers being insecure about showing his scars to someone, scared that the other person would be disgusted by the sight of it. 

However, you weren’t repulsed, far from that. In your mind, Leon’s skin served as a canvas and each bruise and scar were strokes of a paintbrush. In this case, they showed Leon’s hard life and non-achievable freedom. They showed how much Leon had endured and how many fights he had won.

Therefore, they were proof that Leon was a lover of life. He loved everyone else’s lives that he would sacrifice his in order to protect the world.

Leon sometimes drops hints about his job. He didn’t directly tell you about the government and its fucked up methods, but you collected the clues and formed your own puzzle.

He was forced to join.

It was strange, in a way. To know that a gentle soul like him had to face the hostility of a country, of a government that could easily threaten someone into joining the force. However, you weren’t clueless about its power.

Eventually, after those hints, other hints came along the way. 

Leon was sweet, funny, and a gentleman. Your dynamic as a nurse and patient was long forgotten even though you still tend to some of his wounds. And your friendship shifted into something more, especially after the whiskey situation months ago. 

However, even though his qualities overshadow his flaws, there’s something he can’t hide.

He’s too awkward for his own good.

Ever since the alcohol incident, Leon would always try to be smooth and compliment you over the simplest things. “Have you done something different to your hair? No, you didn’t? Oh… Well, it looks good” He would often facepalm himself because he couldn’t flirt even if his life depended on it.

Eventually, after those not-so-discrete hints, he took matters into his own hands. He often faked minor injuries. “You don’t understand, my eye literally hurts” and he would have access to admire every tiny detail your face had to offer. From your moles to the way your eyebrows furrowed trying to concentrate.

And that led to feathery touches. In the name of friendship, of course.

After one dinner – that Leon so gratefully prepared – you would often find yourself sitting on the couch, shoulders pressed to one another as you played with his rough hands. You would ask him where he got that scar, how he got this one right here, wow it looks really deep. 

And he let you because he did the same. Because those angel-like touches soon turned into endlessly staring sessions where silence was more inviting than any word could be. You gazed into each other’s eyes for only God knows how long. Expecting that the other one would break the intimate moment but none of them had the heart to do so.

It would be an understatement to say that Leon felt so safe with you. Over the months, Leon had gotten to know what a home felt like. His apartment remained the same, physically and aesthetically speaking. But the way it immediately lightens up when you arrive – yeah, Leon could finally call it home.

That’s why, it was so easy for Leon to let those words slip out of his mouth one night when you were leaving.

“You feel like home.” 

And for a moment, you let those words sink into you. You thought you were merely an acquaintance, a simple friend at most. But no – there he was, Leon Kennedy, US government agent, telling you that you’re his home.

Meanwhile, the silence at that moment made Leon go insane. He thought he fucked it up, you would surely run away now. Who the fuck says that someone is their home? Shit shit shit—

“You’re my home too.” 

And that was everything he needed to hear to stop all of his dark thoughts from appearing once again. The darkness that embraced both of them set the perfect scenario to indulge in this crucial moment. A late confession, but a real one.  

As he gazes into your eyes, he can’t help but wonder if this tiny fragment of happiness would go away like everything else had in his life. You’re too precious, too important to die, to vanish from his life and never come back.

And your hand reached for his cheek, your thumb caressing the same scar you noticed when you first met him, he couldn’t help but ask God to grant him one more chance in life. He promises — in a fragment of seconds — to be a better human, to be a better citizen but please, don’t take away this last string of hope he’s holding to.

And he felt that God had finally responded to his prayers when he saw how you leaned closer, letting your lips find his in a gentle but so meaningful and awaited kiss. He hesitantly parted his lips, scared that this may be a dream. But of course, he doesn’t dream so that had to be the reality. The sorrow, the anxiety, the longing, and the expectations — all of those were long forgotten as he mentally thanked destiny for this.

“Earth to Leon” You giggle behind him as you rub a sponge all over his back. You were careful not to be so rough on his already aching back. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Of course, he found himself daydreaming. 

From that night, his relationship with you skyrocketed. And his home became your home too.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but he found himself getting even more comfortable with you. He didn’t even need to ask himself — letting you see him naked as both of you wash each other’s bodies? Yeah, it was definitely love. 

And he loves being in love.

“I just spaced out for a bit.” He responds with a yawn, the silence that surrounded both of you was inviting to just sleep throughout the night. Funnily enough, you only just sleep. Leon was grateful the first nights since he was getting used to the fact that someone else was sleeping on his bed.

But now he was growing a bit impatient.

Especially with your lingering touches.

As you let the water wash away all the soap, your lips soon find his back, pressing soft kisses on each scar that adorned his skin. “It’s okay…” a kiss on a tiny scar. “Are you going to take your sleeping pills tonight?” Another kiss on a scar that was near his shoulder.

Right… he was put on medication. He often takes sleeping pills when his eyes won’t shut down even if drowsiness is engulfing him. But lately, sleep has become easier, and his nightmares have decreased.

He’d like to think that after you started sleeping next to him, his mind started to feel at peace. But that was something unreal, nobody could fix someone. 

But he had to be honest, you surely helped him a lot.

“Not tonight.”

He feels you nodding as your chin lays on his shoulder blade. It’s in moments like these where he thinks that life doesn’t sound so bad. As he zones out and lets you do all the job, he realizes that maybe it’s okay to keep on living.

He’s a big teddy bear, to say the least. The DSO agent who once swore duty to his country was pushed aside when he was with you. Why would he need to keep up his facade when home meant security, therefore you are what makes him safe. So, as you help him out of the shower, drying him off with a towel he lets you take the reins, his body on autopilot mode.

His strong arms wrap around your frame, perfectly molding and fitting like puzzle pieces. It feels like the flow of water, gently swaying your bodies until they reach their destination, their little nest away from everything outside. 

He takes pride in serving, providing, and protecting. It was deeply imprinted in him, right in his bone marrow. The blood that runs through his veins pushes him to never stop, to continue working for others. 

However, as you help him sit down on the bed his mind shuts down for a moment. He allows himself to take this moment of peace and drown himself in it. Be a little selfish, if he can. The tranquility of a domestic setting was still so foreign to him yet he doesn’t understand how he could’ve lived without feeling this for so long.

The towel around his midsection hugs him just right to prevent the material from falling. His hair is still a little wet, and so is yours. You use the extra towel to help him dry off. 

He very much enjoys the lazy touches you share at nights like these. It was a nice reminder that the darkness of the imminent dusk will not bring more nightmares, but peaceful dreams. The ghost of his past was getting tired of haunting him, it seems.

You’re still pretty careful with him, as if you were handling fine ceramic which in a sense, he was. He was shattered porcelain, glued back together with utter care. You both were artists, who completed with great skill this piece of art called life.

And now, your lips are acting like a brush, as they touch Leon’s skin. Kisses are planted along his jaw and he lets out a sigh from the feeling of being treated with so much devotion. If he could serve as a blank canvas, he was ready to rewrite his story with you.

Or maybe not rewrite, his past made him a person as much as it hurts. His grief, his pain, and his previous solitude built up the man that he is now. So, he will add another page to his life story. He will paint another landscape where the sun rises and casts its lights on the world. 

He looks at you and sees nothing but raw love and a hint of desire hidden behind those orbs. He notices, then, that just like him you are indeed eager to please him in the other sense of the word. It was embarrassing to realize that he shouldn’t have kept quiet about his needs when you had already proved to him that it was okay to speak, to think, to feel.

It’s been a while since he last let himself be this physically vulnerable. Sure he wasn’t an inexpert in the area but it has never been this intimate. Hearts never bonded and names weren’t remembered. Never has someone truly cared about his welfare before. To put it a name, he’d have called it a trade. He let off some steam and the other part got what they wanted. No strings attached and surely no feelings hurt.

However, it would be a lie if he told himself he didn’t crave to actually make love to someone. To feel someone’s body brushed against his in a sweet and gentle motion. To let himself and his soul be kissed with so much love that it would make him cringe. 

You stop your waterfall of kisses for a while, letting the silence linger for a few seconds as you grab his hand. Slowly, you interlace your fingers with him, a well-known display of affection from you. Your signature, you may even say.

“Hey…” His eyes search yours, and he sees how you’re looking for approval, for his consent. He once heard eyes are the mirror of someone’s soul and the world suddenly feels so small as he remembers that he met those same eyes months ago, unaware of the effect you’d have on him.

“Hey.” You repeated, for the second time this night, his mind decided to wander again. “Is it okay if…” you trail off, not because of embarrassment or sudden shyness, not at all. But he can deduce that you wanted him to finish your sentence. 

I’ve been dying to touch you. I’ve been craving you touching me, he wanted to say. However, his sense of decency stops him from uttering that rather needy phrase. In a way, he can infer that you already know about his lustful desires. It was a matter of time before both of you indulged in those carnally and normal needs. 

Nonetheless, he is oblivious that you won’t let this night be like any other. No, you wouldn’t try anything too crazy — not yet — But after months of knowing him deeper and rawer, you know he’s tired. Exhausted from his life, exhausted from his job, and overall drained. He deserves to be treated right and you’ve been excelling in that task. 

But, you’ll show him that he can be as greedy as he wants to be.

“You can trust me.” You say in a hushed tone as if you were whispering a secret to him. Your hand slowly descends until it reaches where the towel meets his waist. 

“I do trust you.” He responds with a determined tone amidst the suggestive move of your hand. “I feel like I won the lottery with you.”

“Is that so?” You laugh, resuming your kisses around his stubbled cheek. Although this time, they carry some neediness in them.

“Positive.” He lets out a shaky breath as your finger ever so grazes over where the towel is tucked in. “Because you saw good in me when I had nothing to offer, you—”

“Stop.” Your voice remains soft even though your command doesn’t falter. ”None of those self-loathing words right now.”

He’s speechless for a moment before he slowly nods and lets your hand go lower. Leon feels his blood going south just from a few words.

But then again, loving you was really easy. So it was no surprise that he found himself already leaking at the anticipation of your imminent touch. 

“Let me make you feel better.” You whisper, allowing your hand to undo the towel that was previously wrapped around him. In a swift movement, it falls on the floor exposing his already hard length. 

You glance at Leon one last time and observe his reaction. There was no sight of changes of mind or hesitation, so you free his and your desire.

You connect your lips against his neck, and with gentle sucks, you prepare him for what’s about to come. Your wish —besides touching him— is bringing comfort in such an intimate act like this. He has trusted you with his soul and body before, that’s correct. But right now, you can feel the level of loyalty and therefore love he’s showing you. 

Your hand reaches for his dick, you thumb the slit of his tip collecting the precum that has already formed there, using it as a lubricant. 

Your fingers circle around his cock and, slowly, you start stroking him. You don’t want him to cum just yet, the feeling of being treated like this was something you want him to drown in. So, you keep up the steady pace. 

You disconnect your lips from his neck and focus your eyes on your ministration on his cock. The lewd sounds combined with the faint whimpers coming out from his lips were almost like background music that you are starting to love. 

He takes the opportunity of you pulling away from his neck to hide his face in the crook of yours. His breath tickles your skin as he continues letting out the most pretty sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck…” He hisses as his word gets lost between the shlick sounds of your hand jerking him off. His nose brushes against the side of your neck as his cries fill your ears. You can hear him whispering your name from time to time, as well as some other curses of his own.

However, his tiny cries of pleasure soon turned into real sobs. 

No, he wasn’t sad but Christ, it was the first time actually took their time to focus on his pleasure and his well being. He always thought that love was never meant for him, that the simple act of falling in love would be impossible and unachievable. The thought of having his life attached to someone else used to send shivers down his spine.

Now, his world is no longer black and white, your mere existence brought color to his life.

Your hand stops for a minute, worried that you may have done something wrong. That leads Leon to pull away from your neck as some tears roll down his face. 

“Sorry… I — just continue please…” The desperation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed as he went back to nuzzle against your neck. And even if he was dazed out at this very moment, you will remember to talk about this again at another time.

“It’s okay, let it all go.” You reassure him as you resume your previous motions. It doesn’t take long before your hand sends him over the edge and close to his own climax. 

You pump him, your thumb grazing over the head of his dick from time to time. He absentmindedly thrust his hips up into your hand, seeking his near release. For him, you were granting him a visit to Heaven itself. Just the mere touch of your hand had him seeing angels and cherubims. How would it feel to be deep inside of you?

His lips are red from biting them, attempting to muffle his moans. His brain is a mess, with thoughts of you and only in there and his cock is throbbing as it chases his own high. Overall, Leon was putty in your hands. 

And by the way, his hips are starting to miss their rhythm, you know that it was a matter of seconds before Leon came undone in your hand.

“You’ve been so good for me…” You coo, still jerking him off with a slightly faster pace now. “You deserve to cum, don’t you?” You were always good with words but Jesus, he didn’t expect you would literally talk him through it.

As you whisper those praise words, he can’t stop his hips from rutting and bucking into your hand. “Yeah…— fuck — I’ve been so good. Please, let me cum.”

The image of a tough agent begging for release will surely imprint in your mind for a while. 

“Of course.” Your lips tug into a smile as you pick up the pace. It was a sight to behold, seeing Leon coming undone in your hands with his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a dazed out expression that brought butterflies to your tummy.

Eventually, your hands slow down as Leon writhes under your touch. He lets out a loud muffled whimper as white thick ropes of cum spill onto his stomach and of course, your hand. 

He stays still for a while, letting his body rest for a second. He plants lazy kisses on your neck as a way of saying “Thank you” since words couldn’t really translate what he was feeling right.

“Shit—” After a while, Leon curses as his half-lidded eyes meet yours. His expression is one of exhaustion but his lazy smile tells you he was brimming with happiness. He reaches for his towel that was previously thrown off and cleans your hand.

“Are you ok?” You ask as Leon wipes your hand, you can’t help but let out a giggle at the considerate action.

“Yeah but…” He trails off as he cleans his abdomen too. You can already predict what was going on in that head of his. “What about you?”

“I’m okay Leon.” You sigh as you bring your now clean hand to his cheek. “Your pleasure is mine. Besides, you’re exhausted.”

But as much as your statement was true, you can’t deny the desire that was dripping between your thighs. Between the intimacy of your act and having Leon so vulnerable in your hands, your system knows what it wants.

“I am.” He doesn’t deny the fact that your ministrations sucked the life out of him. But he can keep going. For the first time in his life, he is grateful for his stamina as an agent. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Before you could even protest, Leon was already kissing your neck. The scent of your body wash filling his nostrils as his lips get hungrier and needier for the taste of your skin. And as you attempt to once again speak, he muffles your words with his mouth on yours.

You feel your reasoning go weak as well as your limbs. It took a few kisses for you to comply and let yourself be laid on the bed, strong but gentle hands holding you close even when you fell on the soft mattress.

He’s above you for a second as he admires the view. Your towel, unlike his, was still wrapped around your body. You wriggle your way to where the pillows of the bed are and you wait for him there.

He wastes no time to join you, carefully lying next to you rather than above you. You catch a glimpse of what he’s trying to do. One of his calloused hands reaches your waist and softly motions you to roll over your side. 

You roll over and you’re met with your reflection on the mirror that was next to your bed. Funnily enough, it was perfectly placed so it showed both of your bodies. Somewhere deep in your mind, you wonder if Leon set up the mirror there for this right purpose. 

But then again, Leon was spontaneous, behind all of his layers of grumpiness and sadness that once used to surround him, you knew his sappy, corny, and cheesy side that was hidden. And now, you get to notice his quirks every single day.

He grips your hips as he lays sideways too, slightly spooning you. “You no longer need this…” He murmurs as he takes off your towel, the sight of your bare body in the mirror has his mouth watering. Acting like a damn dog wasn’t on the list of things he’s proud of.

As he discards the fabric that covered your body, you feel his once again hard cock. But this time, it was painfully close to your core that you could already feel every vein brushing against your walls.

“May I?” He knows your answer, he’s just asking for the sake of it. To hear your voice dripping with lust and neediness. To hear you hum that yes in your sweet tone as always.

“Please…” Your whisper was enough to make his cock twitch. What is with you and your voice that melts Leon whenever he hears you? You’re both his salvation and weakness. He can’t function without you.

He has always wanted to leave a mark in this world. That he had indeed existed for something else than death and destruction. That he was more than Leon Kennedy, the US’ best weapon. He wanted to show the world that he, Leon — just Leon — was more than his messed-up destiny. 

He loves, he desires, he laughs and he yearns for connection. And right now, his body’s aching to feel you around him.

He snuggles closer and wraps a tight arm around your waist, hugging your abdomen just right. Instinctively, you arch your back, letting your rear brush against Leon’s dick making hiss from the friction.

For a moment, he stops hugging you. You almost whined for the loss of closeness when you feel Leon guiding his dick which easily slides through your wet folds. The tip of it bumps against your clit sending electricity all over your body.

He’s savoring this moment. Sadly, he doesn’t think he’ll last much longer once he starts. But, at least, he knows that this won’t be the last time since he finally allowed himself to be selfish, to wish happiness for himself.

Happiness has a name and is both yours and Leon’s.

At last, he pushed into you, just the tip for now. Admiring your face in the mirror, he whispers sweet nothings against your ear. Rambles about how perfect you look and feel right, how lucky he is, and so on.

“Look at you…” Leon points at the mirror and you open your eyes which are glassy from all the pent-up desire you’ve been holding back. At any other moment given, you’d have been quite self-conscious about the exposure of your naked body. But Leon — as you once did with him — is eager to show you that you’re indeed a sight for sore eyes.

“Look how perfect you look being mine.” Even though his words could sound possessive to anyone else, you know his voice brings out affection and tenderness. There are a few things Leon could call them his. And most of them are mundane items that don’t exactly bring comfort to him. 

But to call you his was something that he has always looked for. To show you off, buy you everything you’ve always desired, and tell the world that he had finally found his home. His one and only.

As he finishes his statement with a kiss on your cheek, he eases himself into you. He pushes all of his length as he hushes you once you hiss from the stretch.

“Shhh there you go…” He once again wraps his arm around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he inhales the scent he has grown to love. The same that has been lulling him to sleep ever since you decided to move in with him. 

He stays still for a few seconds, the feeling of filling you up could make him cum right on the spot but he stops himself. He distracts from your pulsating walls by kissing your neck and sucking on the skin which will clearly turn a soft purple color the next morning.

The pain soon turned into comfort and therefore it resulted in pleasure. As he hears you saying a soft “You can move” he slowly pulls out before thrusting into you with the same pace and force. He feels your walls clamping down his cock as he continues his motions. 

He slides in and out with lazy thrusts, his and your eyes are closed as heavy breaths and drowsy moans leave your lips. You were correct, he was exhausted from his previous high. But the way you drowsily made love was making this whole thing even more perfect.

“Taking me so well.” He murmurs against your skin, his breath tickling your neck as he grips your waist even tighter than before, as if he is scared that once he opens his eyes you won’t be there. “Sucking me in, like you know I belong here.”

His hand goes to your chest, where he plays with one of your nipples. His fingers pinching the sensitive spot as his hips continue lazily bucking into yours already feeling like his mind was all over the place.

You feel a heat forming on your belly as Leon continues whispering words you can’t quite register now. Too drunk in desire and too cock drunk to even care. “Fuck I love you so much…”

“I love you too.” You can’t really say anything else, everything would be sentences with no coherent meaning or sense. So you stick with your favorite phrase, you could sing every day that you love Leon, and he would do the same. Because the word love was once so far away from him.

It was poetic to see that Leon could feel his second climax of the night near as he heard you say that you love him. The back and forth of his hips slightly increase their speed but it remains true to the lazy nature of the act right now, though.

“I’m close.” Leon stutters as he says those words. “Can I come inside you? Please tell me I can.” There is some desperation in his voice, an aching and burning desire to paint your insides. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, you can.” You manage to say before Leon lets out countless thanks you. Your body starts writhing under his grasp as your fingers start digging into Leon’s arms, leaving an imprint of your nails on his skin.

“Cum on me. Go ahead, do it for me.” He coos, coaxing more sweet whimpers out of you. “Let me fill you up.” 

You let out a muffled whimper as you came undone. He could feel your cunt gripping him as you reach your desired orgasm. Eventually, Leon’s hips which were previously rocking into your and slapping against his skin are now slowing down.

The wet noises sound so filthy yet Leon is having a blast right now. He could imagine himself getting to experience this every night with you by his side. Who could have thought that selfishness could be so rewarding?

With a low grunt, he cums inside of you as he promised. Letting his load fill your insides. He couldn’t hide the satisfied smile that formed on his lips. What a view.

He remains inside of you for a bit longer than needed. You can’t judge him, especially with the way he nuzzles into your neck letting out a yawn. Poor him was worn out. After his first climax, he had already felt that he touched the sky, and now he was in heaven.

After pulling out, he rested his cheek on your shoulder. Part of him wanted to feel you again yet he couldn’t even move an inch. However, it fulfilled him to know that you were going to be right next to him tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for as long as you allow it.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“We have to change those thank you into I love you.”

Leon was the sweetest guy. However, those thanks still came from a place of skepticism. 

“Sorry…”

He sheepishly said before drifting off to sleep. And, as usual, no nightmare is waiting for him to haunt his dreams.

VI. SERENITY

Attempting to get out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning should be a crime. However, your drowsy state didn’t stop you from reaching the now empty space next to you. The bed still provided you with the scent of the person you loved the most yet he wasn’t there. 

With a groan, you decide to get up from the bed. Your feet meet the cold tiles before you curse from the sudden pain you feel as you step on the remote. You have told Leon countless times that he shouldn’t sleep when he’s watching TV, yet the only response you get is “I’m just resting my eyes.” Therefore, that causes Leon to fall asleep with the remote on his chest which obviously falls throughout the night. 

After a while of inhaling and exhaling deeply from the pain, you make your way out of the room. The scenario that greets you is the same as other days just that Leon was missing in the picture. 

Your steps are slow as sleep is still running in your system, a yawn escapes you while you walk towards the kitchen counter. A note is waiting for you and you deduce it’s from Leon.

“I just went to run some errands, I’ll come back as soon as possible. Love you so so much.” 

His name was written at the bottom of the page next to a happy face that he had drawn. Silly, you thought.

You see that Leon had already prepared you a sandwich before he left. It was cold to the touch, so that means Leon has been gone for a while. He may come any time now. 

Life with him was… surely an adventure. He still goes on missions, leaving you to your own devices for days or even weeks. But they no longer haunt his mind like before. He still needs to be treated with utter care after one, though. Bruises and scars are not the only effects his journeys have on him. 

When he returns from a mission, the once dull and boring apartment welcomes him yet this time, it is full of colors and memories you have made with him. However, it’s not enough for him to completely drop his facade of a tough agent ready to end someone’s life. As you treat his wound, every tiny sound has him jumping on his seat. 

You can’t blame him, it takes a while before he can return to his usual self and be embraced by your warm body that will waste no time to hug him tight. Reminding that he was finally home.

Eventually, after settling down and returning to reality, his personality will shine again. If someone asked you to describe Leon in one word it would be impossible. The man that you chose to spend life with was everything all at once. He was definitely clingy, to begin with. Excuses were his everyday words as he tried to explain why it was completely alright for him to follow you everywhere you went.

At this point, it felt like you had adopted a puppy instead of having a boyfriend. “What’ chu doing?” He would often say as he peeked around the edge of the door frame and watched you from afar If he had a tail it’d be wagging so fast. The tough agent no longer existed in your presence, instead, a man who melted as soon as you hugged him took his place.

Loving, in his language, meant going overboard just for you. If he had to get on his knees and beg for a tiny kiss he’d do it. He’s grown needy to those sweet gestures only you could provide. But he didn’t need to win them. Loving, in your language, meant offering your heart on a platter for him.

God does he love you. You have the man whispering funny names in your ears as you wake up. You unlocked a part of him that he had long forgotten he had, he used to joke when he was nervous — freaking out because he thought he might die on a mission. But now, he invented a plethora of new pet names just to bother you and see you rolling your eyes laughing.

He’s gone through so much, he’s seen so much. Tranquility was the last thing he thought he would be surrounded with. Ever since he was forced to join the military, he made up his mind on the fact that his life would never be the same, Racoon City was his starting point and only his death would stop him from suffering.

Now, as you finally hear the door unlocking you admire how his figure appears. You squint your eyes as you try to pinpoint what’s different in him.

“Hey, you.” Leon walks towards you, closing the gap between you two as he hugs you.

“Hey, you too.” You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Missed me?”

“Not much.” You punch his side, not strong enough to make him jump but rather tell him that you were joking. “Now… On what adventures did you go without me?” 

“I just paid a visit to Adelaide.”

Adelaide, you haven’t forgotten about the old lady that you treated. However, you didn’t expect Leon to remain loyal to his service. And now that he mentions it, you realize what he has done to himself.

His hair has turned lighter. Blonder.

“Did you bleach your hair?” You can’t help but laugh at the thought, he had poor Adelaide working so early on a Saturday morning. But then again, you remember that both of them are workaholics, even though their jobs couldn’t be any more different.

“No, you’re going blind.”

God, he was so dumb.

Eternity used to sound like a cruel fate before. Stuck in a loop that he couldn’t escape from. But now, he will always look for you even in the tiniest details. He’d look for you in the darkness as two flicks of light trying to reach each other. In the universe, as two particles of stardust waiting to create something even bigger — a world for themselves, and a world to live on. 

Because, after all, you reached for him when he had nothing more to offer than his rotten self. You loved him when he couldn’t even love himself.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #resident evil

[ystrike1]

Doku wo Kurawaba Sara Made - By Tobari Sawa (8/10)

Our protagonist is a father who will do whatever it takes to save his daughter, and himself, from complete ruin. He's trapped inside an Otome Game, so fate will never favor him. As the father of the Villainess he has nothing, so he throws away his pride and he uses seduction. It works too well.

The Kingdom of Parsemis is magically blessed. There is a barbaric tradition.

A holy maiden MUST be sacrificed to the nations patron Dragon every ten years.

It's a political thing.

Andrim realizes he is s fool when he watches his only daughter lose. He treated her like a pawn. A convenient daughter from a dead woman.

He realizes she never had a chance.

He never had a chance.

He's not even the main villain.

He, and his daughter, are both prolouge villains.

The ultimate insult.

The Villainess will be executed!!! Is such a trite ending. Here it's more horrible.

In this scenario Natasha, the protagonist, was destined to be eaten by the dragon.

Julietta, the Villainess, was supposed to wed the prince.

The Prince uses his authority to remove Julietta from power and get rid of her in one fell swoop.

Why is this possible?

Natasha is the destined holy maiden, but Julietta is from a special sage bloodline...so conveniently she can be sacrificed as well.

A loving father would have kept Julietta far away from the Prince.

Natasha, of course, realized she could seduce the Prince and save herself.

Andrim was a total fool.

If he had just protected his daughter a little bit both of them would have survived.

Andrim remains calm. He thinks about what he can do. His daughter is doomed and the Prince clearly wants him gone too.

He tries to use his memories of the game to escape his fate, with his daughter.

He accepts the new engagement, and his daughters new position as sacrifice....gladly.

Yes, he is a dutiful Prime Minister.

He understands that a special girl must be sacrificed for prosperity. He carries her away and he says he will prepare her for that fateful day.

In the original plot he raved like a madman and demanded Natasha's death instead. Even though the Prince had declared otherwise.

He backs away, because he cannot win without power.

He joins hands with a corrupt priest and the ACTUAL DRAGON!

He promises to entertain Karis, the Dragon, because only he knows the special lore.

The Dragon is bored.

Andrim is able to tempt the Dragon with a new kind of entertainment. It's bored of eating women.

Andrim must commit evil to live.

He goes waaaayyyy too far.

The Dragon is not the love interest.

It's Jorga the Commander. The adult figure supporting the youthful otome group.

Andrim uses him completely. Not sure how yet but Jorga commits absolute atrocities for Andrim. He betrays the royal family for Andrim, and the palace is filled with torture.

Jorga is the most useful card on the field, and Andrim uses his beauty to "get" him.

Is it genuine love? No, but Jorga is all about loving acts of service.

The plan rolls into an avalanche slowly.

Andrim gives up his position as Prime Minister. This earns him plenty of sympathy points. He also appoints a young genius on purpose. The boy is not fit to run the government. He uses politics to force the boy into a position he can't handle.

This makes him even more pitiful.

The capable Prime Minister had to abdicate for his daughter, and his replacement is trash...

How awful...

His poor daughter. In the end its not her fault that the Prince's eyes wandered...

Natasha is a cruel moron and that helps. Her otome team constantly has to cover her ass.

She's going to be a terrible Queen.

Julietta would have been perfect.

Andrim plans to take advantage of that.

Julietta is sweet but empty.

Andrim vows to make her happier.....after his dirty deeds bear fruit.

Julietta stays in the palace...with Andrim. He uses an old tradition to stay, where he can garner the most sympathy.

Apparently, the story turns into extremely sadistic revenge porn. If you like obsessive dogs with no morals this is your lucky day!

Andrim is not a merciful man. Even with his Japanese memories his ruthless side always prevails.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #Tobari sawa #Doku wo Kurawaba Sara Made #otome isekai #yaoi #otome

[goldfishontheceiling]

"Alastor is just using Rosie" NUH UH whips out the list

1. He is capable of making friends, as seen with Mimzy. So it's not that hard to believe that he can have another friend if one (cough cough MIMZY cough) just comes around when she needs something. Mimzy doesn't even benefit him in anyway, yet he doesn't cut her off, which shows he can make friends.

2. Aside from the cannibals in ep7, what else could he get from her? I mean she does recommend him deals sometimes, but anyone can do that. If his true goal was control over the cannibals then their bond would feel a lot more shallow, like ep1-ep5ish with Charlie.

3. If Alastor was using Rosie for deal recommendations (since she gives him "prime pickings for a deal to be made"), then why not just do so with a mutalistic relationship instead of having to form that bond?

4. He bleat like a fawn. If he was acting, he wouldn't let himself lose composure for an act.

5. They both kinda get close to eachother in a way they don't with anyone else. SHE PICKS HIM UP AND SPINS HIM AROUND AND HE DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT. Sure, he hugged Mimzy, but if she ever did that? She would most likely be dead.

6. If anyone else openly/jokingly insulted Alastor, he would go all scary demon ahhhhhhhh. But Rosie? Perfectly fine.

7. The way he talks to Rosie is different to the way he talks to Charlie. With Charlie he's a little bitch sometimes (oh Charlie you look an absolute mess!) and he kinda takes every chance he can to be a little bitch while still being nice and showing he's important.

8. Rosie knows things about Alastor that he hasn't even figured out (I know your an ace in the hole!), and for Rosie to know these things, that would require Alastor to open up about himself, which he doesn't like doing because "must be mysterious radio deer man." Even to Charlie, who he does have a bond with, SHE STILL JUST THINKS OF HIM AS "MYSTERIOUS RADIO DEER MAN"

9. Hating someone together is one of the easiest ways to start a friendship, especially in hell, where people hating each other is really common (Susan? Susan)

10. If he truly was manipulating all of his friends, he's a sinner, he still has a humanish mind. Humans crave bonds with other people as part of their instincts. And you could just get fake ones, but if you're the manipulator in that situation you'll know it's all fake and it won't leave you fufilled. Which is why having one or two genuine friends (Rosie/Mimzy) would have to be a requirement.

11. He has manipulated other Overlords in the past, like Vox. But with Vox, they would realistically never get along. Same with Vaggie, Angel Dust, etc, he just wouldn't be able to form a true bond with/a very strong both with those people. So yes, he's manipulating/has manipulated them. Rosie on the other hand? They're both cannibals from similar time periods, with similar interests, and they hate the same people.

12. Rosie is smart. She easily reads Charlie, a stranger, like a book. And if she's known Alastor for years (which she most likely has), she knows how to read him past that stupid permanent smile. So even if he was manipulating her, she would know.

13. He HATES Susan, and Vox, and probably some other people I can't think of off the top of my head. He can't stand them. So if he hated Rosie? He wouldn't be able to fake a bond like the one they have.

14. His pupils dilate around Rosie, which is a sign that you like/love whatever it is that you are looking at

Look at these

COMPARED TO THESE

AND IT ONLY HAPPENS WHEN IT'S JUST THEM TWO

15. Rosie agrees with him when he says that Charlie is "filled with potential that I could guide," so she knows that he's using her for that kinda stuff. With that moment it shows that she understands that Alastor is helping Charlie with her dream in exchange. I swear I had more thoughts on this one but then I got distracted with finding screenshots for 14-

Bonus reason that's more silly then reason: THAT DANCE IN READY FOR THIS IS TOO COORDINATED THEY HAD TO HAVE PRACTICED IT

#i had to hold myself back from going full autism mode #because if i didn't this post would just be a giant wall of capital letters #anyway tag time #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin #rosie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin rosie #rosie hazbin #alastor and rosie #platonic radiorose #qpr radiorose #radiorose #rosie and alastor #idk what else to tag

[x-doing-ur-mum-x]

Hi!!! I love your blog would you be willing to write 141 + los vaqueros and konig where they’re s/o (preferably afab, but whatever your constable writing) who’s always super tense like their muscles can never seem to relax causing chronic pain? (It’s a super niche request but I’m currently in a ton of pain because of this exact thing and was curious how the guys would react) if you can’t that’s fine have a wonderful day ☺️

THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS AND ITS GONE NOW SO I'M REWRITING IT ☹️

Warnings!!: None just fluff 💗 if you do feel pain please go to the doctor's for medical treatment don't search it on google like Soap does 😭🫶

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Price: He notices like a bloodhound hunting for food!! Although it's obvious you're in pain. He first lets you do less physical things and only do reporting even offering you massages he does give you ibuprofen for it to help

Ghost: He doesn't say anything for a bit but he knows. But just because he's quiet doesn't mean he doesn't notice. He gives hints that he cares by going easier on you during training and giving you some advice to your sore joints. We all know he's an old man he's not in his prime he's quiet old so when he stands up he cracks nearly everywhere sometimes soap thinks he's gonna become a bag of bones.

Soap: He notices immediately before you even hint out you're in pain. He'll give you some medication and search up some ways to help it but when he does Dr Google says that you only have three days to live and he freaked out and takes you to the doctor's instead 😭

Gaz: He notices quickly because he used to have the exact same pains due to his childhood and teen years playing sports (BIG HC THAT HE DID!!) He'd give you some muscle relaxing cream and remind you every 4-6 hours if it gets worse he offers to massage your muscles

Alejandro: He's a colonel every time after a meeting when he stands up so many cracks down his back it's almost like he's breaking bones. He'd offer a massage and the medication he uses to tolerate the pain a bit

Rudy: He's loaded on massage creams he's around the same age as Alejandro he's not as young anymore. He's always giving the creams out to the team when he notices they're tense or in pain so he especially gives out to you like candy on Halloween!!

Valeria: She's known Alejandro for awhile I would think she's around the same age as Alejandro and Rudy too. She's a goddess at giving massages of course she has to keep her act or being cold and rude. But she does offer a massage but makes sure you won't tell anyone or she'll kill you of course she's just saying that. She won't though.

König: He's 6'10 and would've grown up with growth pain and back problems. When he notices he suggests yoga to help since it did help him quite a bit but when it doesn't help he offers a massage and to crack a few places for you.

Keegan: I think he'd be around late twenties early thirties but then again he does work in military so it's obvious he would have some pain and scars especially muscle pains. He does go to the doctor's quite frequently for it so when he notices you're suffering like him he ends up dragging you to the doctor's.

Makarov: He's definitely a bit old and probably acts like he doesn't notice or care for a bit until he realises it's quite bad and other medication and creams for he's trying to show he cares while also trying to keep he's tough persona together.

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

#gaz x reader #gaz cod #kyle garrick x reader #mw2 price #captain john price #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap mctavish #alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas #rudy parra #rudy cod #rudy x reader #valeria mw2 #valeria x reader #konig mw2 #konig x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan p russ #vladimir makarov

[jollyreginaldrancher]

The yellowjackets as cousins (for the sake of shipping let's pretend the ones that date are second cousins and Yellowjackets is set in Alabama)

• Natalie's parents drop her off before the event starts and go off to do some last minute shit. She runs up to your room and jumps on you while you are still asleep to wake you up. She's that fucking cousin that doesn't let you have a moment of peace from the moment they show up to the moment they leave. Lowkey you love them though.

• Jackie is that cool older cousin who's home from college and is constantly checking her phone. She smells good and gifts everyone those showel gel/loofa/bath salts sets (not so much the bath salts anymore, since that time Natalie tried sniffing them)

Gets teased about having a clingy bf but she's texting Shauna the whole time.

• Shauna is the broody cousin who doesn't even wanna come to this stupid thing, she's not even gonna have fun so why can't her parents let her stay home? She ends up having fun and her parents have to drag her back to the car to get home at the end of the day.

• Taissa is the one that decides to take on babysitting or help out around the kitchen or whatever and usually has to be told to let loose and have fun because she's so type A she tries to organise shit she has no authority over. The smaller cousins do stacks on Taissa. Van usually starts the dogpile.

• Van is the laid-back cousin who sets up the video games and is beloved by all the tiny cousins. She clears everyone at Mario kart and smash bros and is the only one who can get Taissa to unwind. Taissa is the only one who can clear her in smash.

• Misty is that cousin who hangs out with the adults and tries to help around the kitchen all the time until her aunt forcibly drags her to the rec room (at the rich relatives' house) where everyone is playing board games and stuff. She finds a puzzle or a deck of cards and tries to get a game of solitaire going but some younger cousins decide to mess with her and she retaliates and ends up in a prank war.

• Mari is the younger cousin who fucks with everybody. Brings gag gifts and tries that fucking stick of chewing gum prank every. Goddamn. Holiday. You know which one I mean:

On the upside she packs a fucktonne of snacks which she shares if you're chill.

Her gum prank snapped one of Jackie's fake nails off once so Shauna retaliated by popping her inflatable duck. It was a whole thing.

• Lottie is petting all the pets. She's running around the house chasing the cat. She's not gonna pull its tail, she hasn't done that since she was two, but she will feed the dog under the table to try to win him over. She's the reason you have ants.

• Laura Lee's family is the one that insists on saying a prayer before every meal. Everyone else is messing around at the kids table but she's actually paying attention, or if it's in a different room, she's the one leading it. She's that one that hangs around the back of the group and acts like a moral compass. "Yeah Mr Sharpe's may have run over your bike Natalie but I don't think it's right to paint his dog red".

• Javi is the baby of the family and everyone is super protective and he is that kid that is just chill and will sit down and colour for fun and he gives out handmade gifts like macaroni necklaces and you all have matching friendship bracelets courtesy of Javi Martinez 🥹

• Travis is that asshole who takes his shit out on everyone else and ruins the vibe. His little brother tries to hang with him but he thinks he's too cool to give him the time of day and just pushes him away, and ends up sitting alone cause no one likes that he's an asshole. Most of the cousin jokes are about how he just needs to get laid. He usually just hogs some prime real estate on the couch and heckles everyone playing video games. Won't play anymore because the few times he tried after talking shit he got his ass summarily handed to him so now he just sits there and sooks and brags about how he could beat everyone if he wanted to, he's just taking it easy on everyone because he's nice. He's the biggest asshole there.

#yellowjackets #headcanons #hcs #mine #my babies #thoughts #Natalie Scatorccio #Misty Quigley #Shauna Shipmam #Jackie Taylor #Taissa Turner #Van Palmer #Mari Yellowjackets #Laura Lee yellowjackets #Javi Martinez #travis martinez

[miniscrew-anon]

Ranking the boys in ease of gift shopping for because I can:

Wild - He likes a lot of things and doesn't care about the cost. $100 dollar bottle of wine? Awesome dude! $3 keychain? Sick! Now he won't lose his keys! (he still will) He's also super open to trying new things so even if you accidentally buy him knitting needles this boy will happily try his hand at knitting. He'll never finish the project, of course, but he'll still be stoked that you got him something.

Four - He emails everyone his wish list as soon as Autumn ends. No, Wild, he doesn't care that it won't be a surprise when he opens his gifts. He's not taking any chances with this group.

Hyrule - He's easy because he's always needing something. He's so busy he barely has time to go shopping for himself so at the end of the year he's got a huge backlog of things he wants. As long as you pay attention to him during the year and take note of times he say "I wish I had (blank)", you'll be golden.

Twilight - He doesn't care much about physical items but he'll be happy to receive usable things like soap refills and lotion. It's boring to buy for him sometimes but at least you know what to get him if it comes down to the wire. Although if you do branch out and get him something more risky, he'll be just as gracious. He's just a good boy who's happy to get what he gets.

Legend - Despite his prickly demeanor, this hoarder will take anything. So he's not hard to shop for, per say, just tricky. If you want to give him something he'll actually use, it'll take some research. You might even need to study all the contents of those mason jars he leaves all over the place. But even if what you give him isn't to his liking he'll at least be able to sell it. Or, you know, just add it to the growing pile of crap in his room. Either way, your gift will be happily accepted.

Sky - Sky's a bit of a mixed bag. He'll like anything he gets but he also doesn't really need anything. So yo have to put in more thought. Or, you know, ask him. He'll pick up on any subtle attempts to ask and just as subtly direct you to something affordable but nice enough that you don't feel like a cheapskate buying it for him. And he'll even act surprised when he unwraps it on Solstice morning.

Champion - Another one with a wish list. The only problem is that Champion doesn't usually want many things so it's a big rush to claim an item before everyone else. And if everyone gets to the list before you? Good fucking luck my guy.

Warriors - He would be higher because he also provides a wish list, but everything on his list is expensive. Either be ready to pool your money or empty your pockets because Wars isn't above exploiting the holidays for profit.

Wind - A little shit who loves to complain about everything and also, thank to Time, has newly discovered expensive tastes. Even moreso than Warriors because he mostly wants tech. Truly, shopping for him is a nightmare because if you get him the wrong thing, Wind isn't above asking for a gift receipt straight to your face.

Time - What do you buy for a guy with such deep pockets? Whatever it is, it has to come from the heart, which makes him the hardest to buy for.

Bonus:

Dark - Easy-peasy, this guy will take anything and be actually kind of touched you got him anything in the first place. Especially if you actually put thought into it and it isn't just a gag gift (not to say he doesn't appreciate a good gag gift)

Shadow - Also pretty easy. Food and fancy little bath bombs. Also foreign goods he can't just casually swipe off a shelf is also prime gifting material for him.

#townhouse au #hsh au #st0rmyverse #literally christmas eve and just now starting to feel it #enjoy some random hc

[cherryxblossxms]

Hey! I read that you're accepting NSFW Alphabet requests for IkeSen boys, can you make I K O for Ieyasu and Kenshin please?

Ooh I'd be happy to! Sorry this took a bit to respond

Ieyasu Tokugawa

I for Imagination (What do they fantasize about?)

Ieyasu has fantasized about having you take charge in the bedroom. He gets very easily embarrassed if he thinks too hard about it, but he's imagined you on top of him, directing his and your pleasure both as you use him as you see fit, riding him until you can't continue. He can be a little selfish in the bedroom sometimes, never with malicious intention though, but your happiness and pleasure mean a lot to him, too. And he'd love for you to let go and go wild with him.

K for Kink (What’s their secret kink?)

Admittedly, a medical kink, though its on the light end. It came up completely by accident, and he feels a little scandalized realizing it about himself, but you acting as his nurse and treating him while sick was a surprising turn-on. Helping him bathe, giving him medicine, just overall turning on that caring, nurturing feeling stronger than usual gets to Ieyasu, and if he felt better and didn't want to get you sick, he'd flip the tables and have you under him. Although, the thought of you taking charge and riding him instead certainly doesn't help his growing hard-on...

O for Oral (Giving or receiving? Why?)

Ieyasu is a bit embarrassed about it on either end, but he leans a little bit more towards giving. Overall, as long as you're happy and enjoying yourself, he doesn't mind either way if you want to pleasure him or want him to pleasure you. He just wants to make sure you feel good. But he can't quite bring himself to ask you to go down on him, it's way too embarrassing, so he may end up pleasuring you instead if he's taking the lead.

Kenshin Uesugi

I for Imagination (What do they fantasize about?)

Honestly, he simply fantasizes about having you all to himself with no interruptions, being able to fuck you all over the castle as he pleases. The man loves a good war, and you're the one thing he enjoys more than that; he always craves having your full attention on him combined with wanting you scent and your image everywhere he looks. So if it was possible, he'd love a day where the castle is empty, all the sake and pickled plums he could ask for, and your naked form, and he'd be in heaven.

K for Kink (What’s their secret kink?)

Kenshin's secret kink is primal kink. He just loves being able to let go of his inhibitions and push you to the limits of your pleasure. He's your God of War, he's in his physical prime, and the idea of hunting you down to take you as his own makes his blood run hot. However, it takes a lot of trust for him to tell you about it/be open to trying it in the bedroom, he protects this secret very well. He's worried about hurting you, about potentially breaking you if he's too rough. So it'll take a lot of encouragement and discussion before he's willing to implement it in the bedroom. Once he feels safe to do so, though, you better be ready, because he's not giving up the chase until you're trapped beneath him getting pounded into the futon.

O for Oral (Giving or receiving? Why?)

Kenshin would do anything for you, and that includes going down on you all through the night. He's absolutely addicted to the way you respond to him, knowing that it's him and him only that can make you scream with pleasure, make you clutch the futon for dear life and squeeze his head with your thighs. He goes wild if you tug on his hair while he does it, he loves feeling your fingers clutching him like a lifeline, or if you're even guiding him against you. He'll do whatever it takes to draw out every noise you can make, so you better work on your stamina to keep up.

He isn't wholly against receiving oral, but sometimes he doesn't feel worthy of it when he thinks of you. He already considers himself so lucky to have you, and he wants you to be worshipped at all times. He may compromise with 69, but it'll take some long negotiations first.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen kenshin #ikesen hcs #ikesen smut #spicy minx 🔥 #the minx can write ✍️

[turbo-overkill]

Can you talk about Optimus?? Sorry if this is weird haha but I just really want somebody who loves him and his character to talk about him. Anything is fine really, appreciation, (fandom) salt, or whatever you feel like

ofc! this isn't weird, don't worry :)

I'm going to talk about a subject that's been on my mind a lot, especially with the release of ROTB

Optimus' anger and how he displays it, taking examples from Bayverse, TFP and ROTB

One of the biggest criticisms Bayverse tends to receive is the way Optimus acts. He's brutal, doesn't shy away from insults and threats while in battle and comes off as hungry for revenge, bloodthirsty, etc. He dismembers his enemies without a hint of hesitation, and the camerawork and CGI go out of their way to make sure we pay attention.

This goes pretty against what we're used to seeing from Optimus. He's been shown to go all out in fights before, but only when it was necessary to do so. He's always been known as in control of himself, showing restraint and knowing when to hold back.

A counterargument to this criticism is that the movies are trying to portray PTSD, trauma or simply Optimus' exhaustion and frustration with the war and everything related to it. And while this does make sense on the surface, it misses the fact that Optimus' brutality is there first and foremost to look cool.

Bayverse thrives on explosions, gore and violence, and Optimus is no exception. He decapitates nameless enemies in closeups + slow-motion, weapons digging through metal with as much detail as possible, because he's effectively a kill-cam farm. Every robot in the movies is there to provide cool and shocking fight moves first, and be an interesting character second, and Optimus is the pinnacle of that, because any talk of peace or regret at killing Megatron he might hold is immediately contradicted when the movie needs someone to disassemble a Decepticon in brutal detail.

Optimus' trauma and motivation is an afterthought and feels more like a last minute, poor attempt at shoving away criticism than anything else.

And while I can understand wanting to turn him into a deeper character and put his potential to good use, it's important to note that he's not written to be an interesting and engaging leader battling trauma and depression, he's written to be a fighter who knows how to kill someone in a cool way.

The movies are built on the glorification of violence, military propaganda and toxic masculinity, and Optimus is a perfect encapsulation of that- rather ironically, given everything he as a symbol stands for.

In comparison, Optimus in Transformers: Prime is entirely different. He's the complete opposite- reserved and keeping to himself most of the time. He keeps himself tightly controlled, which is both stated outright (multiple times) and obvious from just his behavior alone.

In comparison to Bayverse Prime, when TFP Optimus gets angry, it's a rare occasion and that makes it all the more surprising, and putd emphasis on the change.

When he goes to fight Megatron after Raf gets injured, there's a clear change to how he fights, acting more brutal and using dirty tricks, i.e. running his tires on Megatron's face. He's collected, he's not running around flailing his arms in blind fury, he knows exactly what he's doing despite his anger. He's determined.

During S2, when Starscream steals the Autobots' keys, Optimus yells out in anger, which takes Ratchet and Bulkhead by surprise, because there was build up leading up to it.

The show, for all its flaws, did pretty well on making this scene work, because it created a contrast between it and how Optimus acts 99% of the time.

To see a character as calm and wise as Optimus lash out like this, even if it's in a way that wouldn't seem strange coming from other characters, is jarring.

TFP had almost 2 full seasons to flash out Optimus, give us his most important, defining characteristics, hammer them in and then contradict them and make the contradiction stand out.

Another key difference is that when Optimus punches someone and the camera slows down, the music stops and that over-used, time-slowing-down sound effect comes in, the violence is much more toned down.

It goes from "look at how cool seeing someone's face get ripped off in 4k ultra is" to "this guy is cool because he can punch people really hard". It shifts the focus away from the violence and towards Optimus being a cool, strong warrior guy. Don't you just want to buy his toy?

To sum it up, the stark difference between Bayverse and TFP Optimi is that Bayverse revels in brutality and anger, and extends that to Optimus, whereas TFP sets Optimus up as a calm, controlled leader who never loses his cool and then uses his anger to both surprise us and emphasize certain plot points.

Both are there to be dramatic, but Bayverse uses anger and violence and over the top brutality so much that it quickly loses significance and becomes a boring, if a bit confusing mess. Transformers: Prime is more toned down, and therefore, Optimus' anger succeeds in what it sets out to do.

This brings me to the reason why I'm writing this in the first place: Rise of the Beasts.

Optimus is driven primarily by revenge. It's clear that Bumblebee's 'death' messes him up, as is stated by multiple characters, and that's where the problems arise: we have nothing to compare this to. It's tell, don't show.

We barely see anything of Optimus before Bumblebee gets killed. We got a glimpse in BB2018, but I'm pretty sure not everyone who saw ROTB also watched that. It's the MCU effect of relying on the viewer's prior knowledge of 60 other movies and half a century's worth of comic book runs to feel at all upset when Tommy Kicknuts aka Invincible Guy dies within the first 20 minutes.

Were it not directly stated that Optimus was acting out, we wouldn't really know. He might as well just be like that all the time, because we're going off of what the characters tell us, not what we actually can see.

There is no contrast. Optimus already acts frustrated before the supposed change in his character, and while that's not an issue by itself, it only makes the lack of build up all the worse. We caught a tiny glimpse that's not enough to make a conclusion about him as a person, and immediately, the movie is asking us to be surprised at how differently he acts.

However, unlike with Bayverse, this doesn't seem like the result of a writer who just didn't care.

ROTB as a whole suffers massively from having too many subjects to tackle, and it's very likely that Unicron and the Maximals were not a part of the original script at all.

The first third or so of the movie feels like a completely different story. It tackles racism, poverty and how people can be driven to crime when they're out of options. I feel like that was a look at the movie we could have gotten if Hasbro didn't want to shove half the characters in the franchise into the movie.

With Unicron and the others, the movie is filled to the brim and leaves no room to explore the characters in depth- including Optimus.

It feels like the writers did genuinely care for the characters, at least in the beginning. No matter how stuffed and confusing the movie can be, you can see that at least someone om the team cared about what they were doing.

As a result, we get an Optimus that still has a lot of potential, but whose first proper debut fell incredibly flat because of lack of time.

I also feel iffy about the fact that after everything, Bumblebee just came back. While it's not clear to what extent, Optimus was clearly heavily affected by Bumblebee's death and is very likely traumatized. It doesn't feel right to me how Bumblebee got revived and everything went back to how it was before, because it feels dismissive of Optimus' arc, however poorly it was done.

I don't want to take the blame completely away from the crew, though, because there were still a couple of things they could have done to create the contrast Optimus' character lacked.

First, change the way he fights. We get a fight scene prior to Bumblebee's death, and several fight scenes after that. One isn't a lot, but it's something at least.

By making Optimus fight with a more elegant, composed and calculated style, using his weapons a lot and clearly planning out his moves, only to then change that completely and make his body language more aggressive and sudden, maybe with more punching and directly tearing at his opponents, it would convey his anger pretty well without directly telling us. Body language is a powerful thing in cinema and it makes me sad to see how underutilized it is in Transformers as a franchise.

Another way would be to make the characters more surprised at his behavior during the rest of the movie. They take a second to respond, hesitate, look like they're about to argue but end up staying quiet.

Third, show us Optimus grieving while the group stays in the village. Maybe he just sits there and looks at Bumblebee, maybe the others leave and it shows him staying behind, maybe someone just mentions mid conversation that he's with Bumblebee and they shouldn't disturb him.

If combined, these wouldn't add more than a few minutes of runtime, meaning they could very well have been added without any worry for time constraints.

To conclude this and give my final opinion, Optimus' status as a wise, good guy who's not easily swayed by anger works to his advantage. Making his display anger, especially in destructive ways, is not inherently a negative thing, but is hard to pull off when you don't have enough time. Otherwise, he either acts out of character, or you lose the balance and the moments when his anger shines through do not stand out as much as they need to.

Give him time. Give him enough time to establish himself, give us a good idea of who he is, and then change that. In this case, the lesser the better, because the more aggression he displays, the more casual the narrative is about it, the less impact it has.

#asks #media analysis adjecent #im so fucking sorry about how long this is. lord have mercy #i also want to note that the issue with Bay Prime isn't the aggression in relation to trauma necessarily #trauma and PTSD can very much lead to worsened temper/poo emotional regulation/etc and we absolutely need more #representation that doesn't paint ppl like that as inherently evil monsters #the issue moreso is that any trauma he might have is either an afterthought or just a headcanon and is not the focus of the story #transformers #optimus prime

[rosepetalgold]

the art of saying goodbye

Summary: Remus expects a lot of things from the Queen Anne Victorian house he’s just purchased—a restoration project to occupy his time, some peace and quiet from nosy neighbors, a chance to brag about being a homeowner before his goody two-shoes brother.

What he doesn’t expect is for the property to come with a very real, very curious ghost. But what is he supposed to do, just ignore the spirit? That'd be nothing short of rude, especially considering that the specter's fascination with modern science and penchant for hijacking Remus' technology proves unfairly endearing.

But even as their unlikely friendship grows, so too do the questions swirling in Remus’ mind: Why is Logan still haunting the place he used to live? Who is the mysterious Janus he refuses to talk about? And what will it take for the ghost to finally find peace with the life and the love that were stolen from him so long ago?

Relationships: Platonic Intrulogical, past romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety

Warnings for this chapter: None!

Word Count: 7000

Notes: My fic for this year's @sandersidesbigbang, aka another angsty tale that inexplicably grew out of a single fluffy scene, aka a prime excuse to procrastinate by poring through countless photos of beautiful Queen Anne houses my beloved. I hope you enjoy this ghostie story as much I enjoyed writing it! A big shoutout to my wonderful beta reader @dragonsaphirareads for all their feedback on this fic, and don't miss the amazing art by the incredible @casart and @onthevirgeofdestruction—you can check out their pieces here and here! (Seriously, even if you don't read the fic, go feast your eyes on their work because it is straight-up stunning. Go look, you'll see.)

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

-

start (you’re here!) - next

-

“This place is definitely haunted.”

Remus snorts, giving his brother a friendly sock in the arm.

“Oh come on, Ro, you scared of a few ghosties now? Afraid a floating white sheet is gonna jump out and yell boo?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just eyes the Queen Anne Victorian home in front of them with the amount of trepidation he usually reserved for any time Remus started a sentence with ‘I have an idea.’ The house does give off distinctly spooky vibes, Remus has to admit, what with its boards in desperate need of a new coat of paint and its broken window in the attic, not to mention the porch that looks liable to send someone plummeting to the ground if they take a single wrong step, but what was wrong with any of that? It all just added to the building’s character, and the risk of falling through the veranda was a delightful way to keep visitors on their toes, in his superior opinion.

And besides, he couldn’t turn his nose up at the property’s many flaws when they made it dirt-cheap. He wasn’t exactly a millionaire.

He grabs Roman’s arm, tugging him forward.

“C’mon, there’s some wicked spindlework on the back you gotta check out.”

His brother makes a sound of protest, dragging his feet as Remus hauls him onward.

“Aren’t we going to go inside?”

“Nah, I don’t have the keys yet. Everything’s still pending or whatever.”

Roman shifts his incredulous gaze from the house to Remus.

“You made me come all this way just to look at the outside of a house you haven’t even officially bought yet?”

Why yes, he had. He was such a good brother.

“Don’t act like it’s such a burden to drive twenty minutes out of the way to get here, especially when it means you’re twenty minutes closer to a booty call with Virgil.”

Roman splutters, face flushing a splendidly scandalized shade of crimson, and Remus cackles. That was more like it.

“Now c’mon c’mon c’mon, the sooner you ooh and aah over all my cool house shit, the sooner you can get some of that good di—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Roman interrupts, slapping his hands over his ears, but he doesn’t protest as Remus pulls him around to the back of the house and points out the expansive if overgrown backyard, the plethora of decorative elements adorning the home, the leaded glass windows that have survived well over a century.

“I don’t get it, though,” Roman says as he eyes the tower gracing the corner of the house, something Remus would swear is a hint of jealousy in his gaze. Made sense. He knows for a fact his brother would sell his soul to be Rapunzel. “If this is such a nice place, why has it sat empty for so long?”

“Dunno. The realtor just said it stayed in the family of the guy who built it for a while before changing hands a bunch. Apparently every time it’s been on the market it’s taken ages to find a buyer, but she didn’t really say why no one wanted to live here for too long.” Probably just her trying not to scare him away from what was clearly a substantial restoration project so she wouldn’t lose her commission. Either that or there was some kind of toxic fungus in the walls that had taken over all the previous residents’ brains and turned them into zombies and Remus was about to become its next victim.

What a delightful gamble to find out which one it was.

“Can we please go now before some serial killer comes charging out of this place and we both end up on the news?” Roman asks, already edging back towards the front of the house.

“Sure, if you really want to give up your one shot of having your fifteen minutes of fame in the media,” Remus replies, dancing away with a grin as Roman aims a kick at his shins. “Fine, fine, we’ll go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from a hot date and some—”

Something catches his attention, a flash of movement out of the very corner of his eye, and he pauses mid-stride, doing a double-take at the second-story balcony overlooking the backyard.

Nothing. Not even a curtain blowing in the non-existent breeze.

“What?” Roman questions from where he’s also stopped a few yards ahead of him.

Remus looks a moment longer, searching for anything out of place, but all is still.

“Nothing. Probably just a bat or something. Wouldn’t that be cool as shit, to have bats as roommates? Hey, maybe they have rabies if they’re out in the daytime. Did you know…”

He launches into a spiel of the most gruesome and fascinating facts he knows about the disease, joyfully watching his brother’s face grow increasingly horrified with each one as they make their way back across the yard, and by the time they reach the driveway, the flicker of movement is barely a blip on his mental radar.

Just a trick of his eyes, surely.

It wasn’t like houses could actually be haunted, after all.

---

Home sweet home.

Or home rundown-and-slightly-musty-smelling home, as the case may be, but who was Remus to nitpick?

He fits his shiny new key into the lock and steps inside, letting the door click shut solidly behind him as he pauses just over the threshold, taking a moment to survey the foyer. His foyer now, in his very own home. The sale had been endless offers and counteroffers and a mountain of paperwork so large he’s positive he could have buried himself beneath it and never been seen again, but the place is finally his.

Him, a homeowner. Who’d have thunk it. He’ll be rubbing this in Roman’s apartment-renting face every chance he can get, thank you very much. It’s the least he can do, really.

He unceremoniously deposits the cardboard box in his arms on the floor and wanders further inside, trailing his hand along the smooth wood of the stair banister as he passes. He’s supposed to be meeting some of his friends back at his old place shortly—or now, actually, but that was wholly irrelevant—to start moving all of his worldly possessions into his fancy new abode, but he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of taking the first load of boxes alone just to have the place to himself for a bit; he could use a few minutes to enjoy the space in peace before it’s filled with Roman and Virgil squabbling about the worst Disney movie heroes or whatever argument they were bound to get into.

Despite its well-worn exterior, the house is in surprisingly good condition inside, he muses as he roams through the empty rooms. There’s clearly extensive work that needs to be done if he wants to restore the place to its Victorian glory, an ambitious undertaking he knows will be neither cheap nor easy, but the bones of the structure are all solid, especially considering how many years it’s stood empty.

He finishes his meandering loop around the first floor and heads up the stairs, the tread of his steps entirely too loud for the pervasive quiet as he continues his exploratory wandering through the second story rooms. He pauses as he reaches what is clearly the master bedroom, surveying the original fireplace, the century-old hardwood, the attached balcony that was just begging to be used to pour water onto his unsuspecting brother’s head. Shit, his new house was cool as fuck.

It’d make the most sense to start hauling his load of boxes here, considering that’s where most of his crap is going to end up eventually, but the longer he hovers in the doorway, the more something feels … off. Just the slightest tingle prickling down his spine, and not the good kind. He steps inside and the temperature drops noticeably, a chill raising the hair on his arms.

“The fuck?” he mutters, raking his gaze over the windows in search of damaged panes letting in a breeze, but everything is intact.

He advances another step on impulse and the pinpricks dancing along his vertebrae only grow stronger, now accompanied by the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He scans the room again, slower this time, but there’s no furniture, no closet, not so much as a nook or cranny for anyone or anything to hide. Even the ceiling is empty when he turns his gaze upwards on the off chance he really does have some bats hanging around that he’s somehow missed on his numerous pre-sale walk-throughs.

Nary a beady eye to be found and still the sensation of being in someone’s sights doesn’t lessen. Not that it’s a threatening feeling, exactly, just distinctly unsettling, like there’s someone behind him no matter how many times he glances over his shoulder and finds nothing but empty air.

But that was crazy. He’d read the final sale documents until his eyes had been about to start bleeding and he’s absolutely positive that the house hadn’t come with any roommates. He’s probably just imagining the feeling, the result of watching one too many horror movies in the last week or his brain making things up in an attempt to liven up the empty space.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, yanking him out of his thoughts, and he rolls his eyes without even looking at the screen, already able to see the text from Roman in his mind’s eye: where you at?? i’m not packing up all your crap for you followed by an absurdly long string of emojis that basically constituted their own Roman-specific hieroglyphic language.

Time to face the moving-day music before Roman got annoyed enough with waiting that he rescinded his promise of free manual labor, then. Any investigations of potential invisible voyeurs would have to wait, no matter how titillating such a prospect sounded when he put it like that.

“You win for now, house,” he says into the quiet as he turns to leave, an edge of coldness still dancing along the goosebumps on his skin. “Keep your secrets. I’ll figure ‘em out eventually.”

---

The afternoon passes in a blur of hauling entirely too many heavy boxes and unwieldy pieces of furniture to the new house, and by the time night settles onto the horizon, Remus is utterly exhausted. He flops back on the couch, too tired to even think about putting his bedframe together, and he’s out in minutes.

He wakes disoriented, mind scrabbling blankly for a moment before the darkness coalesces into the still-unfamiliar contours of his sitting room. He just lies there for a moment, trying to figure out what’s roused him, but all is still. Just his brain deciding to deprive him of some tantalizingly horrifying nightmares, unfortunately—

Tap tap tap.

Remus bolts upright at the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the hardwood upstairs, adrenaline surging in a dizzying rush. There hadn’t been any signs of a squatter all day, and surely he’d remembered to lock the doors so no one could steal all the crap he’d just spent a whole day of his life lugging around. He waits for a moment, holding his breath as silence falls, and just when he’s about to pass the whole thing off as his imagination playing tricks on him, the steps start up again, slow and rhythmic like someone is pacing on the upper level.

Fuck his luck. If someone is secretly living in the attic of his fancy new home, he’s not going to be pleased.

He rolls off the couch and snatches his phone off of one of the plethora of boxes waiting to be unpacked, debating whether to risk turning on the flashlight before deciding for it; he might give away any element of surprise with the beam, but he’s certain to give it away if he starts banging face-first into walls or cracking his skull open falling down the stairs. His eye catches on a glass paperweight on the coffee table, a characteristically pretentious housewarming present from Roman, who apparently thought Remus had so many papers flying about that he needed to corral them with a glorified rock, and he seizes it on a whim.

Makeshift weapon was a much more useful purpose for the thing than its intended function anyways.

He edges around the scattered boxes towards the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and his hand shielding the light from his phone as the footfalls continue overhead, and makes it all the way up the steps without so much as a creak to give him away.

Flawless. He knew all those times sneaking up behind Roman to scare the shit out of him as kids would pay off someday.

He pauses on the landing to triangulate the noise, then creeps down the hall towards the footsteps as the sound grows even more distinct. The master bedroom again? What the actual fuck was going on with that room? Had he really managed to miss someone in there when he’d investigated earlier in the day? No, he couldn’t have, but then how had someone managed to get past where he’d been sleeping on the couch? Unless he really did have somebody living in the walls—

A floorboard squeaks underneath his foot, deafeningly loud in the quiet of the night, and the footsteps abruptly stop. Remus swears under his breath. Traitorous piece of wood. Now or never, then.

He lunges forward into the doorway of the master bedroom, raising the paperweight and howling a war cry as he swings his light across the room to reveal—

Nothing. The space is as entirely and utterly empty as it had been that morning.

Well, shit. There went any element of surprise he had left.

He darts back into the hall, racing to search through the rest of the rooms on the upper level one by one, but they’re all just as vacant as the first. He even hauls himself into the attic, bracing himself to be clubbed over the head by whoever is lurking, but with the exception of innumerable shadows billowing away from his flashlight, the space proves equally empty as the rest.

Unease stirs in his gut, creeping in alongside the lingering adrenaline as he makes his way back down the precariously rickety ladder into the main house. Surely there’s no way someone could have gotten past him, not when he would have heard them in the hall or going down the stairs.

And yet, as far as he can tell, besides a few mice tucked away in the attic, there isn’t another living soul in the house.

He stops in the doorway of the master bedroom again, staring inside. He’s positive this is where the footsteps had been emanating from, lack of proof be damned. Something weird was going on with this house.

Good thing Remus had just made the biggest financial commitment of his life to buy it.

Nothing for it now but to hope some elusive, wall-dwelling ax murderer doesn’t give him the chop in his sleep, he supposes, although he has to admit that’d be a badass way to go.

He reluctantly makes his way back downstairs and shoves a pile of boxes at the foot of the stairs to trip any nefarious intruders coming down, then retreats back to the couch, all the while keeping his ears primed for so much as a whisper of sound above him.

But even though it takes him a long time to drift back to sleep, the house around him remains as silent as a grave.

---

The whole thing must have been an impressively lucid dream, Remus decides the next morning. A second investigation in the light of day doesn’t reveal anything out of place: no shoe prints on the floor, no critters, certainly no people. It was probably nothing then, he tries to convince himself, just his overactive imagination needing an outlet after being a bit too jittery from all the excitement of moving.

But he finds himself pausing in the master bedroom again, something drawing him back to the space. First the chill and the strange feeling of being watched, then the mysterious footsteps? Two separate coincidences, or something more?

God, he sounded about as paranoid as Virgil. Next thing he knew he was going to be inventing his very own conspiracy theory to explain a few bumps in the night.

It really was nothing, he tells himself, shaking off any lingering unease as he tromps back down the stairs. If he starts jumping at every little noise in his old-as-shit house, he’ll be long dead before he gets the property restored. If he starts seeing glowing red eyes in the dark, he’ll start to worry. Until then, he has a mountain of boxes to unpack.

Unfortunately, said mountain does not pull a Beauty and the Beast and begin unpacking itself, leaving Remus to spend a dreadfully dull afternoon doing it instead, only the allure of building a fort out of all the empty boxes keeping him from living out of cardboard for the rest of his life.

By the time he’s finally finished unboxing most of the downstairs and getting the tv and wifi set up, most of the day has passed him by, afternoon sunlight splaying golden fingers across the hardwood.

Break time, then. He’s earned it, if he does say so himself.

He collapses onto the couch, flipping on the tv and surfing through the channels until he finds a rerun of some low-budget horror film from the eighties. Perfect. Nothing like a bit of mindless tv to rot his brain just that much more. Settling back more comfortably into the cushions, he pops open the bag of chips he’s snagged from the kitchen and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through his notifications.

Modern multitasking at its finest, truly.

But he’s barely a minute into atrophying his mind via social media before the tv starts flickering, volume dropping precipitously before ratcheting back up, the picture jumping to the weather channel, then a British cooking show, then the news with Spanish subtitles flashing in and out at the bottom of the screen.

Remus freezes with a chip halfway to his mouth, staring at the remote where it’s very definitely out of his reach on the coffee table, all by its lonesome. He’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure technology was not, in fact, supposed to suddenly start functioning by itself without any human input. Was his new house secretly sitting over some freaky radioactive waste? That would certainly explain why no one had wanted to buy it. Or was this some EMP disaster? Had someone decided to take out the whole country’s power grid, starting with Remus’ shitty tv?

He sits up, reaching for the rogue remote, only to pause as a chill moves over him, then past him like it’s heading for the tv, and the screen crackles, static beginning to fuzz both the video and the audio as the picture continues to leap wildly between programs.

Fuck the remote, then. Whatever freak accident has descended upon his living room, it’s time to go straight to the source.

Abandoning his snack, he stands, striding to the outlet and yanking the plug out of the wall. Silence falls immediately, the screen fading to black, but there still lingers a noticeable chill in the air, cold energy palpable against his skin and all too reminiscent of the feeling he remembers from being in the master bedroom.

“What the hell,” he mutters under his breath, casting his gaze around the room. Empty, just as upstairs had been the last three times he’d checked. He takes a step backwards, then another, and the strange chill decreases. On a whim, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through several apps without even paying attention to them, and sure enough, the hair on his arms raises as the temperature falls again, that sparking feeling of energy growing more intense as his phone begins to flicker on its own.

“What the actual hell,” he whispers again. Roman can’t have been right—this place can’t actually be haunted. There’s absolutely no way there’s a real, live—or dead, technically, he supposes—ghost in his living room right now playing fuck-up-the-electronics.

But if there is…

“Hello?” he calls, and the flickering abruptly stops, chill retreating once more. Shit. One word in and apparently Remus has already fucked things up. “Hello?” he tries again. Did this maybe-possible-potential ghostie even speak English? “I’m Remus,” he says, feeling more than a little crazy for introducing himself to his empty living room. If Roman ever knew of this, he’d die laughing and then Remus really would have a ghost haunting his ass.

He wracks his brain for something to say. If he were a ghost and a stranger started moving all of their shit into his home, what would he want to hear from them?

“Um, cool house you have here. I’m not gonna like, fuck it up or anything.”

Silence.

“I’m planning on restoring it bit by bit as I have money so if you could tell me the original paint color or wallpaper patterns, that’d be dope.”

Still nothing. Apparently the ghost is not amused. Time for a different tactic, then.

“What’s your name?”

Not even a cricket chirping. Jesus fucking christ, Remus is really blowing this.

“That’s the tv—the television,” he explains, gesturing towards the device that had seemingly either fascinated or enraged his new housemate, he can’t quite tell which. “It works by… well, I don’t really know how it works. Something with waves and frequencies or some shit? But you can watch recordings, people acting or baking or doing dumb reality dating shows or whatever, so if there’s something that you wanna see…”

He trails off, surreptitiously scanning the room for any ethereal presences, but the house is quiet, the ghostly feeling fading bit by bit. Great. An actual paranormal experience and he’s gone and shoved his foot so far in his mouth he can practically feel his toes wiggling in his small intestine.

“Alright, that’s cool, no worries. Just lemme know if you change your mind.”

He waits a moment more, hoping for a disembodied voice to speak or an object to start moving on its own or his body to suddenly become possessed, but there’s nothing. Snagging his leather jacket off the back of the couch, he beelines for the door, forcing himself not to run as excitement begins to grow with every step, bubbling up around his bones. He has a ghost. A ghost, an actual fucking ghost, and he hadn’t even had to pay extra for it. No way he’s not going to take advantage of the universe handing him the sickest housewarming present in the world, never mind the fact that he might end up a walking meat suit for the spirit.

He pauses as he reaches the edge of the yard, then thinks better of it and pivots, heading for his car instead. Who knew how far ghost range was, and he doesn’t want his new roomie overhearing. He’s practically vibrating with energy as he makes his way down the long, winding drive, and he only makes it a few miles down the road before he’s pulling over onto the shoulder, hopefully well out of spirit range.

His first call rings through to voicemail, but Remus doesn’t bother leaving a message, just hangs up and tries again, only to be met with the same result. The third time, though, proves to be the charm.

“What,” the voice on the other end spits, cheerful as ever. “Fuck you, Remus, I’m in the middle of—”

“You’re still into all that weird stuff, right? Like the cryptids and the creepies and the ghouls and ghosties and all that?” Remus interrupts. He can deal with Virgil’s wrath another time—he has information he needs and he needs it pronto.

A pause, so long he’s sure Virgil has hung up on him and he’s going to have to keep calling until the emo answers his question.

“Yeah?” the distrustful reply finally comes, anger blunted by obvious wariness. “Why—”

“I need to pick your brain,” Remus cuts in again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Plan Contact The Resident Possibly Unfriendly Ghost Who Might Possess Him, or CTRPUGWMPH to be short and snappy about it, is officially a go.

Unfortunately, it isn’t off to a promising start.

Virgil’s knowledge had turned out to be more spirit lore than specifics about how to get a ghost to actually appear, although he’d been infinitely more helpful than Roman, who’d just stared at him and asked if he’d had the house checked for carbon monoxide poisoning. Remus had soundly ignored him and had left Virgil’s apartment with his head swimming with theories about why ghosts haunt particular places and an extensive lecture from Virgil about how to find any potential objects or reasons tying a ghost to the house that might provide a potential talking point to engage said ghost in conversation.

But despite digging into every crack and crevice on the internet, emailing the local historical society, even calling his realtor to ask again about the history of the property, Remus comes up with precious little. The house had originally been built in the 1880s by a local merchant, everyone seems to agree, and had been inherited by his nephew soon after, but beyond that there’s frustratingly scant information available, and he can’t find so much as a whisper about anyone dying in the home. His ghostie could be anyone, then: A Victorian builder who’d taken a tumble, a flapper girl who’d partied a tad too hard, a hapless victim of some modern serial killer who’d taken advantage of the place sitting abandoned for years to do a bit of light murdering. 

With precisely zero context clues as to his new housemate’s identity, then, Remus embraces his remarkable talent of keeping up an entirely one-sided conversation as he works around the house the next few days, rambling about anything and everything related to the property he can think of, hoping something will pique the ghost’s interest. But besides a few more cold spots and flickering screens, the house remains stubbornly quiet. Maybe his ghost just needed a bit of help in communicating, though; drifting around an empty building with no one to talk to for the past god-knew-how-many years can’t have done good things to their incorporeal vocal cords.

Which brings him to Plan B: The infamous Ouija board, favorite tool of grifters and bullshit paranormalists everywhere.

And yet despite the makeshift, very high-budget seance he conducts with the two dollar board and the zero dollar candles he’s lovingly stolen from his brother, there’s once again no reply from beyond the veil besides a chill in the room that somehow radiates disapproval. Apparently his ghost isn’t a fan of pseudoscientific games any more than he is. At least they had standards, whoever they were.

But Remus is a stubborn bastard if he does say so himself, so on to Plan C it is. The used EMF meter he snags off of ebay has definitely seen better days, given the prominent crack across its screen, but the thing had been cheap and still seemed to work, so Remus wasn’t complaining.  Fancy equipment was for fancy people, after all, and of all the things he’s ever been called, he’s positive fancy isn’t one of them. He sets up the device behind the tv, which still seems to intrigue his ghost every time it’s turned on, puts on the first show he can find, and forces himself to walk away. His little trap is set. Now all he has to do is bide his time pretending to busy himself unpacking a box of books in the next room—

He barely has the chance to register the tv screen flickering out of the corner of his eye before an ear-splitting shriek is rending the air, startling him so violently that he promptly drops a hefty tome on his foot.

“Shit,” he breathes, surging back into the living room, but the noise has already stopped just as suddenly as it began, replaced by a frigid chill permeating the room. Maybe he should have thought twice about scaring the resident phantom without first hiding any of his valuables. Hopefully he won’t wake up tomorrow to find his tv shattered. “It won’t hurt you,” he calls, though the EMF meter indicates a distinct lack of any supernatural presences. “It just makes noise to let me know when you’re nearby, yeah? Totally harmless.”

No response, but for once he doesn’t mind, not when there’s excitement dancing white-hot across his nerves. There really is a ghost or spirit or demon or something here, and he hasn’t just been imagining things.

Fuck, this house is single-handedly the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, even if he does now have to worry about his haunting buddy getting a bit of revenge on him in the middle of the night.

But Remus survives safe and sound into the next day without so much as a supernatural scratch on his skin. Bloody payback didn’t seem like his ghost’s style anyways, not when their favorite activity seemed to be pressing as many buttons as possible on the tv remote at once. Curiosity is still nipping impatiently at his heels though, urging him to explore this latest avenue of potential communication more, so he sets up the EMF meter again, this time in the master bedroom where the spirit seems most inclined to spend time if the continued pacing in the middle of the night is anything to go by.

A brilliant plan, only minorly ruined by the fact that the device is nowhere to be found when he goes searching for it the next morning.

“Are you disappearing things, ghostie?” he asks the empty bedroom. “Gonna zap me into another dimension next?”

 He’s joking, but as his hunt through the house reveals neither hide nor hair of the EMF meter, he can’t help but wonder. Had the ghost really just yeeted the thing into the ether? Or maybe it was right where he’d left it in the middle of the bedroom, but had been turned invisible like the spirit themself? What kind of ghostly superpowers did he even have, if any—

He comes to an abrupt halt as he emerges out the back door onto the porch, a laugh spilling past his lips as he surveys the myriad bits of metal and broken plastic strewn around him. Looks like he’s found his EMF meter. Apparently his ghost wasn’t nearly as endeared to this technology as he was anything with a screen. He glances up to the master bedroom window over his head, shading his eyes from the sun.

“Fair enough,” he calls, still fighting down amusement despite himself, and there’s the faintest shimmer in the air above the balcony, reminiscent of a heat mirage despite the cool morning air. “No more screeching little boxes.”

Left with zero information about his ghost’s identity, a useless Ouija board better repurposed as a doorstop, and the remains of his one piece of official ghost-hunting equipment, Remus concludes his only option is to embark on Plan D. Said plan isn’t so much an strategic approach as it is a wild hail mary to find any way to communicate with his ghost that didn’t involved hurling objects from balconies, as much fun as such an activity was, but then again, Plan D did sound delightfully dirty, so he’ll take the trade-off.

The internet, of course, is the place to turn to for highly questionable ghost advice, and it only takes a single google search to find message boards teeming with it. Half of it is clearly bullshit, he quickly discovers as he trawls through post after useless post, and the other half is baseless theories without any semblance of evidence to back them up, but just as he’s about to call it quits and move on to whatever the hell Plan E is, an old thread catches his eye.

‘Old Ghost Caught By Photography?’ the title reads, and Remus skims through the post, intrigued despite himself at the detailed claims the author had been able to capture the image of a Victorian spirit by using an antique camera and photography methods from the end of the nineteenth century. He pores over the attached images, searching for the slightest hint of photoshop or manipulation, but everything seems legit. And it made sense in some weird, probably illogical way, he supposes, that ghosts might only be spotted by using technology from their day and age—historical continuity in the metaphysical realm or some shit.

It’s the best lead he has after hours of searching, and really, he’s just spent a very hefty chunk of change buying a whole-ass house; what was the harm in dropping a few more dollars on some vintage photography equipment?

Which is precisely how he finds himself crammed into his makeshift darkroom in the tiny closet under the stairs several weeks later, holding his breath as he carefully begins to look through the latest batch of negatives he’s just finished processing. It had taken an obscene amount of research, a healthy dose of trial-and-error, and more than a few failures to figure out the intricacies of the dry plate photography process, but he’d gotten there in the end, even if the most he has to show for it is a few suspicious blurs in a couple of images.

Maybe this whole idea of capturing ghosts in photos was just as bullshit as the others, he muses as he examines yet another empty picture of the dining room, or maybe his ghost wasn’t from the same era as the camera he’d bought. Maybe his ghost simply didn’t want to have his photo taken, or maybe—

His train of thought abruptly derails as he picks up the next plate.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

The image is still a negative, the reversed colors lending a certain eeriness to the picture under the red darkroom lights, but there, right smack in the middle of the photo—a figure. An actual human figure, clear as day, looking right at the camera. Remus whoops, nearly knocking over a vial of chemicals with his elbow as he dances backwards in pure giddiness. Oh fuck yes , there is a ghost haunting the place. His ghost, now that he owns the house. His ghost who is…

He pauses, forcing himself to focus on the figure in the photo even as he feels like he’s about to vibrate right off of his bones with excitement. Spectacles, clean-shaven, dark hair neatly styled. Neat trousers, white shirt, trim waistcoat, and a decidedly fancy ascot, the whole ensemble distinctly old-fashioned. Victorian, then? Or Edwardian? Or some historical reenactor who’d met an untimely demise in costume? And it does seem to be an untimely demise; the man looks to be in his mid- to late-twenties, unless he’d found some ability to look whatever age he wanted in the afterlife.

Regardless, he can’t make himself focus on fashion for long. He has a ghost to talk to. Fighting his way out of the cramped closet, he bounds up the stairs, forcing himself to slow to a respectable jog as he darts into the master bedroom. He stops in the middle of the still-bare room, trying and utterly failing to keep his hopes in check.

“Hello? Ghostie?”

No response.

“Mr. Glasses and White Shirt?” 

His skin prickles, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Aha. There he was. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He turns in a slow circle, searching for any sign of his specter, any flicker of light off a spectacle lens or a flash of a shirtsleeve, but the room is as empty as ever.

“I have a photo if you’d like to see it.” Could ghosts not see themselves in mirrors or was that only vampire lore? And if he couldn’t see his own reflection, did the ghost even remember what he looked like?

He raises the picture, proferring the negative to the vacant room, and holds his breath. Nothing, for several long moments, and then the chill edges closer. Remus bites his lip, barely able to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect of a ghost being within arm’s reach.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, I just wanted to see if you were real or if I needed to go check myself into a padded room, you know? I’m Remus, if I haven’t said that. What’s your name?”

Several more excruciatingly long moments that Remus is sure has to be the longest span of silence in history, then—

“Hello.”

The voice is thin and slightly hoarse, quiet enough that Remus has to strain to make it out, but it’s as unmistakably real as the form that flickers into existence right in front of his eyes, identical to the man in the photo. He’s distinctly transparent, the edges of him not quite defined, fuzzing out around the edges like the ambient glow of neon signs, but he’s here and he’s real and this is so fucking cool that Remus could keel over right here and now from excitement and join the ghost in wandering around the house for all eternity.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, because if there was ever a time for swearing, by god this is fucking it, and the spirit withdraws slightly, already guarded expression closing in further. “No no no, it’s good,” he rushes to assure him, resisting the urge to reach out and try to touch him. “Good holy shit. Complimentary holy shit.”

The ghost doesn’t seem entirely appeased, but he tilts his head slightly, something like curiosity sparking in his eyes as he evaluates Remus.

“Why are you not frightened of me?” he finally asks, and Remus has to fight back the absurd laugh bubbling up in his chest. He’s being questioned by a century-old ghost in the middle of his haunted home. Life really was delightfully freaky.

“No offense, man, but you’re not exactly terrifying. I mean, I’ve been here what? A solid month? And you haven’t even tried to pluck my eyeballs out or anything.”

Another unreadable pause. Is he just giving the spirit ideas? Were his eyes about to be forcibly unmarried from his skull à la eagles tearing out Prometheus’ liver?

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” he asks after a further absolutely unbearable five seconds of silence.

“No,” the ghost admits after a moment of clear hesitation, “but previous residents certainly have not appreciated my presence here.”

Remus scoffs. “That’s their problem. Some of us are smarter than that.”

The other man’s head tilt deepens, something akin to puzzlement furrowing his brow, as if he can’t fathom why having a ghost is actually the most badass shit on the face of the planet.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Remus asks, exhilaration still racing along the underside of his skin so intensely that he can barely stand it. “You can ask me whatever you want, too.”

The ghost nods, although he still seems cautious as one hand fiddles absently with his ascot. “I suppose that would be alright.”

Twenty questions with an undead spirit. Remus’ life really was getting better by the minute.

“Did you used to live here?”

“I did, many years ago.”

“Did you own the place?”

“At one point in time, yes. It was truly a beautiful house in its day, and a wonderful place to reside.”

Oh fuck yes. If having an old-timey ghost who can give him historically accurate advice about restoring the house isn’t the coolest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t sure what is. He has half a mind to start grilling him on paint colors and wallpaper prints and the original hardwood, but—

“Did you die here?”

The words are blurting out of his mouth without even bothering to detour through his brain on the way out, burning curiosity eclipsing any thought that perhaps asking about death isn’t exactly acceptable ghost etiquette. He barely has time to register the change in the spirit’s expression, the visceral upset written across his features clear as day, before he’s gone in between one breath and the next, vanishing back into whatever thin air he’d come from and leaving nothing but a biting chill in his wake.

Shit shit shit. He’s finally gotten the ghost to trust him enough to show up and talk and then he’s gone and ruined it within the span of two minutes all because he had all the self-control of a sieve trying to retain water.

“Wait,” he calls, casting about in vain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Well, apparently his subconscious had, but that hadn’t been his intention. “Please come back. You can ask me as many invasive questions as you like.” Nothing. “You can haunt me for revenge, if you want.” Utter silence. “Are you gonna hurl me off the balcony like my EMF meter?”

There he goes again, giving the specter ideas, although really, being yeeted out of a window by a ghost would be a damn cool end if he does say so himself. He lingers in the room for several long minutes, forcing himself to keep quiet lest he miss the spirit’s hushed voice, but there’s nothing but the faint sound of a bird twittering outside.

“Alright,” he finally relents, disappointment pooling in his stomach as he glances down at the photography plate still in his hand, the negative serving as indisputable evidence that the encounter hadn’t just been a fever dream. He’ll find a way to make things right with the ghost somehow, one way or another. He has to. “Just come spook me if you change your mind.”

-

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2023 #tssbb2023 #sanders sides #ts remus #remus sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #intrulogical #loceit #ts fanfic #the art of saying goodbye #my fic #rosepetal writes

[papa-evershed]

Hey! If you’re interested in doing so For Science or something, I could go a run down on your favourite moments from the Act On interviews. I really feel like Rob is so comfortable and engaged in those, they’re a delight.

I can definitely do this! This is right up my alley because I completely agree, I feel like the Act On This interviews are when we get the best glimpse of him just being him because it isn't press related. And quite frankly, him just being himself is more interesting to me than watching someone answer the same five questions over and over again on a press tour. (Not that I'd complain if he did do more press. I'll take whatever I can get, I'm not fussy.)

I'm going to apologize ahead of time for the length and because this will most likely be a very unorganized list. I considered doing video clips but Tumblr just makes that too much of a pain in the ass. 😩

(* I decided to really only do the most recent Act On This because otherwise I'd be here all damn week trying to make a list and ain't no one got time to read that. 😂)

First off, it's not exactly a moment but like previously mentioned—just the general vibe of these interviews. It's so much more laid back and less professional (in a good way) so we get to see The Hot Mess Express™ in all of his glory and who wouldn't appreciate that small glimpse into his unfiltered chaos? These gifs literally happened within seconds of each other. Between him dropping his phone, struggling to set it right, then immediately breaking into dance, I get whiplash just watching.

2. I won't gif this one because he's so understandably private about his kids, but the moment when one of them bursts in not long after the above moment. And honestly, there isn't anything there to gif (again, not that I ever would) because boy was quick as lightning to turn that camera to protect his kid's privacy. 100/10. For all of his goofing off, Dad was quick to Dad™. And even with that distraction and the speed with which he remedied it—he still kept up with what Ross was asking and saying to him. For all the talk of how much of a class clown he is, it appears he can still handle his shit without missing a beat when it really matters and this was a prime example of that.

3. When he pretty much just admitted to being drunk during the Christmas trivia. Keep it real, that's how we like it. 😎

4. This one may be considered a boring choice but another one of my favorite aspects of the Act On This interviews is hearing him get to speak so candidly about his acting process. It's not something most actors really get to discuss in great length with traditional press anymore unless they're the pretentious, insufferable, method sort that make headlines with their extremes. But hearing him discuss how he tried to find ways to bring warmth to the character in The Inheritance made me even more interested in seeing it—to see how much of it they kept, to see if the attempts were even successful. He talked about adding humor because otherwise the audience might grow tired of these fighting siblings and he's right. When he finally does settle down and get serious, he gives incredibly insightful answers and I feel like his approach to most characters is just spot on. So yeah, a thoughtful answer that also increased my interest in an upcoming project is a major win.

5. It's happened over the course of a few different Act On This interviews so it's a bit hard to gif or anything but when either he or Ross mentions how frugal he is. 😅😂 He's got a five year old IPhone (which shouldn't be remarkable but lbr), his laptop supposedly only works if it's plugged into the wall, he'd rather have the money than a make-up artist, and I'm almost positive there are examples I'm missing. Love me a frugal king. 👑

6. I wouldn't call this one a moment really, more so just another example of why I love Act On This—for little pieces of insight and perspective like this. I like learning how people cope with different things and what tools they use, this one is also just very relatable because it's something I find myself also doing as I get older too (although not in audition rooms, obviously).

7. Similar to the last one, whenever he talks about how he's found ways to deal with nerves. It's especially interesting to me because I feel like I've seen a lot of chatter among fans as to whether or not he gets nervous but he's pretty transparent about how his nerves have sabotaged him in the past. It's something else that's relatable, when he discusses finding methods that work for him (mindfulness really is slept on). It takes a certain level of vulnerability to admit when you've been actively searching for ways to cope and it's admirable to hear anyone not just admit it but to encourage others to do the same. Plus, don't we all watch these hoping for those honest moments?

8. Because I'm a trash person and I wouldn't be me without admitting it...every single moment when he has the audacity to just exist looking like this. 🤷‍♀️ He was 🔥🔥and I'm honest enough to admit that the eye candy is certainly a perk of any Act On This interview.

Honestly, I could keep going but I will spare us all.

Of course there's the obvious mentions too, like whenever he breaks into song and/or dance. The Christmas trivia was a pleasure. And like most people, I also enjoy just any little personal tidbit he's chosen to share throughout the years, even something as simple as what beer he wants to drink or his love of house plants.

Overall, I appreciate these interviews because like you said, they're just so comfortable and engaging. Once he gets the wiggles out there's usually some really great advice or tidbits shared so I really watch these always waiting on those moments and anything else is just icing on the cake.

Hopefully this was somewhat of a satisfactory answer and bless anyone that's read this far. 😳

[lets-try-some-writing]

The Best and Worst Patients on the Nemesis

Ratchet believes he has it rough with team Prime. Knockout begs to differ.

Knockout

The easiest patients for Knockout to deal with are undeniably the Vehicons. They are respectful in and out of the medical bay, pleasant to be around, and generally lovely (except for when they pull pranks). They come to Knockout immediately when injured and actually take care to listen to his instructions. All in all, they are the perfect patients. To Knockout they are almost akin to younger siblings or energetic younglings, and while he will die before admitting it, he cares a great deal about them and frets when one of his regulars fails to show up. He will often go wandering the ship to check up on the Vehicons under the guise of some other meaningless activity. Not only that but he takes extra care to not scare the Vehicons when they are in the medical bay. He even goes to far as to offer them small energon goodies or to buff out their paint. In return the Vehicons will bring him shiny things and make him little trinkets which they will leave on his workstation. They will also cover for him when he angers Megatron, helping him vacate the area until it is safe again. Knockout greatly appreciates it and keeps every single thing his Vehicon patients give him in a box secretly stored away in his berthroom.

The next easiest bot to handle is Breakdown. The mech is an absolute angel when in the medical bay, always complimenting Knockout and offering assistance. However the issue with him arises the moment he leaves the medical bay. It is as if all caution towards his freshly welded wounds goes flying out the window as soon as he steps pede out the door. It does not even take ten minutes before Breakdown is off to break up a fight, get in a tussle with the Autobots, or do something that is bound to reopen his wounds. More often than not Knockout spends more time closing up old wounds instead of new ones. It drives him crazy having to constantly remind his bulky friend not to do anything to stress his injuries, however he does it fondly all the same. If nothing else it means he can spend more time with his friend, and so Knockout doesn't mind Breakdown's behavior as much as he probably should.

Breakdown may be somewhat troublesome, but compared to Soundwave, his carelessness is nothing. The difficulty with the Decepticon spymaster does not come from his behavior while being treated, but instead in his natural tendency to disappear. Usually Soundwave will only come to Knockout if it is something he was ordered to do by Megatron, as such when it comes time for annual checkups it can be a pain to hunt the spymaster down. It can take days or even weeks of snooping around the command center to catch even a glimpse of Soundwave. And when Knockout finally gets a hold of him he knows it is only because Soundwave allowed him to (nothing escapes Soundwave's notice aboard the nemesis). He usually tries, and fails, to maintain some form of confidence when he informs Soundwave of his scheduled checkup. After that it can takes anywhere from and few hours to a few days for Soundwave to stride silently into the medical bay. Neither share a word while they are together unless necessary. Both walk away content with not having to be around one another until work requires it again.

Starscream is certainly one of the worst patients Knockout has ever had. The seeker is irritating, acting like a sparkling over the smallest of things. He complains, makes a fuss, and causes disturbances wherever he goes, including the medical bay. Whenever Knockout is required to fix up whatever injury Starscream has gathered on his frame he often tries to do it as quickly as possible just to get the seeker to shut up. Some days he just can't handle all the flailing and moping about that Starscream forces him to endure and so goes out of his way to make the seeker's visits as miserable as possible. A pinch here, an uncomfortably tight weld over there, and and unfortunate scratch on the paint to really tie it all together. Its all Knockout can do as he can't get away with much else (thankfully Starscream just thinks Knockout is bad at his job) Of course sometimes Knockout doesn't have the patience for Starscream's ridiculousness and so shoves an energon goodie at him and kicks him out the medical bay as quickly as he can. Still, Starscream's complaints have nothing on two of Knockout's least favorite patients.

Arachnid and Shockwave as a general rule don't come to Knockout at all. Each being busy with exile and research respectively. However when they do drop by, usually on Megatron's orders, they are just the worst. Shockwave spends every visit nitpicking at everything from the tools, to the efficiently of the medical procedures, to Knockout himself. For a mech as prideful as Knockout it bothers him a great deal having to listen to the monotone voice of Shockwave comment on his every action critically. Arachnid is arguably worse in that she is far more snarky in her remarks. Going out of her way to poke fun at everything and harassing poor Knockout and even damaging his paint on occasion. He came very close to buzz sawing her in half several times, but thankfully for her, she was exiled before he finally snapped.

Lastly, the worst patient Knockout has ever had the displeasure of dealing with is the mighty Megatron himself. The mech is paranoid as pit and constantly glares at and threatens Knockout whenever he has to fix him up. The dark energon didn't help in that regard, causing Megatron to become violent on top of his harsh threats. Knockout has barely walked away with his armor intact on some bad days for the warlord. Sometimes leaving with his protoform bruised and his neck cabling leaking energon from cuts made by the Decepticon warlord's blade. Megatron's moods are too unstable for him to even consider hanging around him casually, especially not when he is on dark energon. (He is honestly terrified of Megatron and has had to console himself by Breakdown's side after particularly bad days serving the mad mech)

#more headcannons #transformers prime #tfp #transformers #megatron #knockout #breakdown #shockwave #soundwave #the vehicons #arachnid #starscream #decepticons #you got what you asked for measlyfurball13 #knockout's thoughts on his patients just for you #enjoy

[slocumjoe]

If you were to rate the Fo4 companions from most to least favourite how would you rate them?

I can't list them in order, because I have too many feelings on them....and also, I love them all! It's just...there's such a Rollercoaster of quality of writing, of character concept, of VA performance, of actual attention and care given to the meat-and-potatoes aspects...

Like, I can say I have a favorite (Danse) and a least favorite (Piper) and a dude in the middle who I give not a crap about (Deacon), but I still like these characters??? They're fun! Its just, I like my idea of them more than what's actually there.

So, uhhhh

RORY TALKS ABOUT THE COMPANIONS 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

this is basically a long-post of a bunch of mini-essays, so grab a snack or nice bev and get cozy

Cait, to me, is a prime example of "this character sounds better on paper". I've already complained about her three greatest flaws; being bloated, being mishandled, and being a very confused character. If I were to describe Cait, it would be that she's a troubled young woman who was traumatized all her life, but understands that it's effected her heavily and wants to work past it and better herself.

In game, she's...an Irish Girl. She talks about drinking and fucking and fighting. If not that, she's detailing her absolutely horrific life. It gives me tonal whiplash. I feel like they were too busy adding things on rather than fleshing her out. I mean, really...what is the significance of the Tough Irish Girl type in the wasteland, where everyone acts that way? Is Cait an example of your average wastelander, someone whos supposed to show the daily life in this world? Well...no, that can't be it, she's put away from others, an outsider who doesn't fit in whatever circumstances she finds herself in. She doesn't belong with raiders, she doesn't fit into the average civilian life. So, is she about ostracization and how even after being nuked, there still is a society to ostracize people? That is brought up in text, but that's not at all Cait's thing, that concept is with Hancock.

I travel with Cait to quickly get her affinity up to speedrun her "recovery" (see the Cait breakdown to learn my thoughts on That Fucking Chair) because I want her to get better...but I don't like traveling with her that much. It's not just that she often disagrees with my usual choices, she's just rather flat. I don't get the impression that the writers really considered her psychology, what she stood for, what someone should or could take away from her.

But I like her conceptually. There's a lot of fun and emotional catharsis to be had with a traumatized character like her, someone who has to navigate life after escaping her bad situations, and not knowing what to do with the survival instincts she had to cultivate, but no longer needs.

Codsworth is inoffensive to me, and I like sassy but polite characters. I find them refreshing in settings like Fallout. I had more fun imagining his lines as thinly-veiled bitching than sincerity, though. I think he's fine, just simple. Simple is best, sometimes. I wouldn't trust Beth to give the indentured servitude robot an even remotely palatable story, given how they handled the synths and their whole thing...

But Codsworth, I like having him around. He's the lemon water to the black coffee, sugary soda, whiskey, and occasional cups of tar. He's needed at a palette cleanser.

Curie should have been a main plot companion, argue with the wall. She's a Ms. Nanny who becomes a synth, which are functionally human beings. She has a lot of narrative potential, being an example and counterargument for many different things.

Unfortunately, she's kept mostly a secret, being the most hidden companion, and she's left as a simple French maid fantasy. I'm not even sure why they bothered to make her a doctor. It has nothing to do with how she's actually handled and presented. Curie's more often blushing than meaningfully interacting with the world. She talks to Amari, she becomes a synth, and the rest of her story is just her going KYAA~ at the SS. I wish they gave her some edge, some weirdness. I like my version where she's this slightly pretentious, condescending, incredibly old-seeming entity that clearly doesnt come from around here.

Danse...my boy. My boy. I adore him. You don't need me to explain why. And you don't need me to explain why his incomplete writing infuriates me.

I've said before he's very similar to Hancock, and since I have something else I want to discuss about with Johnny down in this, I'll use Danse's slot to discuss it, very quickly.

Danse and Hancock are remarkably similar people and characters, even there is parts that drift or parallel in their differences.

Substance dependency (Hancock does chems, Danse is a canonical alcoholic)

They both struggled to find their footing and place in the world, and hate the people they were in their act 1's (Hancock's takes place during his founding of Goodneighbor, Danse's after BB)

They're fiercely loyal and protective of 'their people', even if it can take a LOT for them to consider someone 'their people'

Both are suicidal and identity plays a huge part (Hancock pretends to be someone he isn't, Danse is desperate to be the person he thought he was this whole time/hates that he isn't who he thought he was)

Both of these characters are two sides of the same coin. It's just that Danse's upbringing led him to believe in authority and control being the best way to help and take care of the wasteland, Hancock's upbringing (filled with corrupt authority and control) led him to believe in an egalitarian, we-all-lift mindset where the people have the power, he's just the guy who people talk to about any issues. It's somewhat implied that Cutler was similar to Hancock, judging by Danse's few lines about Cutler.

So uuuhhh Todd where the fuck is the last 2 arcs for danse and last arc for hancock? todd? todd where the fu

As said above, Deacon is nothing to me. I like him. I don't care about him much. I think he's fun to play with, but the moment you start getting into his backstory/angst, I slide right the fuck off.

Okay, the Barb thing. Dead wife. Fucking boring story, done to death. At the point I met Deacon, I had already met Mac, Nick, knew of Longfellow and his deal. So it was like "JESUS they really dont know any other reason for a dude to be sad, do they." But the thing that keeps me from caring about Deacon is that no one can agree if Barb is real. If that actually happened.

...his backstory is supposed to inform his character. Why is Deacon doing this? Because of his backstory. If his backstory isn't real, we know nothing about Deacon, and he is, functionally, not a character. Why does Deacon lie if Barb didnt happen? Dunno. He just...does. Why is Deacon helping synths? Uhh...we needed an RR companion? Deacon's character rides or dies on Barb. If she's real, then the rest of him makes sense. She's the windex and towel to the cloudy glass house that is the rest of him. If she isn't, Deacon...doesn't matter, in any meaningful way. He's a guy in the RR who lies about everything, which means you can't care about him. Because there is nothing to care about, because it's all bullshit.

So, that's my thoughts on Deacon, in-canon. I don't know what his deal is or if his proposed deal is genuine, so I can't click with him. But in my own canon, Barb is real, so my Deacon ken-doll does appeal to me. But in Fallout 4, in text, I regard him the same as I do Tom Bombadil. To give you an idea of how flimsy Deacon is in text, a prevailing fan theory from around 2017-18 was that Deacon was Mrs. Rosa's son. Mrs. Rosa was a pre-war neighbor. Her son was a kid. The fact that Deacon is so weird and fluid and almost omniscient isn't a plus for me, it isn't a point of fascination. It's a puzzle that I know doesn't have a finished product, so I leave and go hang out with Danse, who can't speak if he isn't being absurdly blunt.

Gage is a character that deserved a better DLC. The more I think about Nuka World the more I kinda wish it was just Gage and the handmade rifle, instead the map...but that's about Nuka World. Gage himself could have easily been a swing and a miss and fall face-first into the dirt, but he's a surprisingly well-written character? There are layers of psychology with him. You can look at an action or opinion he has, and map it to something that happened to him. You can literally unravel why he does what he does, is who he is. His writers had a concept for him, and they worked backwards to understand why he would become that way.

What really sells him is his VA. Rolston put his whole pussy into that performance. Gage has so many lines that would be utter cringe if not full-assed. The "That vault suit makes your ass look great" line comes to mind...i've seen modded followers with similar lines, and jesus christ i want to pepper spray some of them. It helps that Gage has multiple faucets to his personality. It also helps that he is intentionally distinct from the other raiders, and occasionally doesn't associate with them, himself. It gives him standards and principles, which help give him shape and dimension. Good character. He isn't my favorite, that's Danse, but he's up there.

Hancock is such a waste of a character and it boggles me no one else seems to think so.

He starts on a bad note because his core reason for existing, is Beth wanted a historical figure reference. There's a reason he gives you a history lesson about John Hancock, it's so everyone knows exaclty what Johnny Ghoulie is a reference to. It's not even so much a reference, because it is a direct mimicking. I cannot stand the moments in 4 where something exists because the team learned a fun historical trivia fact, and wanted to pepper in that they did research. I've already bitched about their love of this with the Railroad at some point on this blog.

I genuinely wouldn't mind Hancock if he wasn't pulling so limp-dickedly. It's specifically the contrivance of explaining why this dude is called John Hancock, in John Hancock's clothing. It's okay if they pull from history and allude to it, But Hancock is just...some history stuff tacked on, with no real thought or care. The clothing, the name, the catchphrase. I feel like this is Disney's Hamilton on Ice.

But moving away from that...what is the point of Hancock?

Is his character about drug use and addiction? NOPE, only Cait's addiction is noteworthy. Okay...idenity issues, since he's larping? Not really. It could be, but that's not at all of interest to the story/writing itself. The Hancock thing is an aesthetic, not a trait. So, don't have that either. Is his character about leadership, in any capacity? Kinda, I guess. He briefly mentions insecurities and guilt about it a few times. But if I said "Hancock's story is about leadership", most people would raise an eyebrow and ask why. Not because it's...wrong, it's just not prominent enough to say that's his story, definitively.

So...what is the point of him? What should I take away from Hancock? Duty to the people? Preston does that, and does it better/more explicitly. Regret about past actions? Mac does that. Protecting the people from political corruption? Piper's thing (AND WE'LL GET TO FUCKING PIPER.) What is there to Hancock that isn't done by another companion? It isn't his depression because ALL these bitches be suicidal. What is unique to Hancock? Pretending to be someone else? Deacon. Drugs? Cait. Trying to figure out who you are, removed from the expections that come with having been someone else? Nick. Leadership, and the failures of it? Danse. Struggling to navigate the world in a new, different body, as a new person, functionally? Curie.

The only thing I can think of is mentioned only twice, and is immediately brushed off; the questionable nature of your leader being buddy-buddy with you, and acting like 'one of the bros' even as they hold power over you and have resources you don't. Parasocial government, if you will. It's brought up by Finn and Bobby No-Nose and is shut down/forgotten.

So...the only thing unique to Hancock, and it's regulated to, like, 3 individual throw-away lines. 2 of which you can miss.

Great.

Again, I like him. I just like him when I'm writing him, and can actually have him work through his shit and concepts. But as he stands, he's just...hey, y'know John Hancock? New Vegas also pulled from history, but New Vegas had shit to say about it. There was debating. There was actual philosophy and politics. There wasn't some dude named Caesar who was just...hanging out. What does Fallout 4 say about John Hancock?

Here's something you can say about Hancock; Hancock owned slaves. He inherited them from his uncle, Thomas Hancock. He later freed them due to terms in Thomas' will. But the guy Fallout 4 meagerly puts up as a figure of freedom and independence, and duty to fellow man, was a slave owner, and had slave owning family.

So, what does that mean for our Hancock? Who looked up to this guy, mantled him, and this guy is, in some way, a perversion of his own ideals.

And our Hancock's favorite quote is from Lincoln. Who started the Civil War. Did Lincoln own slaves? Contested, i couldn't find any clear answers. But Hancock mantles a slave owner, using a quote from the president that would try to outlaw slavery, while pushing for freedom and independence and anarchist rhetoric.

Is that the best you can do with Hancock? No. But it's an example.

MacCready, I've compared to a can of Campbell's soup. He's simple, he's decently-done. He's not Codsworth's lemon water but he isn't Cait's tar. I often struggle to write MacCready because he's so simple. There's not much there, he isn't a complex character. He's not even a complex person. And I like that! I like that the grumpy mercenary is a normal guy, who's just going through the motions and has simple desires. His type is often tar and I'm happy to see that subverted.

Its just that his lack of complexity means there's not much to say about him that you don't already know. He's accessible, which is a good thing. Most people don't want to drink tar, but if you're reaching for a fun beverage, you're not often reaching for water, either.

I think the best thing about MacCready is how excellent he is as a romance option. I think he's the strongest romantic choice in the game, period, largely due to him being a simple guy. I would go for MacCready IRL, because he's a good dad, he has good work ethic, and he's emotionally available and isn't afraid to talk feelings, without being a clusterfuck of issues. I love Danse, but you have to talk him out of suicide before you do anything, and he himself will admit that there's going to be a lot of issues simply because he doesn't know what he's doing or what he wants out of his new life.

You don't get that with MacCready. He knows what he wants and who he is and what he cares about. He's such a solid romantic interest, and there's incredible fic potential with the Sole Survivor and MacCready both as soon-to-be grieving parents.

On the flipside, I can't understand people who romance Nick and think its all sunshine and roses. Mini-rant, but /rad-roche (i think thats their user?) has the right idea, with Nick being a hot mess of unresolved issues who is never not projecting or in denial. Nick is not fit for a romantic relationship, not in the state you see him in game. Especially not before Far Harbor. Especially if you don't get the good ending of Far Harbor. I know, bisexual women, I'm sorry. He's got more shit than Danse and Hancock combined. I write romantic Nick prompts as if this isn't the case, but make no mistake. Me giving yall what you want is not me under the impression that this is a good idea.

Anyway. Nick himself.

Dead wife. Booo. I've already complained about his dumbass quest, which i really dislike for all its contrivances. Also, I find him mismatched with the world around him, and I wish there was more attention paid to that. He's a stock character playing out in real life (in Fallout 4's real life, that is). He's a 40's noir flick detective. This character does not belong in a post-apocalypse. This is an urban setting character. Fallout is not urban.

But that doesn't mean he can't exist! I just wish they went more ham with it. I mean, how does a detective function in a lawless wasteland, full of secrets simply because there's so few people see shit happening, know what goes down? It's an information blackout, out there, and a detective is all about information. Nick deserved to be let loose and go full camp on it all. Instead, we got 2 piddly little piss stains of "mystery" side quests. With someone as clashing as Nick, you really need to either sand down the edges to make him fit, or make the fact he's so weird part of the Thing. Nick is played incredibly straight, and given that that man is clearly lgbtq+, i find that almost a waste. Let this man be deranged. This is why Far Harbor is best Nick. He's holding together in the base game, but i don't want him holding together. I want him to suffer. I want him to monolog like Hamlet before driving a cane into someone's forehead.

Now, as for Piper...

Oh, Piper.

You were doomed.

You were so fucking doomed.

I've written about Piper and her shitty paper multiple times, so if you want a refresher, go to my blog > pinned post > meta section, and find the Piper posts. My peer review of The Synthetic Truth will be your best look into what I think of Piper.

The thing is, if you removed her awfully done journalism aspect, I'd like her base form! When she isn't going on and on about shit that's either wrong, baseless, or presumptuous, she's sassy, she's community-orianted, she's mischievous, she's kinda sardonic. She has a sugar problem. She's a burnt out 20 year old with a parentification issue. There's a lot to like here! The problem is they set up the journalism, fuck it up, and then veer hard-right and crash into the "I'm raising a kid when I'm not even an adult either" thing, where it had no build up or time to unfold naturally.

In my own little world, Piper's journalism fuckups are addressed and have consequences. I don't want her smoothed out and perfect, I want her glaring flaws to be intentional and acknowledged. And that just doesn't happen in text.

Ive also got a ramble on my thoughts on Preston. I've said before I don't like his voice acting most of the time, and I actually got a lot of pushback?? But the people who disagreed didnt...disagree...they just pointed out that John Gentry had a gnarly recording circumstance. I think it was that his first takes weren't supposed to be the final product, because he wasn't really intended to be the VA? Something like that, I forget. Point is, I said John Gentry obviously had a rough time in the booth, and wasn't given a fair shot, and people went "No, his voice acting is good! John Gentry just had a rough time with his line recording and wasn't given a fair shot!"

M-ma'am. Thats...what I said.

If it makes anyone feel better, I don't like the majority of the voice acting in this game...a lot of it is very 'modded skyrim character.' Remember the Skyrim Romance Mod? Thats what most of it sounds like to me. Remember Mrs. Peabody? Holy shit. Do not let anyone involved in that cook ever again. I also have personal beef with Nate. The male VA for the SS...someone, somewhere, made a bunch of choices. It was the wrong one, frequently. (The only good male SS line i can think of is the one romancing Danse. Has some texture to it. It's shy and cute, very good)

As for Preston himself, love him, love my paragon good-guy characters. He's such a sweetheart but he's down for bloodshed. I adore those kinds of characters, those "do no harm, take no shit" types. He's treated as a fluffball by fanon (when not suffering racist ass takes or absolute disregard), but Preston has got some lovely edges to him. If you go through his dialogue page and his approvals, you'll find he can be hard at times. There are moments he approves of 'asshole' choices, which is very fun. I love this dude.

Anyway hot take. IF HE WAS WHITE, ALL OF THESE BITCHES WOULD LIKE HIM. YEAH. I SAID IT. He'd be a depressed white man who's buff and kind and snarky, and you Danse girlies, you Nick girlies, you Deacon girlies, all of them would love him too. He is tailor made for standom but nooo, he isn't #FFFFFF so I guess he's doomed to stupid ass settlement jokes.

Yall lack taste. Hawk puhtoo.

SPEAKING OF AWFUL FUCKING TASTE, LEAVE MY BABY X6-88 ALONE.

X6-88 is so unappreciated. Grotesquely so, by both Bethesda and fans.

X6-88, I've said many times, is a spoiled rich man's cat who sits all poised and hisses if you so much as look at it if you're below a certain tax bracket. He's fussy and egotistical and snippy and dislikes bugs, children, water, heights, and generally anything above ground. He gushes over Danse and thinks he's the coolest. He'll let you kill the Institute if you're Railroad or Minutemen and have high affinity with him. He'll brag about getting to travel with you with his courser buddies. He's a fucking dork.

X6-88 is a nerd/prep who could be goth if left in a Hot Topic to run wild, but until then, he's in a suit for his private school and he's going to sit on HIS bench at recess and snipe at the rival school children with his friends and then he goes home and complains that his english eacher failed him on his Roman history test for writing it in perfect Latin. That is X6-88.

If you don't like X6-88 we cannot be friends. Fuckiung look at him. He's such a little shit. He's perfect.

[princess-of-the-corner]

I mean, discounting everything that lead up to and happened in Kuro Neko as Maribug telling Adrichat to fuck off bc she doesn't need him is a super one sided and kinda disingenuous look at it.

All of Maribugs choices are stemming from her trauma. Trauma from heroing in general, from events like Chat Blanc in specific that make her wary of her own partner, and the trauma Fu accidentally passed onto her with both his own paranoia and sacrificing himself right in front of her.

Just like all of Adrichats choices, to hide his actual feelings for the sake of someone who's love he's been taught he has to earn, are stemming from the trauma he got from the massively abusive childhood his parents subjected him to.

Trauma isn't logical, or rational, so of course neither of these unsupervised fourteen year olds with the weight of an entire city on their shoulders are making logical or rational decisions.

And bc their issues match up in just the wrong way, Maribug losing her mentor and getting a butt load more responsibility dumped solely in her lap by said mentor who taught her not to trust her partner drop kicked her into a spiral that she unintentionally dragged Adrichat into by virtue of them being partners and working so closely together.

Maribug became Guardian out of nowhere, due to a tragic event she held herself responsible for. She'd been taught for an unknown amount of time, but presumably a few months, by a man who had more than a century to get stuck within a paranoid rut, and trauma specifically centered around her partner gaining information.

So when even more responsibility is dumped on her and her alone by her paranoid mentor, she's been primed for months to lean away from the partner who she should have been taught to trust and who should have been treated like her equal by their mentor from the start.

And Maribug leaning away from him unknowingly triggered Adrichat's own issues. He felt unheard and unnecessary as a hero and partner, just like he commonly felt at home with his parents abusive parenting styles, but bc he's been trained his whole life to bottle up his issues and be seen and not heard, that's what he tries to do with Ladybug.

And even though the actions Adrichat takes are more passive and quiet, verses Maribugs more active ones, they do just as much to aggravate both of their issues even further.

Maribug can't change her harmful behaviors if Adrichat is actively bottling up and hiding the pain she's causing from her, which meant she just pulled away from him even more without realizing how she was making him feel until he just quit, possibly seeming to her like it was a bit out of the blue, and actively adding onto the massive workload she's already been saddled with.

And these aren't issued that either of them should be expected to somehow get a handle on and get over and fix all by themselves at the age of fourteen.

Honestly Adrichat and Maribug just need one single, solitary adult in their lives who gives a shit about them and actually teach them to communicate and also get them into therapy.

Anyway, tl;dr, fuck the Guardians and Su Han in particular bc so much of this stems from their abusive ways of teaching that kicked off literally everything in the series and started the cycle of paranoia Maribug (and by extension everyone in her life, hero or civilian) is the latest victim of

Oh yeah no it's.

I totally get why they're both like that and don't think she was doing it just callously.

It's. It's basically how I write the Chloé/Sabrina cycle Up of trauma in HC/LL. They're a match made in hell because their trauma responses feed into one another.

Marinette's trauma response is to clam up and take on all responsibility herself, shoving away anyone who wants to help. Adrien's trauma response is to pretend things are fine and do whatever he can to please the people he cares about.

Which means that unless acted on by a third party, they're going to keep circling and getting worse

[rainbow18]

Will Nine’s redemption parallel Thorn’s?

Not sure how many people noticed this but Nine’s fight with Sonic directly parallels Thorn’s fight with the scavengers.

They all used to be friends but after a while, all Thorn + Nine saw was the constant taking and taking.

Nine made Gedgets for Sonic and later upgraded them.

Nine went back to New Yoke, which he hates, more than once, for Sonic.

Nine stayed with The Council, for weeks, for Sonic.

Nine originally decorated The Grim for Sonic.

Sonic requested for Nine to fix the universe.

Sonic asks for The Grim’s shard to be moved to Ghost Hill so he can get what he wants, essentially forcing Nine to adapt to another Shatterspace.

Thorn realized that The Scavengers were depleting their resources and as he saw more Shatterspaces and counterparts, Nine began realizing that he would die if Prime Tails is saved. Plus even in the slim chance that he doesn’t die if Prime Tails is saved, Nine would starve to death or die of thirst if he goes back to The Grim.

The Scavengers didn’t give Nature a rest or respect and from Nine’s perspective, Sonic was doing the exact same thing with him.

Despite how many times that Sonic requests Nine to do something for him, Nine obeys or Nine tries to consider Sonic’s feelings, Sonic seemingly doesn’t do the same for him.

Sonic never gave Nine The option of rejecting Green Hill.

Sonic never considered The possibility of helping The Grim.

Sonic never considered the possibility of waiting his turn to try to use The Grim’s shard.

Sonic doesn’t give or offer Nine anything at all except life imprisonment in Green Hill. I know Sonic believes Nine would adapt, but with how Nine wont be able to leave and wasn’t even given a choice, Nine would see Green Hill as just another New Yoke.

(To Nine, Freedom means being Free to live wherever you want and do whatever you want. Which doesn’t apply to Green Hill because if He did agree to hand over the Grim’s shard, Nine wouldn’t be able to live in The Grim. Therefore Green Hill isn’t a Safe or Free place since if it was, he’d able to leave.)

In Nine’s eyes, Sonic doesn’t give him a rest because he’s always asking Nine to do things for him and/or causing disasters without letting Nine have a break.

After getting his technology, Sonic caused them to be caught by the council.

Due to the different time zones, Nine would have thought it had only been 2 hours at most, in between when he grabbed the red shard and when Sonic began asking him to participate in another battle in Situation Grim. Plus he spent time looking for Sonic.

He ended up with the council for who knows how long.

As he and Sonic got away from The Council, Sonic began asking him to go to Ghost Hill when Nine attempted to explain about what he has in The Grim and insisted on going to Ghost Hill first.

When Nine attempted to remind Sonic about The Grim, Sonic couldn’t remember and kept pleading with Nine to help Green Hill. While ignoring how much Nine loves The Grim.

Thorn became furious and kicked everyone out of the jungle, leaving them to potentially starve to death. Nine was furious with Sonic, and combined with his anger at New Yoke, decided to live by himself in the Grim and endangered everyone.

Thorn did have doubts some times but she didn’t go back to how she was before due to the scavengers not acknowledging their wrongdoings.

While watching Sonic and Shadow battle, Nine did seem to have doubts but he’s not changing his mind because Sonic has yet to acknowledge his behavior.

Both Thorn and Nine committed acts that they criticized others for doing.

It’s impossible to tell when the confrontation that the image came from took place. But something that’s interesting is that each one of them did something that could have caused innocent civilians to be killed and/or a place to be destroyed.

The Scavengers? They were destroying the jungle. Thorn? Was leaving The Scavengers to starve to death and was acting crazy, and began harming the jungle herself.

Rusty? Worked with the chaos council. Although she was brainwashed.

Sonic? Was going to destroy the Shatterverse. Although he doesn’t realize it much and wanted to save Green Hill. (I wonder if that’s the meaning behind Sonic and Rusty making the same pose during the confrontation.)

#sonic prime

[volfoss]

⚜️ *Gives you the fanciest emoji I know of*

im so sorry this is like. 2 weeks late. a lot of stuff happened for me irl and i also was waiting to come across a character that i thought u would find really interesting :) i think you'd be able to really investigate veycer like a bug under a microscope.

i think youd like veycer SOLELY because of how complex he is written. he sucks soooo much as a person and i would like to blow him up HOWEVER i think as a villain he is so fascinating. volfoss doesnt really have villains in the usual sense, as its more just oh im on this side of the war, hes on the other side of the war and hes kinda being mean so hes the villain for this route. and you can side w his (veycers) side of the war and see different sides to him that way. like everyone just kind of sucks in the war really.

^white boy of the year in a bad way

so like. in order to get into his complex writing i have to first again elaborate he sucks. you are not meant to really care about him unless you take the route where youre on the ikuaipe side (which hes the military leader of). and to really get into him as a character i have a LOT of explaining to do plot wise. so come with me. take my hand. we are having the tumblr askbox equivalent of my 30 minute volfoss politics powerpoint or whatever.

ikuaipe uses rare metals imported from asdenia, mainly to make drugs. asdenia one day is just like no. fuck you we are not exporting this to you anymore. this obviously causes a lot of tension. eventually the war is kickstarted (this is either because of a mysterious disease or because it appears that the leader of ikuaipe was kidnapped. put a pin in that. we will return to it later. sorry theres a lot to explain and i need to make it as cohesive as possible) and its kind of like. well not good for either side lmao. each of the three (technically four. its a long story.) nations has a different governing system: ikuaipe has a group of people leading (frokiston is kind of the head, gust is second in command, and veycer is kind of third), asdenia is like a religious leading (the archpriest leads the country), and caldealand is a monarchy (with a king and queen and prime minister). this is all important im so sorry stick with me here i have to set up a foundation for the politics.

so like. if volfoss was crazy popular and had gotten super fandomized, people would say frokiston was kinda like a father figure to veycer but like objectively they do care about each other a lot. i cannot even begin to get into their wide degree of issues but frokiston is arguably just trying to lead ikuaipe as best he can, so in the ikuaipe route, when hes kidnapped, it sends veycer into a panic. like to the point where hes rushing into battle, right into dangerous spots just because he HEARD thats where frokiston might be. he invades asdenia further bc it does seem like its a plausible place for him to be. frokiston is someone who you see reassure veycer when he's worried about the war and how they're losing. like he does genuinely care a lot about veycer and thats WHY veycer is pretty much willing to die to make sure hes ok.

i am not going to spoil the ikuaipe arc ending but veycer is kind of put in a position a lot where he has to make tough decisions and well. they are not normally handled well (in terms of he makes stupid as fuck decisions or like. decisions where youre sitting there like WHY would you do this). and the end of that arc is a very good example of that, as it deals with how someone who acts very calmly and level headedly about death can be forced to make a decision that doesn't make him act as calm as he normally would.

which this all ties into a couple very distinct moments that make me genuinely insane when i think about him. like again he sucks soooo bad its insane but hes very well written (which idk if ive gotten acorss bc i really do wanna avoid major ending spoilers. i think youd love volfoss a lot). bullet point list bc ive gone on long enough lol

his sister (Shes also an army commander. shes great you would love sheala) does a big fuck up on a mission and well. lemme just grab what i noted down here. auveon is another commander.

but later he goes on to be like oh ty for protecting sheala ^-^ i care about my family. he does pardon her to just a demotion and i rly think that was his intent at first but he needed to seem strict to make ppl respect him.

one of his right hand men dies in one ending and he literally just does not care at all but i also think its a situation of keeping up a tough front. hes fascinating and id get more into it if my wrists were not cramping up insane style but they are so. i think youd love him in the way that he well. has diseases but is written with so much depth and compassion

#asks #♟ #guy trying to not spoil a 22 year old game that no one cares about voice: i better not do spoilers