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#with your violent hatred of this character??????????

angorwhosebabyisthis · 1 year

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five's character suddenly makes a lot more sense when you look at it as a metaphor for a kid indoctrinated into an abusive evangelical church, who has been convinced that hell is real.

[longpost, talk of religious abuse--mainly the evangelical christian variety--after the cut.]

he's convinced that everyone who doesn't comply with the church's rules will go there; that leaving won't save you, because hell will be waiting for you in the end; and that everyone who claims to believe differently is lying and knows better, they're just pretending they don't because they don't like the idea of acknowledging authority in the time they have before hell catches up to them. and as much as he's been taught to be self-righteous and unsympathetic about people who '''choose''' hell, in practice he's the kid who goes around trying to have the 'so have you accepted jesus into your heart' speech with everyone he even remotely cares about, and won't back off about it even though it goes over Absolutely Fucking Terribly and he's being an asshole, because if he doesn't get them to convert when (he thinks) there's any chance they might have done so they will go to hell and it will be his fault.

and like, this adds a lot of layers to his hatred of nine and what he thinks (and in some ways is correct 🙃) that he stands for. but one of the big ones is that as far as he's concerned, nine can and will snipe people to send them to hell out of spite for converting to save themselves. one of the things that made him hate him so much--decide he Needs and Deserves to Die--is that he was told sandor made the decision to comply with the mogs because it was the Smart Thing to Do... and that nine punished him for it by murdering him brutally. and that given half the chance nine would do it to him.

for all he's been indoctrinated to value Having Power Over Other People and Deserving It Because You're Special, at heart five has major just world fallacy going on because he desperately wants to believe that everyone can be safe, and happy, and understand each other. that all that needs to happen for them to have that is to make the right choice. he doesn't actually believe the mogs are inherently Superior; he thinks they have the same fair shot as everyone else and that the only difference is that they will take that shot, and are honest that they're doing so.

whereas what is one of the other big things he hates nine for? the one that fills him with so much rage he has to stop reading about him? the idea that nine is inherently superior to him and the others, and deserves a better life, regardless of any choice they ever could have made.

he's told that the elders saved nine for last because he was strongest, and that the earlier numbers were cannon fodder because they were weak. he's told that he and the lower numbers were forced into hiding, made to suffer, to buy nine a little more time. and he's told that in the event he managed to survive that far, he would be nine's inferior--his servant--because he's a lower number.

five talks about how he's superior and deserves to rule everyone else because he has 'potential,' but it's not about how powerful he is because of his legacies; it's that he thinks he's willing to make the right choice. he thinks the idea of treating someone like they don't have a right to that choice because they're inherently worth less than others is absolutely fucking repugnant. and where the mogs get him is by twisting his idea of what constitutes Everyone Being Happy so far that they convince him their cause, which is doing exactly what he hates most, is the one that's fair.

add onto that that he's terrified of the idea that you can in fact just be completely fucked no matter what choices you make, and just gets more and more invested in coping via denial the clearer it becomes that he is the one who is utterly royally fucked no matter what he does, and... well, you get some real unfortunate end results to say the least. but like, that's where he's coming from.

so to wrap this back around to the evangelism metaphor: if you believe what five believes, the idea of someone being willing and able to do what nine does by sending someone to hell regardless of their own choice would be Existentially Horrifying to begin with! but it also goes against one of five's deepest core beliefs, both reasonable and Unfortunate Coping with Trauma. and when you pile that on top of the immense suffering he's gone through over it, the result is going to be visceral burning hatred.

anyway this post is already Long and i've got a lot more thoughts in me about it, but suffice it to say five absolutely is a metaphor for evangelical trauma, and how victims get weaponized into extensions of their church's abuse. and it's an evangelical survivor's nightmare, because the version of hell he's been taught to base his entire worldview around fearing is objectively real. 🥲

(the real smoking gun here? not only is the Great Book a really obvious analogy for the bible, but the name is a retcon. what was it called before that, while he's evangelizing about it no less?)

(the Good Book.)

(welp.)

#lorien legacies #LL number five #LL number nine #LL sandor #LL tag #cws in post #looking back at the characters and parts of the worldbuilding i got most invested in back in the day i am seeing a Pattern #and that pattern is called It's Religious Trauma All the Way Down #on both an individual and community level #the mogadorians and five /could/ have been a really good raw painful narrative about the grief; ugliness; and difficulty holding onto hope #for the culture you grew up in and the people who escaped it and the people who haven't and the people you couldn't help #and for the people who never wanted any part of it to begin with and are having to suffer for your community's systemic upfuck #it's why rereads have left me increasingly soured on adam; and made me appreciate rex more despite his own moral dubiousness #i thought adam represented grief and hope for the culture and community that traumatized you while refusing to go back to them #and instead he represented violent dehumanizing fuck-you-got-mine hatred and victim-blaming for Every Other Victim #instead of 'i recognize that the work of engaging with the community to help the victims inside of it is important and worthwhile'#'but i cannot be the one to do it because i cannot and will not have that community in my life anymore; therefore i will focus my efforts #on helping and protecting people who are targeted by the community from the outside when internal damage control isn't enough'#his narrative was to pull the ladder up after him; then torture every other survivor for the rest of their existence to atone for their sin #which...... hmmmmm....... sounds familiar..............#whereas rex represents being able and willing to go back into the burning building as many times as he needs to #because there are children in there #anyway. subject for another post #dyn: lost boys #dyn: but i'm helping you anyway

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tossawary · 26 days

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"Fullmetal Alchemist"'s use of fantasy elements is interesting to me because of the way it... reduces... certain horrors to these unflinchingly direct basics. (Warning for spoilers and unorganized overview discussion of canon-typical violence.)

Like, the violence and pain is depicted in hideous, nightmarish detail, and/but the pursuit of power at the expense of other people's lives is simplified at the climax into an equation so straightforward that it hurts. All previous prizes of land and resources, which are forms of power, have been stolen by the Amestris military by way of terrible, hateful bloodshed. Father's Promised Day array then throws all that aside, throws it onto the fire, and takes a step further to directly exchange human lives for godlike power.

Another example is that Roy Mustang is not permitted the false distance of a bomb, but has the effect of one using his own two hands. The result is the same, but State Alchemists are not permitted separation from their tools: they ARE the weapons of war. A gun is nothing without someone to hold it. It really underlined to me that if Roy HAD used bombs instead of alchemy, it still would have been his hands that killed an unimaginable number of people.

I don't think FMA is above criticism, but this specific aspect felt to me an incredibly effective narrative tool, especially because things like "our military was created from the beginning to do evil" are accompanied by / backed up by normal humans knowingly going along with Father's plans out of greed and fear, as well as normal humans supporting the country's crimes out of idealism and fear and hatred and selfishness and confusion. It's not just "oh, it was inhuman monsters secretly manipulating everything from the shadows all along"; it's "oh, it was inhuman monsters secretly manipulating everything, representative of humanity's most deadly sins, appealing to our most selfish desires and basic fears, and we all WENT ALONG with it".

From the very first chapters, all of the friendly adult characters were directly saying things like, "Edward, you shouldn't be a part of the military. It's corrupt. I have killed innocent people for nothing and it haunts me." In the final battle, inside the command building, the Armstrong siblings and their allies are straight-up fighting against mindless, starving, created soldiers that kill everything they come up against and stop for nothing. The fascist Amestris military, after years of violent, fabricated conquest and violent, inhumane research, is EATING ITSELF FROM THE INSIDE.

And, of course, the characters cannot use their magic system to escape reality: the Elric siblings cannot undo their mother's death. Life is so incredibly precious because some things cannot be undone. And grief and arrogance allowed to run rampant takes heavy tolls on Edward, Alphonse, and Izumi's bodies.

The only way to miss the messaging in FMA, to have the point go over your head, is to intentionally duck it, because the author is throwing it at your face like a brick. Repeatedly. There are so many bricks. It's not subtle. And I enjoyed it.

#tossawary fma #character death #violence #roy mustang #spoilers

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secretmellowblog · 6 months

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Another reason I dislike Les Mis adaptations that make Jean Valjean constantly openly angry/violent is because they miss that Jean Valjean is not allowed to be angry. The fact he is forbidden from expressing anger is, I argue, actually a very important part of his character in the novel!

One of the subtler political messages of the story is that some people are given freedom to express anger, while others are forced to be excessively meek and conciliatory in order to survive.

Wealthy conservatives like Monsieur Gillenormand can “fly into rages” every five minutes and have it treated as an endearing quirk. Poor characters like Fantine or Jean Valjean must be constantly polite and ingratiating to “their superiors” at all times, even in the face of mockery and violence, or else they will be subjected to punishment. If Gillenormand beats his child with a stick, it’s a silly quirk; if Fantine beats a man harassing her, she is sentenced to months in prison.

(Thenardier and Javert are interesting examples of this too. Thenardier acts superficially polite and ingratiating to his wealthy “superiors” while insulting them behind their backs. Javert, meanwhile, is completely earnest in his mindless bootlicking. But I could write an entire other post on this.)

The point is that….Jean Valjean has to be submissive and self-effacing, or he puts himself in danger. He can’t afford to be angry and make scenes, or he will be punished. The only barrier between himself and prison is his ability to be so “courteous” that no one bothers to pry into his past.

Jean Valjean is excessively polite to people, in the way that you’re excessively polite to an armed cop who pulls you over for speeding when you secretly have a few illegal grams of marijuana in the your car trunk. XD It’s politeness built on fear, is what I mean. It’s politeness built on a desperation to make a powerful person avoid looking too closely at you.

It’s politeness at gunpoint.

Jean Valjean has also spent nineteen years living in an environment where any expression of anger could be punished with severe violence. That trauma is reflected in the overly cautious reserved way he often speaks with people (even people who are kind and would never actually hurt him.)

So adaptations that have Jean Valjean boldly having shouting matches with people in public and beating cops half to death without worrying about the repercussions just make go like “???”

Because that’s part of what’s fascinating about Jean Valjean to me? On one hand, he is a genuinely kind compassionate person, who cares deeply about other people and behaves kindly out of altruism. But on the other hand, he was also “beaten into submission” by prison, and forced into adopting conciliatory bootlicking behaviors in order to survive. And it can sometimes be hard to tell when he is being kind vs. when he is being “polite” — when he is speaking and acting out of earnest compassion vs. when he is speaking and acting out of fear.

The TL;DR is that I think it’s important that even though Jean Valjean is very (justifiably) angry about the injustice that was inflicted on him, his anger is harshly policed at all times— by other people, and by himself. He has been told his anger is wrong/selfish so often that he believes it. His anger takes weirder more unhealthy forms because he has no safe outlet for it. His rage at society becomes a possessiveness towards Cosette and silent hatred of Marius, but primarily it becomes useless self-destructive constant hatred of himself. And while I might be phrasing this wrong, I think that’s what’s interesting about Jean Valjean’s relationship with anger— the way his justified fury at his own mistreatment gets warped into more and more unhealthy forms by the way he’s forced to constantly repress it.

#les mis #les mis letters #jean valjean #don’t mind me just Valjeanposting #you know I’m doing okay when I’m Valjeanposting #but yeah I can’t remember the first person who started talking about this concept with me #(it was years ago)#but now I think about it constantly #when you read the book looking through that lens #of certain charcaters being forced to act conciliatory and polite ‘under threat of violence’#you notice it constantly #it’s such a running Thing #and you could write tons of posts about it on www.tumblr.com

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yandere-sins · 7 months

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Cupcake

Okay I will admit I've been soft-yandere yearning for a while now, but it's my birthday and I deserved them!! There’s nothing better than some self-indulgent fanfiction (;

Fandom: Call of Duty Characters: Yandere!Ghost x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Mentions of Punishments/Kidnapping, Forced Relationship, Emotional Distress

You didn't react to the sound of boots on concrete floor or the lock of the door clicking, hinges squeaking as someone entered the room.

Giving him attention was pointless.

You knew too little about him to get under his skin with words alone. Every bicker seemed to bounce off his broad chest with so much strength, it hit you right back in your face. You could never keep your arguments from sounding like childish complaints, and he chuckled at anything as direct as "I hate you!"

Instead, this man—"Ghost" you reckoned he called himself—seemed to bask in every minute of your putrid hatred. You could always assume the wisp of a smile beneath his mask, his eyes searching for yours no matter how much you glared at him. He possessed no inhibitions whatsoever, pushing, pulling, throwing you wherever he wanted, when he wanted, and not always gently mind you.

Yet, he pulled off his gloves before touching you, wiping the tears from your eyes and cheeks while he told you to stop crying now. That everything was okay and you shouldn't ruin your pretty face. He squeezed into the bed with you—the mattress too small for him alone, a coffin for both of you—shielding your body with his from the door so neither friend nor foe would see you first if they came inside.

Ghost made sure to top off your food with the ingredients you liked from his own plate when you were visibly upset. And on the nights when you were unconsolable, he pulled you on top of his chest despite the struggles, resting your head above his heart while he played with your hair or held your hand, intertwining your fingers.

It was hard to say what was going on in that man's head. His eyes spoke of wonders you couldn't see, but his punishments were so severe, so unforgiving as if you had personally harmed him in another life. You could be glad that you could still count ten fingers on your hands and ten toes on your feet, seeing how his mood shifted unpredictably at any moment you two were together.

So, it was best not to acknowledge him.

Even when everything inside you screamed profanities at this bastard, you tempered yourself with deep breaths. A deep inhale through the nose, and a long exhale through the mouth. Deep in, long out. Deep in, and a long breath out...

Zing.

The unique sound of a zippo reached your ear despite your meditation having been able to fade out his presence behind you. This sound was unexpected, new. Ghost and new impressions combined as well as fire and gasoline, so this was scary. You didn't know if he picked up a smoking habit or would burn you just from the sound alone.

You couldn't help the rather violent reaction to the fear that snapped your muscles tight. Jumping into action, you threw the blanket you had wrapped around yourself away, sliding into the farthest corner away from him. Your eyes widened as you took in the view in front of you, time coming to a brief halt as you mustered the absolute unit of a man in front of you holding a... cupcake.

Blue wrapping, yellow icing, and a flickering candle on top.

Ghost snapped the zippo shut after he had waited out your reaction, his shoulders relaxing after he concluded you wouldn't do something stupid. You had just been surprised. He let the silver square sink into his right pocket while the small flame illuminated his mask in a warm yet even more spooky way than it always was.

"Happy Birthday," he said, tearing you out of your state of shock. Your gaze jumped from the mismatched-colored cupcake to his eyes that rested on you, full of that disgusting, heart-wrenching adoration he harbored for you. Things were calm, too calm. Ghost was too relaxed, only holding the cupcake and not a weapon or anything remotely dangerous in his other hand. You couldn't trust the peace. Couldn't rely on his words or the actions you were seeing.

"Wait, what?" it suddenly hit you, your eyes widening. "Is it... Is it really my birthday?"

Prying your eyes off your captor, you looked to your right, to the small table across from the bed where Ghost had hung up a calendar for you. He'd been crossing off days diligently for you since you couldn't be bothered to keep up with the task on some days, Ghost knowing that time seemed to pass you by in weird intervals without a window in your room. And he was right. Damn.

Taking another step toward you, you didn't cower away, letting your guard down as you breathed out heavily. That meant you had vanished from the face of the earth for months now. No one would come looking for you anymore; the hope of your survival and return would have been smashed. What a depressing thought on your birthday, your family and friends surely heartbroken about your absence, just like you were.

The bed creaked as Ghost sat down, his weight shifting the mattress in a way that made you aware of his closeness. You collected your legs, keeping them away from him to not give him any chance of quickly grabbing you. But when Ghost held out his hand, it was filled by the cupcake stretched towards you, and he handed it over without another word.

Your eyes flicked back and forth between his and the pastry, but hesitantly, you picked it up, feeling the squishiness of it, a sweet smell drafting into your nose. The warmth of the ficker licked at your skin as you held the cupcake in front of you. So small yet so thoughtful. You thought a whole lot about this psycho, but to think he'd remember your birthday when not even you did? You couldn't even remember when you told him the date, much less expected him to prepare something for you.

Not like there was anyone else who'd care about it now.

Immediately, tears shot into your eyes as you realized you were truly alone. No one would come to save you, and nothing would change unless you could win against your captor. Even when he was with you, you were still alone. And even when you blew out the candle, wishing for these things to change, you knew the wish was wasted.

Sniffling, you bit into the cupcake, frosting getting stuck on your nose and lips, but you didn't care. Sugary sweet and buttery, the taste of homemade cupcakes like your mother would have made them coated your tongue and teeth, remaining there even when you swallowed, bitterness clogging your throat while the delicious treat produced enough serotonin to jump in joy.

You managed to devour half of it before the tears and stuffy nose caught up with you. Even your free hand couldn't wipe away all these emotions overrunning you. Fear, pain, hopelessness. The feeling of being stuck here and so, so alone. It needed two more hands, big, calloused, and warm, to gently hold your face between them, wiping relentlessly while hushing you softly.

"It's alright, darling," Ghost murmured, his voice invading your brain that couldn't detect all these phantom pains you were feeling but soothed them regardless. "I'm here. Everything will be okay, sweetheart."

It certainly wasn't what you wanted to hear, but it did the trick, keeping you from the panic attack that slowly built inside you. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you took another bite, sniffling and with tears falling relentlessly still. But Ghost's hands never disappeared. Instead, his thumb began to wander, brushing off crumbs as you devoured the rest of your treat, leaving nothing of this kind gesture for him as you were unwilling to share what little happiness you had been given.

Crumpling up the paper around the blown-out candle, you threw the trash away, finally having both hands free to wipe your own face and get a grip on yourself, your vulnerable side having come out shamefully. But even when you pushed away his hands, Ghost's presence right next to you didn't vanish, his body now much closer than before.

"Happy Birthday," he said again, gripping your shoulders. You huffed lightly, feeling exhausted after your cry, but before you could react, the sudden feeling of lips against yours threw you off.

You hadn't even noticed him pulling up his mask to reveal his mouth, lips more greedy and desperate than ever finding yours. Teeth and tongue played and nibbled, not so gently asking for entrance, and you... gave up. You had no strength to resist. Play a game you were bound to lose anyway, Ghost always cheating. And immediately, feeling your surrender, his hands slid back to your face, cupping your cheeks so he could deepen the kiss.

It didn't help. Didn't soothe the aches in your heart and didn't make the tears stop, but the intrusion of his tongue and the sweet taste now coating it distracted your thoughts. Ghost seemed to try to tell you that no, you weren't alone. You'd never be. He'd always be with you like he swore up and down. He'd protect you, take care of you, and love you.

Kidnapping, locking you away, and forcing you to do what he wanted didn't exactly scream protection, care, and love to you. But an annoying, nagging voice started to speak up in the back of your mind. He wasn't wrong. As long as you had to endure this horrific living arrangement, he'd be with you. He didn't leave you alone, didn't forget your birthday. You doubted even that he spent a single moment of downtime without the thought of you on his mind, considering how obsessed he was.

It would never be enough to satisfy you, though.

There was no way he could ever mean enough to you to make you love him. You'd never forgive him, never submit to him fully, body and soul. But at least on that day, the day that grieved you so—a joyous occasion turned bittersweet by your suffering—you weren't alone. He was there with you. He cared. Did he care enough?

"You're not going to sing for me?" you asked him, half-joking, half-challenging.

Ghost mustered you for a long moment, then you heard him huff, amused. He shook his head before pulling you towards him. You allowed it, no strength left to struggle. "Only because it's your birthday," he reminded you, and you caught the corners of your mouth turning upwards before you reminded yourself not to be amused by his banter.

His heartbeat was calm and gentle, nothing like the things you knew he could do to you. Ghost turned you both over until he could climb into bed with you, laying you down on your side, facing him and not spooning you like usual. It was a tight squeeze, but with his arms around you, face nuzzled into his chest, it was warm and comforting. Safe—for now.

Happy Birthday to you.

You almost didn't want to believe him when he began to sing, keeping his voice low. Ghost never wanted to rourse the suspicion of anyone else that possibly lived next door to you. His gruff voice didn't really fit the upbeat song, even with his accent tingling on every word. This time, you couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of the situation, but you listened, regardless, while being held in his arms as if you were meant to be there.

Happy Birthday dear darling.

Wearily, you closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat mixing with his voice. The man you hated the most was holding you and singing to you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if it was meant to be this way all along, almost making you forget the pain and suffering he had caused you in the past. But when he held you like a rare treasure, fulfilled your wishes, and went out of his way to care for you, you almost believed his version of love to be true. You almost started to believe the many times he said he was doing all of this for one reason only: "I love you."

Maybe he did.

Happy Birthday to you.

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shadesoflsk · 4 months

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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

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cemeterything · 2 months

Note

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on michael shelley!!! 🌀🚪✨

you're in luck because i've sat on thoughts about him for years and i finally feel like i can articulate them. because michael shelley is such a well written case of tragic horror in the horror tragedy podcast. and, despite my criticisms of season 5, it really did do an excellent job in concluding his character arc with the gertrude backstory episode. in a podcast where a common in-universe theme is that knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge, is dangerous, michael is a subversion in that his ignorance of the horrors of the world he lived in not only didn't save him, but was intentionally engineered to make him vulnerable to exploitation and harm (which, on a broader scope, emphasises the futility of the world of the magnus archives - regardless of whether you participate in or turn a blind eye to the systems at play, involved or uninvolved, you are not safe).

furthermore, i really appreciate the subversion of traditional tropes of the sacrifice as a typically female figure taken advantage of by a male father, brother, or lover, whose tragic and horrible death is used to motivate him (whether to greatness or self-destruction), with michael being a son sacrificed by his mother (or grandmother) figure, who never actually loved him and whose 'frail' and 'nurturing' qualities were weaponised incompetence used to gaslight and manipulate him - and who continues to operate successfully (at least in terms of what can be said to be 'success' in a world like the magnus archives) without being haunted by any apparent doubt about the decision she made, or any hesitation to use others in similar ways, following this betrayal. which makes the fact that he's sewn into the fabric of a being that represents lies in their most insidious form, used as a weapon to devour people and destroy their lives, all the more abhorrent in hindsight - he is forced to not only relive his trauma in an endless loop (or spiral, if you will), but to become the mechanism which enables it. michael is taken to the edge of something evil (at least from a human perspective), and pushed over the threshold with no hope of recourse. there's almost a reverse orphic quality to it - he descends into terrifying other world, one which exists side-by-side with but fundamentally seperate from his own, against his will, and looking back will only cause him pain as he's assaulted by memories of a life he will never be able to reach.

i think a lot of people forget to look past the surface with michael, despite there being an entire episode dedicated to doing so. which is understandable, he's a very outwardly expressive character - but this is intentional obfuscation to hide an incredibly damaged victim whose hatred of this part of himself is integral to his entire reason for being, and which the rejection of causes him to be unmade, incapable of existing as this contradictory nightmare any longer. it's a mercy killing, and yet it is violent and painful, because michael cannot and should not exist, and excising that graft used to muzzle the distortion is as agonising as latching it into place was in the first place. when michael-the-distortion says about michael shelley "he was born. he was pointless. and he should have died." there is an implicit longing there, a rage at the way he was used, his decisions made for him and used to imprison something else instead of ever being allowed to exercise any measure of free will. because michael shelley probably would have died for the archivist, given the opportunity, but he never got the choice.

#🐉#michael shelley #tma

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ystrike1 · 20 days

Text

I hate doing this but there's drama in the horror webtoon community and I have to vent.

Do NOT support Hanza_art

If you don't want to be spoiled/involve yourself in a toxic situation do not read further.

My Deepest Secret was infamous for its overly miserable plot twist ending. The main character turned out to be "crazy" and "delusional". Somehow that protagonist was capable of living a normal life and being a serial killer at the same time. This character never got real professional help, and they were left to suffer in their delusions.

The horror community is often wary of authors that portray mentally ill people as unsalvagable or monstrous. Personally, I was horrified.

The backlash was horrible because the plot twist made no sense in general. In addition the story was marketed as a romance and by the end nobody had paired off. I felt my time was wasted, and I was disgusted by the way the "true villain" was discarded for the crime of being mentally ill.

When Hanza returned with a more level-headed protagonist and a more violent psychopathic villain....some readers gave the author another chance.

I don't blame them. Paranoid characters like Rozy are very interesting! Especially as main characters!

Hawa, the secondary female lead, grows out of her "naive victim" stereotype as well. It's very satisfying to watch. It was tied together nicely by the handsome villain, Adam.

Adam is extremely evil and irredeemable. When the story begins he is a serial killer who targets "innocent, sweet" girls like Hawa.

Rozy is overprotective and she doesn't trust men. In fact she's a known man hater. The characters are all adults, so their character traits and desires aren't just quirks. They are all deeply flawed people.

It was a very promising start.

Plus, it wasn't marketed as a romance so I was sure it would be written better! The weakest part of My Deepest Secret was the romance (by the end I mean) so yay!

Or not...

I do not keep up with TGU on a regular basis. The plot slowed down considerably and I noticed a worrying trend. Frankly, I'm not shocked by this immature behavior in the slightest.

Every single male character in TGU is a sexist abuser who harbors violent thoughts about women.

Hanza is very good at writing scary, irredeemable, sexist pigs that belong in jail...but it was a worrying trend all the same.

Adam was a smart, handsome serial killer who liked to hide in plain sight. By about chapter fifty he was alot dumber, and I cannot stress this enough.

Every male character that associates with Rozy or Hana turns out to be a stalker or harasser. The kind that would get charged in real life.

That kind of hatred towards "all men" is worrying in a thriller comic, and it was very annoying.

I wanted Rozy to outsmart Adam.

I don't want to watch her and Hana be abused by multiple men (mostly former friends!).

I came for the girl boss mystery, and I got alot of sexism instead. What a slap in the face.

Past a certain point I was only checking in to see how bad the story had gotten....and...yup....the male police officer helping Rozy is also a weird guy.

............first of all that's boring.

Second of all it's insulting.

Hanza hates toxic romance, and it shows, and that's perfectly ok. It's not for everyone, but Hanza has built their entire career on top of sexy murder men...so their attitude is extremely hypocritical and annoying as heck to watch.

"I hate toxic romance but I'm also going to sell suit merch of Elios and Adam."

Like, what did you expect?

Hanza is an adult creator, and they do know who they're catering to.

At this point they are absolutely insulting the fans that pay their bills, and that's unacceptable.

Authors are public figures now. They have been since the Facebook Era. Random internet trolls should not influence how you speak to your fan base. I understand that working for Webtoon is brutally hard, but Hanza is a popular artist despite their fumbled first story.

It's like watching somebody blow their nose on a golden ticket.

TGU was their second chance. A very generous second chance, that got great reviews in the beginning.

I'm astonished that Hanza somehow managed to concoct another dud plot twist. Their rude attitude has to be the nail in their coffin. They should not get a third generously funded chance.

Don't interact with their posts.

Don't review bomb the webtoon.

Don't give them any more attention.

They've made more than enough money off of fans they clearly don't respect.

Every creator worth their salt knows trolls and super perverts are only 0.05% of any given Fandom.

If Hanza wants to spit on the 99.95% fine.

Just don't give them any more money or support. That's the only punishment fans have the right to inflict.

Why am I so upset?

Well, as you can see Hanza posted spoilers. They spoiler bombed Twitter because they don't want to finish TGU.

That's right. On top of insulting everybody who paid for this comic they also don't want to finish. Despite the fact that the story reached its climax recently. The girlboss alliance is finally forming against Adam but...too bad I don't wanna write it (suckers).

The sibling plot twist is just abysmal as well.

Shame on you Hanza.

You damn well know that this sibling plot twist is completely out of left field and unexpected. (and boring. I am convinced you are trolling your fans.)

The shipper trolls and the edgy Rozy/Adam fans had no idea it was coming before you randomly spoiled it.

For the record I don't ship anything in this lackluster comic, because I know better. Again, My Deepest Secret was marketed as a Romantic Thriller and then there was zero payoff. Sure, this one isn't a romance, but I don't think anyone signed up for every guy on the block being evil. Just the guy upstairs. Since the story isn't even about love I never imagined so much drama would come out. It feels very pointless and petty. Every time I hear about this artist it's a drama issue and I can't help but think they're part of the problem. Their recent behavior on social media hasn't left me with any other options.

Hanza, you are being manipulative and childish on purpose because you don't want to finish what you started.

You pandered to horror and toxic romance fans on purpose just to get money.

You spoiled a story millions of people have been reading regularly just to satisfy your childish need to bully your own fans.

You took their money.

You signed your contract.

Nobody made you do it.

If you really are super conservative and you think romance must be pure LEAVE US ALONE, and go write pure romance.

Nobody is stopping you, but you wanted to milk more money out of people you don't respect.

It's sickening, and I'm happy that TGU will never get a physical release.

You don't deserve a dime of that money.

Shame. On. You.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #webtoon #do not read any works by hanza #my deepest secret #the guy upstairs #anti-rec I guess

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aerynwrites · 6 months

Text

Make is Right

Gale x Dark Urge!Reader

A/N: Had this idea come to me when @thedreamlessnights told me that Gale yelled at their dark urge after talking to Gortash in Baldur’s Gate. Hope y’all enjoy the angst and fluff that follows.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR BG3. Spoilers for dark urge plot specifically. Angst, emotional Hurt/Comfort, major character death, resurrection, fluff, happy ending.

You’ve been in a spiral ever since the Nautiloid crashed, your mind a jumble of blankness and confusing violent urges you can’t hope to control. Your sleep plagued with terrible dreams and that infuriating butler. Urges that have made you do terrible things and almost make you do worse.

But now…now it feels as if everything has come crashing down around you. You’d hoped coming to Baldur’s Gate would give you answers to your past, hopefully bring to light memories that are still lost to you.

You never expected it to be worse than you thought.

You never expected to be on the receiving end of Lord Gortash’s cunning smile as he greets his favorite assassin. You didn’t think learning of your past would make your heart drop to your stomach.

But as you stand here, in this grand throne room and listen as Gortash tells you of your bloody past…you feel bile rise in your throat.

You watch numbly as Duke Ravengard crowns Gortash as the archduke of Baldur’s Gate, acutely aware of how your companions shift uneasily behind you. You accept begrudgingly when Gortash offers you an alliance, that sickening smile tugging at his lips as he steps closer to you.

“I tolerate Orin,” he tells you, a strange fondness in his eyes that makes your stomach roll. “But I liked you.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Go get the stone. And don’t come back until you have it in hand.”

You obey his command, not because you want to listen to him, but because you want to get as far away from here as possible. Your feet carry you faster than you expect, and soon you’re out of the oppressive building that is Wyrm’s Crossing making your way across the bridge.

It’s only then that any feeling comes back to you at all, and you’re acutely aware of piercing gaze burning into your back. You stop in your tracks, turning to see Gale as the source.

The look he gives you…The man who you’ve come to love and who you thought felt the same…His eyes are full of nothing but betrayal and anger.

You reach out to him, fear gripping your heart like you’ve never felt before. “Gale, what-?”

He recoils from you, lips turned down wards. “Don’t.” He says, the one word coming out harsher than you anticipate, making you retreat into yourself as he continues. “The absolute, the tadpoles…it was because of you?”

That last word is said with such venom it makes your heart fracture in your chest. You’ve never been on the receiving end of such vitriol, at least not from him, and it makes tears burn at the back of your eyes.

“Gale, please…I didn’t even know-“

He cuts you off with a raised hand, eyes falling shut as he turns his head away from you, as if it pains him to even hear your voice.

“I think you’ve said and done more than enough,” he lowers his hand to a fist at his side, still not looking at you. “Leave me be.”

He offers nothing else as he brushes past you, walking back towards camp with a rigid set to his shoulders. You feel your lower lip wobble, and out of instinct look back to your other companions for guidance, hoping for anything other than hatred.

You at least get that much. Not even Karlach will look right at you, her hands clenching at her sides as she too walks past, uttering something about catching up with Gale. Astarion offers one of his humorous quips, but even that does nothing to help.

Only Shadowheart seems truly sorry, her eyes meeting yours in a knowing way. You suppose she’s the only one who understands being a slave to your blank past and eventually finding out the brutal truth.

But even her…you can see the thin set of her lips, and you know. You know on some level she blames you too.

And as they all leave one after the other, you’re left alone on the wooden bridge, the wind whistling around you, and your mind still infuriatingly blank.

————

No one approaches you at camp that evening, all of them being pleasant enough but losing that usual camaraderie that typically fills the air.

It’s only after dinner has been served and eaten that you move to seek out your partner, your bowl of stew left untouched by your spot at the fire.

Gale is in front of his tent, deep in one of his books as he usually is. Normally the sight would bring a smile to your face, but now as you approach, nothing but dread settles in your stomach.

The man doesn’t even acknowledge you as you walk up, eyes never leaving the pages of his book as you stand in front of him, shifting nervously in your feet.

“Can we talk?” you finally ask, voice soft in the night air.

Not looking up from his reading, Gale turns a page as he answers, “I don’t see what there is to talk about.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears welling up at bay.

“You know what.”

Gale scoffs, finally closing his book with a resounding snap as he finally looks at you. His eyes are ablaze with anger but deep below the surface you can sense a sadness. He feels betrayed.

“Oh yes,” he says, “I suppose we do need to address the fact that you are the reason we are all in this bloody predicament. Where would you like to start?” He asks cruelly. “The fact that you’re actually a bloodthirsty assassin set on fulfilling your fathers diabolical wishes? Or should we discuss the tiny detail that you were seemingly cozy with none other than Enver Gortash?”

Frustration bubbles up in you then, and finally the tears spill over - hurt and anger and utter confusion proving too much for you to handle.

“You act like that person is me!” You cry, wavering. “Like I haven’t proven again and again since I’ve met you that I’m not…that. I don’t want to be that person anymore I don’t…I can’t be.”

Gale says nothing, so you continue. “I can’t control who I was but until today I didn’t even know that was my past but I -“ you choke on a sob, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “We’ve done so much good. That has to count for something.”

You watch as Gale softens ever so slightly, but it’s so slight that if you didn’t know him as well as you do, you would have missed it.

He sighs, eyes clenching shut as he turns his face from you again. “Sometimes…Sometimes our past is not something we can separate ourselves from.” He says simply, hands falling limply by his side. “I…I need time to think. I think it’s best if you go.”

His words feel like a stake to your heart, the pain radiating out to your fingertips and making your knees weak.

You want to scream. You want to fall on your knees and beg for him to understand, for him to not push you away. But you know it would do no good. So instead, you only nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you retreat to your bedroll by the fire.

You avoid the sideways stares the others give you, no doubt having heard your fight with Gale.

The bedroll is cold beneath you, even the fire doing nothing to warm the icy hurt seeping through your veins. Minutes tick by into hours and soon everyone retires to bed.

But you remain awake.

Astarion and Karlach lay on the other bedrolls near you - but the one across the fire is achingly empty.

As the night draws on and the flames of the fire dwindle to nothing but smoldering embers, your mind runs endlessly.

You try fruitlessly to counjure up memories of your past, the past Gortash laid out for you. But there’s nothing. Nothing but blankness and and cloud of black anger bubbling in your chest.

Orin.

She’s the only thing that keeps fighting it’s way to the forefront of your mind. Since you’ve been in the city she’s already made it clear she’s watching you, and after what was revealed to you, you know why.

She did this to you.

She created this vast expanse of emptiness within you. Made you forget your past and took your place as Bhaals chosen, but maybe…

It was for the better. You know this, and silently you thank her for doing it. For orchestrating your fall from grace so to speak. Because now…now you’re someone else, someone better.

All at once an idea forms in your mind. One that would hopefully solve all your problems.

Orin took your place when she got rid of you…what if you could do the same. But instead of taking her place when she falls…you can deny your father his chosen.

You’ll have two of the stones, Orin out of the way and one step closer to righting the wrongs you’ve unknowingly created.

You’re on your feet before you can overthink it. You enter your tent and don your armor and weapons in a mindless haze, only when you exit your tent do you pause, your eyes trailing over to the familiar blue tent across camp.

You approach quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping body inside, and you carefully peel back the tent flap. Gale rests on his side, face lax with sleep as his chest rises and falls slowly.

For a moment you’re struck with a pang of fear. What if this venture ends in your death? What if you never see the man you love again?

These thoughts run through your head as you gaze softly at your sleeping lover, and before you can let the fear control you, you lean in and press a featherlight kiss to his cheek.

He barely stirs, eyes fluttering lightly before he settles once more. You smile sadly before reaching into your pocket, your fingers wrapping around the cool red stone before you pull it out.

You place the netherstone beside his pillow where he’ll be sure to see it. If this does go sideways…they can still continue the mission.

You stand, giving one last glance at Gale before you let the tent flap fall shut and turn to go face your past head on.

———

Orins arrogance is her downfall, just as you hoped it would be.

She could have easily overpowered you. Taken advantage of your worn down state from trying to find the temple. She could have used the handful of cultists around her to aid in her battle against you.

But she was arrogant, bloodthirsty, and ready to end what she had started.

That had been her mistake.

The fight was not easy, there were moments where you thought you would fall, a few injuries too close to fatal for you to be too haughty in your victory.

But as she lay, broken and bloodied at your feet, you can’t help but be acutely aware of the vast emptiness still yawing within you.

You thought killing Orin would make you feel something. Maybe a sick sense of satisfaction, or possibly even trigger some memories of what she did to you or what you’ve done.

But there’s…nothing. There’s nothing but the sound of your own breath as it bubbles wetly in your chest.

Somethings wrong, you’re injured worse than you’ve ever been before but at this moment you can’t find it in you to care.

Will this be enough?

Will Gale forgive you for your wrongs? Or, when you return to camp with the second netherstone, will it just prove that he was right? That you can’t in fact separate yourself from your bloody past.

That you’ll never be more than the spawn of Bhaal, created to do one thing only.

Will you ever truly be free?

Your answer comes in a wave of telekinetic pain, washing over your mind and nearly bringing you to your knees as a voice speaks through you.

There’s a tinge of familiarity as it speaks, and it’s only then you realize who is speaking.

Bhaal.

The god of murder. Your father. The thing that made you who you were - who you are.

You stand there, that pain slowly ebbing away as he offers you greatness. Offers you the title as his chosen once more and showers you with false praises.

You feel that all too familiar urge tug violently at your mind, begging - screaming at you to accept your rightful place.

You almost give in, your despair and emptiness almost winning out. But then…then you remember the way Gale looked at you, the way they all looked at you. With pain and fear and betrayal in their eyes.

And suddenly the emptiness is gone. The vast yawning cavern of blackness in your mind no longer feels like a burden. You may not remember who you were but…You aren’t them anymore. You’re someone new. Someone kind and loving and caring. You’re someone who laughs around the campfire at Karlach’s jokes and teases Astarion about his always perfect hair.

But more than that…You’re someone who’s known love.

Gales face flickers before your mind then, that kind small smile when you ask him about his magic. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way his hands feel against your skin as he holds you, or the way he stayed with you as you fought your urges.

Your mind isn’t empty. It’s so full. Just as your heart is. Full of love and hope and brightness despite the urges that tempt you everyday.

You’re not his anymore.

You reject his gift as powerfully as you can muster and you feel the way his power reels back in anger and hatred.

How dare you refuse me!

His voice rages in your mind just as you feel the tendrils of pain seep into your bones.

Your name echoes off the cavernous temple walls, and through the pain and the voice screaming in your head it takes you longer than usual to realize where it’s coming from.

You turn to see your companions, your friends, rushing towards you from the entrance of the temple, shouts of your name and other jumbled words greet your ears.

But then you see Gale.

His eyes filled with worry and regret, reaching for you, fingers outstretched towards your quaking form.

They’re closer now, each step bringing them closer and closer to your bleeding body. You reach out your own hand, limbs quaking with effort against the ever crushing weight consuming you.

Your fingers just barley brush Gale’s, his eyes glossing with relief.

But it’s too late.

His hand slips into your own as Bhaal strikes you down.

Bones cracking, sinew snapping, and blood rushing out of you as darkness swallows you whole. The last thing you remember as death surrounds you, is the pain in your throat as you cry out Gale’s name.

————

It feels like mere moments after the pain and darkness that light erupts around you.

Warm tendrils of light wrap around the emptiness that was your life and soul forming you once more back onto the mortal plane. It blinds you, making you unable to see what happens until you materialize and your boots hit solid ground, your knees buckling beneath you.

But instead of meeting the cold hard floor beneath you, warm arms catch you as you fall, your body falling against a much sturdier one.

Your mind is muddled as your sense come back to you, a multitude of faces swimming before you. You see Karlach and Halsin hovering off to the side with Shadowheart. Even Astarion’s face swims with worry.

But what catches your attention most is the familiar face of your lover right above you, tears clinging to his lashes.

Tears?

You’ve never seen Gale cry, never seen him so much as sniffle or whimper. But now…

Small, warm tears drip onto your cheeks as he leans down to press his forehead against your own, his arms crushing you to his chest so fiercely you nearly can’t breathe.

“Thank the gods-“ he chokes on a sob, “you’re alive. You’re alive. I…” he pulls away from you then, reaching a hand up to wipe the moisture from your skin. “I watched you die and all I could think about was what a fool I’d been - how unfair and cruel I was to you.”

You shake your head, bringing a hand up cradle his cheek, wiping at the tears there as you furrow your brow.

“What happened?”

Gale opens his mouth to speak, but another raspy echoing voice answers. You turn your head just enough to see Withers standing a few paces away.

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee, but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew,” the being says plainly, voice lacking any emotion. “The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of thee that has grown during thy travels.” You swear you see the bag of bones smile. “That part Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.”

He continues. “The heart of a savior hath overshadowed the mind of a murderer” he clenches a fist triumphantly. “Thou hast vanquished thy Urge.”

It's then, when his words truly settle in that you sense it - or, don’t sense it.

There’s…nothing. No primal bloodlust, no violent tug at the edge of your mind.

It’s gone.

Hope swells in your chest as you look back to Gale, eyes swimming with tears of your own now.

“He’s right I - I can’t feel it. The urge. I think it’s gone, for good this time.”

Gale shakes his head, pulling you ever closer as his lips fall to your cheek. “I don’t care,” he says firmly, causing momentary panic to tug at your heart.

But Gale is quick to sooth, pulling away to look into your eyes. “I only mean that I do not care if your urges are with you or not. I would love you all the same and I-“ he closes his eyes, shoulders tense with regret. “I was a fool for making you think I felt otherwise. You stuck by me even when I didn’t deserve it and I…I did not give you the same respect or care.”

His voice is soft and broken as he speaks, eyes opening again. “I love you, more than than even my goddess, more than the stars that litter the night skies and I - I can only beg for your forgiveness, though I would not begrudge you for holding it from me.”

As his words sink in, you faintly recognize that the others have retreated quietly, even Withers has taken his leave, allowing you and Gale a moment of privacy.

Slowly you move so you are kneeling before Gale who mirrors your position, his arms still wrapped around you. You bring your hands up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth slowly.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes watering with tears once more. “That’s why I…I wanted to make things right - prove that I wasn’t that person anymore.”

“But you have!” Gale says, voice striken with grief. “Time and time again you showed us who you truly are, proved that the urges you felt were against your will and yet I still-“ he laughs bitterly, “I still let the revelation of your past cloud who I know you truly are. I was cruel. And there is no excuse for the harsh words I uttered. I only hope to show you the error of my ways, no matter how long it takes.”

You smile at him - your lover, your partner, the only person you want to spend your future with - and kiss him.

You pour all of your love and desperate aching need for him into that one action, heart swelling with warmth as he responds in kind.

You only part when you need air, moving to rest your head against his own, your breathes mingling together.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” you whisper. “Just stay by my side until the end as I will you.”

Gale smiles, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“I would love nothing more.”

#Gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #bg3 gale x reader #gale x dark urge #Dark urge #bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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andypantsx3 · 6 months

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INCENDIARY | 8 | BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it. TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader, 18+ mdni LENGTH: 3k, FIC MASTERLIST

For a few seconds, nothing made sense.

There was a rush of heat over your skin, skin-meltingly hot, and an arm around your waist. Then an explosion blew out all the sound around you. Your ears rang, and your hands scrabbled for purchase in Bakugou’s uniform as you were violently jerked backwards.

A rush of cooler air met your skin, and you realized you’d been pulled out of the car just as you watched it swerve and hit a light pole, the glass of the passenger windows shattering. You couldn’t hear the crunch of metal over the muffled ringing in your ears, but you could see the side of the car wrap around the pole, could imagine the metal squealing and screaming.

You were jerked out of the way again just as another rush of flame went flaring past you, so hot it felt like it had singed your skin, Bakugou’s arm curling around you as he aimed an explosion into the flames to blow you clear.

It was a testament to his strength and control that he was able to maneuver you with one arm, even as the two of you twisted midair, holding you tight against him as he caught his balance, bracing to steady you as you tripped wildly over yourself. He yanked you behind a parked car, blocking any clear shot at you, leveling a hand over the roof. Your hands still fisted in his uniform, you whipped around for the source of the flames—

Only to find him clearly, grinning wildly in the middle of the street, watching you over the top of the car.

Matsui looked just like the picture you’d been shown, all those months ago in the police station. He was plain, with dark eyes, thick dark brows and wisps of curly black hair. He might have been any other salaryman in the country, except for the naked hate that hung off his features as plainly as his clothes from his wiry shoulders.

Your heartbeat thudded against Bakugou’s chest, your nails digging crescents into the material of his uniform as a cold thrill of fear went down your spine.

And Matsui wasn’t alone. A jolt went through you as you noticed another figure beside him—a figure you’d last squared off against over the prickly grass of your campus lawn.

It was one of the QRAs. He seemed to be missing his other friends from that night, as the YouTube video you’d rewatched had made it clear you’d been yelling at three men the evening this had all started. And you were at least gratified to note he looked nervous, small and sweating, but the same hatred glowed clear across face.

It was funny, that all these months later, you had never actually learned his name. He was just some faceless jerk to you, a symptom of a cultural disease.

Bakugou’s voice in your ear, slightly muffled, notified you that your hearing was slowly returning to you. “—eyes on Matsui,” he was growling, and you realized he was speaking into an earpiece. “Some other fucking chump is with him, quirk unknown—”

But you knew it. You remembered from the comments of the video that had started this all: my guy out here with a pencil-sharpening quirk and he thinks he’s genetically superior.

“It’s—he can square the tip off of cylindrical objects,” you said, your voice slightly too loud in your own ears. “He was on my campus.”

A blonde eyebrow went up, but Bakugou quickly relayed the info, his eyes never leaving the pair in the middle of the street. “Get Monoma on the fucking cylinder idiot, I’ll get Matsui,” he finished. His mouth went hard as he seemed to listen to something back, grunting in return.

“Alright brat,” he said, turning to you. His tone seemed just a little bit clearer, the gravel in it pronounced. “Genius Office has a bunch of heroes on the way, not that we’re gonna need them for two fucking idiot civilians. Our backup is just a few streets that way,” he gestured in the direction of Matsui and the pencil sharpener guy. “I need you to get around them and make a run for them while I cover you. Can you do that for me?”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and your legs went weaker at the idea of moving out from behind the car. But Matsui had just torched one car—you were sure he’d be at it again in a minute.

You gathered yourself up, nodding. “Yeah. I can.”

At least Bakugou had been putting you through the paces this week so you had some level of exercise under your belt. You suddenly wished you’d had more, though. “I can run,” you said, to reassert yourself.

“Good girl,” Bakugou said, scarlet eyes flickering down to you momentarily. A little smirk touched his mouth, like he knew what he was doing.

You were embarrassed when a feeling like determination surged through you, your body responding to him even at a time like this. You let go of your death grip on his hero costume, testing your legs out under you. Somehow, the burn of your face was helping distract you from the weak, jelly-like consistency of your knees.

A spurt of flame made you jump, but it was just Matsui shaking out his hands, grinning at you over the roof of the car. He seemed to like that he’d scared you, and the guy with the pencil sharpening quirk laughed, pleasure twisting his thin mouth.

“Come on out, drunk girl,” Matsui finally crooned, his tone soft and medial. The sound of his voice made your skin crawl, and you suddenly wished for the deafening ring of Bakugou’s explosions again. “You think you’re my equal, don’t you? Weren’t you just on your way to tell the whole world that? Come on out and show me, little girl. Come out and show everyone how equal we are.”

The little pencil sharpener next to him looked smug, as though his quirk was any match up to Matsui’s either. You glowered at him, lip automatically curling.

“Just fucking run, brat,” Bakugou told you. “‘M gonna rip his intestines out right through his asshole, you’re not gonna wanna see it.”

A horrible little gurgling laugh escaped you. It was reassuring, Bakugou’s confidence. Fear still tingled down your spine but you thought if you started, you’d be able to keep running.

“Tell me when to go,” you breathed, testing your step again.

“Start running left as soon as I get out over this car,” Bakugou commanded. “He’s just some overpowered internet troll, he’s not combat trained. He’ll take the shot at me as soon as he sees me move and it’s gonna hit the right side of the car. It’ll block his visibility and you can get behind that bus stand before he’s done.”

You nodded. “And then?”

“As soon as he takes his next shot you keep going and don’t stop. I’ll handle him from there. Monoma’s in range and he’ll get the cylinder fuck as soon as I can get him clear of Matsui.”

You made a noise of acknowledgement, grateful you had Bakugou’s combat experience on your side. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m ready.”

Bakugou’s gloved fingers briefly touched yours and he nodded. Then he shook out his arms, bracing them behind him. “That’s my girl,” he said, sending a devastatingly feral smirk your way.

You had just a single moment for your heart to trip over itself, a flush breaking out across your skin. And then an explosion ripped apart the pavement behind him.

Immediately, a towering column of flame whirled past and you launched yourself out from behind the car just as you saw Matsui’s figure disappear behind it. The heat distorted the air in front of you, shimmering and waving as you threw yourself through it, tearing down the street as fast as you could.

A roaring explosion from Bakugou’s direction drowned out the slap of your feet, and you slid behind the ads papering the wall of the bus stop just as Matsui’s flames dissolved into the air. You heard another volley of explosions, crackling like fireworks, loud and obnoxious and clearly designed to draw attention.

The clatter of loose gravel pinged off of the bus stand, kicked up by the force of Bakugou’s power. Some of it skidded underneath, bouncing off your shoes in a riot of dusty pebbles and chunks.

You peered back out, trying to judge when to make your next move. You caught sight of Matsui aiming another shot after Bakugou, and your grip reflexively tightened on a piece of gravel, the rough, grainy edges cutting into your fingers. You watched as Bakugou dodged some sort of projectile thrown by the pencil sharpening asshole, too, and then maneuvered quickly as Matsui’s flames blazed to life in his hands.

As you watched, a sudden, overwhelming incredulity seized you. Matsui and the little pencil man were so dedicated to the idea of their own superiority that they were willing to risk life and limb against pro hero Dynamight. Their inflated fucking egos surpassed even quirk supremacy—like they thought they needed to feel truly supreme in all things, even against the firepower of one of the most dangerous pros of all time. Even as Bakugou clearly was just drawing attention and dodging until you were clear of the situation. He was so obviously just playing with them.

It was insane. It was stupid—they were so fucking stupid. They were so unbelievably full of themselves, and a white hot feeling choked you, all-encompassing in its intensity.

A certainty gripped you, like the memory of that night on campus when you’d first encountered the pencil sharpener QRA. It was so reductive, the idea of measuring yourself against someone based on arbitrary traits like strength or quirks. It was the ideology of a child, of an idiot, of someone so insecure in their own place in the world that they needed to dig people out of their own places so they could be insecure too.

But people were better than that. People could learn to be better than that, like Bakugou.

If anyone was lesser in this world, it wasn’t quirkless people. It was people who let themselves act lesser like this in their desire to be more, instead of confronting the reality of their own character.

And you had already proved you were not the type of girl who could keep taking things lying down.

Before you knew what you were doing, your grip was tightening on the piece of gravel. Your vision squared in on Matsui and the QRA, and your arm drew back, hefting the gravel in your hand. And then in a wild fit of emotion, you sent it arcing through the air, spiraling tightly, a messy but certainty-fueled throw.

It hit the pencil guy square in the back of the neck, knocking him into Matsui. Matsui stumbled, and the flames at his fingertips stuttered and guttered out.

Even from a distance, you could read the surprise on Bakugou’s face. An ugly, shocked laugh suddenly escaped him. Matsui quickly staggered back to his feet, wheeling on you.

But then an explosion swept across the street, blowing Matsui and the pencil guy right into the side of a building, your distraction the only opening Bakugou needed. They hit the stone with a dull thud, sliding down in a heap together, the pencil guy letting out a groan.

Bakugou and the hero you recognized as Monoma were there in an instant, strapping quirk suppressors right around their wrists, bearing them down to the ground. As soon as they had, a flood of other heroes and officers came washing out into the street, boots quickly scuffling in their direction.

You watched as officers cordoned off the street, ushering curious civilians back into their homes, and began to document the damage Matsui had caused. Several squad cars and an ambulance rolled into view, their lights sending flashes off of the surrounding windows, and Matsui and the pencil QRA were bundled away into them.

An officer came over to take a statement from you, and you fumbled your way through an explanation, mind still churning. You’d ended it. For all the talk about the superiority of their power, all it had taken was a wild throw from you to make both Matsui and the QRA stumble. All it had taken was the strength of your conviction to give Bakugou the opportunity to disable them for good.

Bakugou stalked over as soon as he’d given his own report, tearing off his gloves with his teeth and stowing them on his belt. His hair was a little windswept, and there was soot along the hinge of his jaw, but he was otherwise unharmed, not even a single burn through the fabric of his uniform. He glowed with the flush of a fight, of a job well done, and you thought he had never looked quite so handsome.

“Nice shot, princess,” he told you, flashing you a wicked white smile, sending a searing heat pooling in your stomach. “Thought I told you to run though.”

But he didn’t seem angry, because then his calloused fingers came up to take your chin, and he seized your mouth in a hard kiss.

You felt yourself flush all the way down to your toes, kissing him back eagerly. You were heady with your own success, with the way Bakugou had looked at you.

“We’re gonna be late for the interview,” you said when he finally let your mouth free.

Bakugou looked momentarily like he would rather bear you back off into the safehouse than let you go to the interview. And you did plan to thank him incredibly thoroughly for the save, once you’d made it back into some semblance of privacy together.

But you had things to say, still. Things to say now especially that you’d shut down a couple more internet trolls so handily. Now that you’d proven the ferocity of their ideology didn’t hold up in the real world—not when regular, everyday people like you had something to say about it.

“Always running that fucking mouth, brat,” Bakugou said, but his tone was nothing but appreciative. He set upon a nearby officer with alacrity, commandeering him and his car to shuttle you over to the studio, stuffing himself in after you resolutely.

He kept a hand on you the entire way, and stalked after you down the halls of the studio, sending the hordes of producers and production assistants into a frenzy. When they finally let you out of hair and makeup after scrubbing all the street grime off of you, he watched you carefully, those eyes hot on you as you settled into the chair opposite your interviewer, his mouth quirked up in a ferociously appreciative smirk.

The interviewer greeted you, and you answered her back, feeling safe and warm and secure under your boyfriend’s watch. And then the interview began, and she prompted you carefully, the same questions you’d been running over in your head for days.

“We’ve asked you here today for commentary on the cultural barriers that quirkless people like yourself face, and the National Diet’s efforts in passing a bill that would help tackle these issues,” she said, nodding at you warmly. “Is there anything you think is especially important for people to know about what it’s like to be quirkless in a society like ours?”

You took a breath in, and reviewed your answer determinedly. You’d bash quirk supremacy the way you had Matsui, like it was a neck and you were a bit of gravel, kicked up in all the fighting.

You leaned in and ran your mouth like you always did. This time, with nothing but firm resolution, assurance, and one admittedly hot, supportive boyfriend behind you.

UPDATE: QUIRKLESS LEGEND TAKES DOWN PRO-QUIRK BIGOT | REACTION Mika Reacts · 2.19M subscribers 3 hours ago · 11:24 · 1,006,041 views Description Hey guys, quirkless girl aka “drunk girl” is back on my channel in a jaw-dropping joint takedown by her and pro hero Dynamight. Right before an interview on New Day Japan yesterday… [SHOW MORE]

karma is a rock, karma is the gravel to ur neck on the weekend greenhopp 3 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 900 [Thumbs Down]

omg they gave him the fucken combo!!!! 🪨💥my man got the 10 piece with a biscuit no drink goddamn Hisa Ota 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 600 [Thumbs Down]

yooooooo remember the time i said she didn’t need a quirk to put one of these bros in a coffin?? dm me if u want ur future told. now accepting venmo and cash app. yeetus deletus 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.2k [Thumbs Down]

END NOTES: We finally made it, guys!! Thank you so much for sticking with this series for what ended up being over 1.5 years, my longest fic span yet, and being patient with me every step of the way. I have said it before but this fic especially has been my biggest challenge, and I am so grateful for the support that helped me make it all the way to the end.

I also want to say thank you again to my sensitivity readers @darkenedniqhts and @cat-slippered for helping me tell this story in the cleanest and most respectful way possible. I would not have tried my hand at anything with themes like these if it wasn't for you guys helping hold me accountable and educating me at key points. I appreciate everything you have done to make both the story and myself better over the course of its telling. I will be forever grateful.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader

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calisources · 7 months

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IN LOVE AND WAR, EVERYTHING GOES. a sentence meme based around the subject of allies, enemies, war and enemies to lovers and more of the same tropes we all love. change pronouns, names and locations as you see fit. these are all scrambled around.

“Friends ask you questions; enemies question you.”

“You can live safe and be protected by people just like you, or you can stand up and be a leader for what is right.”

“Where do we find allies?"

“War created bizarre allies, while peace itself could be divisive.”

“I promise you, nothing will happen to you.”

“I choose my allies carefully and my enemies more carefully still.”

“People fight wars over ideas.”

“Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please.”

“I was raised in hatred, Roma. I could never be your lover, only your killer.”

“We were enemies, no matter the truths. No matter that I loved him.”

“He’d set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her.”

“She's not the type to swoon for pretty lies.”

“The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn't stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.”

“These violent delights have violent ends."

“Men without morals are dangerous beasts.”

“The spiteful, little stars.”

“Death is real. Death is inevitable. Death comes when you're not ready for it. Be ready.”

“I was alive, but I wasn’t living. You took things from me. My soul―my heart.”

“You’re supposed to keep your enemies close. Therefore, it stands to reason that your sworn enemy should be kept closest.”

“When will you see I'm not your enemy, but your weapon. Wield me.”

“Can’t even get out of my grasp? Or is it because you secretly don’t want to?”

“Why are you confessing all of your crimes?”Are you trying to get hit?”

“You're a hero and I'm a monster. There's only one way that story ever ends.”

"Tell me you came to find me. That you changed your mind."

"How--how can you even say such things,on an evening you are meant to choose another as your bride?"

"My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned."

"I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.”

“The road for hell for me is paved with everything I would do for you, and that list never ends.”

“You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you."

“You have no idea what I could give you."

“If you mean to take me captive, you need only ask. I would come willingly.”

“I see you truly for everything you are and everything you will be and I claim you as mine.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone as vexing as you."

“Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.”

“A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends.”

"We're on opposite sides, you know."

"You're the one claiming we're all villains. There's no black or white, only gray area. We can coexist somewhere in the middle, can't we?”

“A man with no enemies is a man with no character.”

“I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.”

“I like your savage brutality."

"That's a poetic observation, coming from such a savage creature.”

"And you are mine, Victor Nox. whether you agree is irrelevant.”

“Bitter people are not interested in what you say, but what you hide.”

“Enemies can't break your spirit, only friends can.”

“In order to know your enemy, you must become your enemy.”

“Such a pretty face, but so weak and emotional. Just a regular man, after all.”

#rp meme #sentence #sentences memes #sentence meme #rp resources #rp prompt #prompts #writing prompts #roleplay memes #roleplay meme

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 1 year

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Sagau but the reader gets reallyangry evry time when someone insults sucrose,venti,nahida and fischil...... so the former sages of academia are now seeing the reader riding on azdaha screaming how they will wrath of the rock, or anyone who badmouths sucrose and fischil feels like reader screaming that they will sufere while zhongli and ei holds them back, but when someone try to insult reader.......reader just gets bored and gose to sleep and acolaytes have wtf face

When Someone Insults Sucrose, Venti, & Nahida... Vs When Someone Insults Reader

Anon, you know for a fact things are about to go down when Reader hears the insults directed at these characters. For all we know—if reader wasn't be held back they probably would actually murder some people.

OH, and this one's going to be VERY LONG, so be prepared! This was also the reason why I had to get rid of Fischl—that and it was also because my motivation decided to die on me—

(Disclaimers: Might be OOC, (perhaps) Mentions of Violence, & Quest Spoilers!)

Sucrose

The moment she gets insulted for how shy and unusual her experiments were, you can literally tell her confidence breaking. You can see it in the way her ears began to droop more and how she starts fumbling with her stuff.

And, you treasure Sucrose A LOT. What are you going to do, sit there on the side lines? NOT do anything?

"Hey, you lot!" You march up to the insulters out of your hiding place. "What do you think you're doing, insulting one of my acolytes?"

This gets the gossipers to shut up immediately. They are shivering as they hear your voice, flaring with anger and hatred to the bone.

"Y-Your Grace! We were just...uhm—just...commenting! Yes, just commenting on, uh—"

"Shut up. This. INSTANT!" Your voice rings out through the street of Mondstadt. Sucrose's eyes were wide as she sees you, the Almighty Creator, stand up for her. "DO THIS AGAIN, AND I WILL SLIT YOUR THROAT OUT, YOU HEAR ME?"

Yeah, the gossipers are getting absolute PSTD from this. They are never recovering from this incident. Sucrose, upon hearing the threat, quickly runs up to you, to hold you back from actually hurting them.

Yes, you were raising your fists. Who wouldn't want to punch them? They were acting ignorant!

"P-please, Your Grace! Let's not get violent!" Sucrose tries to persuade you from not doing anything murderous—she doesn't want to have to report to the Knights of Favonius that the Creator themself has committed first-degree murder on the streets right before her eyes.

You sigh, relenting. You won't do it if Sucrose won't like it, but if anyone asked you, they absolutely deserved losing their vocal cords.

"Fine." You turn back to the gossipers, who were cowering on the table they were at. "You both, get out of here. If this happens again, I will do what I threatened to do. Or worse."

That's what gets the moving. After several panicked confirmations ("Yes, Your Grace!" "Understood, Your Grace!" "This won't happen again, Your Grace!"), they leave.

But if you were the one that got insulted? Sucrose would be so horrified of the audacity of these people! How could they say such things about the Creator?

She would be even more horrified to realize that you were there, hearing it all. So, instead of telling off the gossipers, she runs up to you to make sure you were okay. Your feelings matter more than those idiots!

"Your Grace, are you okay? I'm so sorry for what they're saying! Please know that they're not true!" She would say gently, and Sucrose would be ultimately surprised to see you actually pretty chill about the entire incident.

"Hm? Yeah, why wouldn't I be okay?—Oh, are you talking about those people over there?" You point at the gossipers, still insulting and calling you names. "Yeah, they're actually pretty amusing."

Shookth. That's what Sucrose's expression is. Absolute shock. You would expect someone like the Almighty Creator to be enraged or upset by this kind of behavior from your own people, but no, you're just sitting there, at a table near the Good Hunter, listening to some dudes piling up random trash on the table like it's some Live Soap Opera.

"U-uhm, pardon me, Your Grace...but are you not affected by what they're saying?" Sucrose can't help but be puzzled at your reaction. It's not exactly...what people would expect, you know?

"Nope, none. Anyways, I'm feeling up for a mushroom pizza—wanna come join me? It'll be on me~"

Sucrose blushes, her mind going frantic. Pizza, with the CREATOR THEMSELF?! But, if the creator wants her to join, she can't refuse!

"O-of course, Your Grace!"

"Alright then. SARA! YOU MIND IF YOU MAKE US A MUSHROOM PIZZA, PLEASE?" The moment you shout from your table, the gossipers turned pale. They look over at you and Sucrose.

That was the next gossip going on throughout the streets for the next few weeks. And you found that entire episode even more amusing.

Venti

This guy is honestly pretty used to insults, so hearing one of his own people call him names and insulting his skills as a bard, he just ignores them and goes on with his day.

However, today was different. He was inside the tavern when you stormed to the table where the insults were being piled up on.

"Ahem." Just by the sound of your voice, you can see the dudes trembling. You were that much of a scary character when you wanted to be. "What is the meaning of this?"

"A-ah! Your Grace, we were just placing opinions on a certain bard's skill in their music—"

"And how does insulting the bard himself have to do anything with their music taste?" you ask, voice ringing with anger. The bad mouthers were turning pale just by the tone you were using. If emotions could kill, your glare would have them drop dead in a heartbeat. Venti found that a little amusing, honestly.

"U-uhm, Your Grace, we can explain!" one of them quickly exclaims, trying to save their own skins. You glare down at them, not even budging in expression or movement.

"Perhaps I should call StormTerror and have your discarded bodies thrown into the ocean." Ayo, hold up! Venti nearly sweats his pants off. The Creator calling in his dear friend, Dvalin, just to kill like, 3 people that were badmouthing him?

As much as he wanted to see his buddy again, he does not like the situation as to why he was even here in Mondstadt again. And besides, these three were still children of Mondstadt! It's better if he steps in and saves them all.

"Yahoo! Your Grace!~ Come join me with for a lovely glass of wine!" He uses his cheekiness to get your attention, knowing the favoritism he'll get over the trio in their little corner.

You sigh. You were so close of letting loose your rage on these idiots, but alas, having fun with Venti outweighed dealing with smack talkers.

So, despite your urge to continue to scream bloody murder from the skies above, you joined Venti at his usual spot in front of the bartender. Venti can only smile as he manages to defuse the situation without making a bigger scene.

"So, Your Grace~ Care to hear this bard's next ballad dedicated to the Almighty Creator themself?" Purely distracts you before you can think more about the frustrating topic.

But when Venti hears someone smack talking about the Creator? Oh, it's really about to go down. Someone was really asking for a death wish. He can suddenly sympathize how much anger you could've felt when you heard other talking crap about him.

Until he sees you, chilling in the corner, listening in on the crap and looking like you would fall asleep at any given time. Venti was puzzled—has the Creator heard insults such as these before? He had to know.

So, disregarding the stupid and semi-drunk idiots, he runs up to you. The moment you see him, you were suddenly very much awake.

"Your Grace! I apologize for what those morons are saying—please, allow this humble bard to deal with them—" You wave him off, telling him to not bother. You tell him that it was actually pretty amusing, and sometimes really good background noise to help you sleep.

Now this dude is even more confused. How could insults be good background noise? How could the Creator themself be using that as a source to doze off to dreamland? It didn't make sense, but he suppose it'll be better for himself if he just left the question alone, never to be answered.

"Well, anyways, I'm up for a walk—you wanna come with?" Venti grins at the request. Spending time with the Creator? Of course he would join! He can brag about it all to the old block head in Liyue and the grumpy royal in Inazuma.

"Ehe, lead the way, Your Grace!" He says it loud enough to have the gossipers freeze and look over. They watch as you both leave the tavern to go on a walk.

Mission accomplished! Venti can live with that kind of revenge on the plate. It served them right to be scared.

Nahida

Okay, to make it more convenient for myself, let's have this take place before the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata was erased from Irmunsil. The traveler has managed to save Nahida from the sanctuary of Surasthana, and now we're basically at the part where Cyno meets Azar face to face.

You, quite literally, begged Cyno to let you join him—you were sick and tired of that old man that proclaimed himself to be he Grand Sage anyways.

Even without all the begging, Cyno would've let you follow him anyways. If Azar didn't think that the Dendro Archon could ever lay judgement on him, then let the Almighty Creator reign justice on him themself.

The moment you step into the sanctuary, however, you felt your blood boil. You remember playing through this darn quest and listened to all the crap this son of a dirt bag threw at the wholesome bean that is the Dendro Archon.

You knew what would happen, since you played through the entire quest. For some reason, Teyvat hasn't gone through this change, but you knew. In the end, Nahida was too merciful to the sages. And, let's be honest, who wouldn't want to throw a darn punch at this guy?

You let Cyno do most of the talking with Azar, enjoying how he was looking uneasy as you silently glared at him from the shadows. You can tell Nahida saw you, her eyes wide with awe and shock.

The moment Cyno slams down his polearm, you took it as your cue to come out of your hiding spot.

"And if you think you're leaving this place unharmed, you better think twice! I will claw off that smug face of yours if you think you would get away insulting that precious child!" You point at Nahida to make your statement very clear of who said-child was, in case Azar was stupid enough to think it was someone else.

The moment the (ex)Grand Sage saw you, you can see the literal fear dawning his very figure and eyes. Cyno had to hold you back with an arm on your shoulder because you were looking wayy too murderous than he thought you would be.

"Your Grace, please calm down!" As much as she hates what the sages and the Fatui did to the people of Sumeru, she didn't exactly want Azar dead.

Nahida is smart enough to speculate that if she interfered, maybe Cyno would be able to do his job for both she and the Almighty Creator before things escalate too quickly by Their Grace's divine hand.

As much as she loves you standing up to her, she really doesn't want things to get too bloody than it needs to be.

You glare at Azar one more time. Fine, if you can't have this son of a crap dead as a corpse, you would take some satisfaction in driving fear into him.

"You do this again, little old man, and I'll make sure you actually lose all that self-pride you have and oh-so cherish. Got it?" Even with confirmation, you wouldn't let this guy off the hook. You were that enraged with him.

But at least Nahida was out of her cage, so that's all that mattered.

"Don't worry, Your Grace! I won't let others do this again to me, I promise!" She reassures you that she will not have anyone trample all over her again, and you just couldn't help yourself but smile gently down at her. You know very well she wouldn't.

Alright, post-sumeru archon quest, Nahida is pretty much free to roam wherever she wants. She's pretty happy, until she hears a group of people huddling together talking bad about the Almighty Creator...

At first, she was surprised. Then she got upset and a little angry. Why would her people speak so ill of the Creator?

She literally nearly breaks when she sees you chilling at a different table at Puspa Cafe. She ran up to you, surprisingly, undetected by almost everyone she ran past.

You notice Nahida approaching, and welcome her with a warm smile and a wave, but dies away when she sees the sadness on her face.

"Your Grace! Please forgive my people for talking such false things about you!" She would exclaim, her eyes close to watering tears. While she doesn't like what she hears about you, she doesn't want her people hurt for such things they say.

"Oh—that's what you were concerned about?" you said, dumbly. You look over at the table that were still gossiping about you. "Nah, don't worry, Nahida—they're actually pretty funny."

That immediately gets Nahida spiraling down in confusion. Huh? How could such hurtful things be funny? Was the Almighty Creator very used to this kind of thing, or was it simply because they truly did find it amusing somehow?

"I'm sorry, Your Grace...but I don't really get what you mean." You shrug it off, telling her that's just how you roll. Besides, this was like a free, live time drama show! They were that amusing.

"Say, since we're sitting here in Puspa Cafe, how 'bout I treat you to some Padisarah Pudding and Candied Ajilenakh Nuts? It's all on me!" Yeah, you're pretty okay with spoiling Nahida with treats. Besides, cute bean was sad—you wanted to cheer her up!

When she agrees, you shout, "BOSS! MIND IF YOU GET ME TWO PADISARAH PUDDINGS AND A PLATE OF AJILENAKH NUTS?" And, much like what happened with Sucrose and the pizza, the gossipers freeze, turn pale, and look over.

They become even paler when they see the Dendro Archon herself sitting with the Almighty Creator, casually talking about random things.

"Your Grace, did you really fall from the sky as a shooting star to our world?" You and Nahida would continue talking about your origins and how you brought Teyvat to life from the storybook version, not knowing that the bad mouthers were having a existential crisis at their table.

AND THAT'S IT! I'M SORRY FISCHL, BUT I AM VERY TIRED—

I hope you guys enjoyed it though! See you around! :)

Ghost Rebel Side Note: This was WAYY longer than I thought it would be, holy cow- but at least it turned out okay? :') Boy, I am so tired lol- this took far too much energy than I thought it would. My motivation legit started plummeting when I got to Nahida—You can legit tell I had to reuse the cafe/restaurant scene from Sucrose into hers because my brain just died on me- But I do hope you guys still liked it! Especially you, Anon! I hope it was up to your standards :)

Check Out The Ghost Rebel's Blog Description to See if Their Mailbox is Open!

#sagau venti #sagau nahida #sagau genshin #sagau #sagau x reader #yandere sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin cult au #sagau cult au #genshin self aware #self aware genshin #platonic genshin x reader #platonic #platonic genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #sagau sucrose #WHAT DO YOU MEAN SAGAU SUCROSE ISN'T A TAG????#sagau cyno

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jewishvitya · 2 months

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I still have complicated feelings about trying to address antisemitism currently.

On the one hand, we aren't the main characters of Palestinian liberation, I can't center us, so I heavily limit how much I talk about it even though I see so much antisemitism.

On the other hand, I don't think it's fair to expect us not to address the hatred against us. I'm watching my friends deal with the fear and the hurt now, and it's all mixed up with other elements of this. Are we meant to watch the harm being done all over the world, violent ideas leading to violent actions, and, what, staying quiet hoping we can clean up after?

From the inside, I'm treated as a traitor. From the outside... someone said "as a Jew I'm either your scapegoat or your token, there's no in-between" and it resonates.

#riki babbles

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sapphixxx · 4 months

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Part of why I dragged my feet on ever checking out JJK was the reputation I heard was that it's a BRUTAL grimdark story where ANYONE can DIE in a snap and the author says FUCK you. And after finally catching up with the anime that just... Isn't the tone at all?? Like, Game of Thrones, Gantz, Attack on Titan, etc other cornerstone grimdark reference points, I think one of their defining hallmarks is not just that characters die suddenly and violently, but that human life is nasty, brutish, and meaningless, and it's your own fault for being stupid enough to get attached.

Jujutsu Kaisen on the other hand, I don't know how you can look at one of the most recent casualties circa S2Ep20 of the anime where that character gets a full entire episode reminiscing about their childhood, and the moments and people that meant most to them, and come away thinking the author's intent was to treat life as meaningless. The amount of screen time devoted to the following character who gets badly maimed, the audience gets enthusiastically shoved neck deep into their insane kaleidoscopic passion that is never once undercut or subverted. Both of these characters, far from being callously snuffed out and dumped in the trash, were shown immense love. What we got was not a statement of their life being disposable, but a celebration of life, a reminder of who they are, what they cared about, what made them special, who they loved and who loved them and will remember them in turn.

This is a story about curses born of misery, hatred, and malice. It is also a story deeply concerned with dualism, especially when it comes to attachment and desire. Misery stems from worldly attachments, but it is not weak or foolish to become attached to things in this world. To love something is to set yourself up for the pain or anger of losing it, or sadness of having it denied. But that love is what makes life worth living anyway, and what makes it worth it to keep fighting. We as the audience are sad because we are attached to these characters who have met terrible fates. We see enough of them to be able to clearly picture the whole rich life they could have lived surrounded by friends and feel the sting of that path cut short. It is a story about how it was worthwhile knowing them well enough to be attached anyway, even if it meant unavoidable heartbreak.

This is true of both the human protagonists as well as the curses! Volcano Man and Mahito are ruthless killers who cruelly take lives without a thought. They also have hopes and dreams that they earnestly try to protect and follow through on, and face heartbreaking despair upon defeat. They feel pain just like we do, but must nevertheless be killed. Humans face pain through the very act of living, but nevertheless must live.

In true grimdark fiction there is rarely anything good in life for characters to return to once the battle is over. In Jujutsu Kaisen, on the contrary, there is enough good in life that we see it even amidst the battle. I can see that no other way than an expression of genuine affection. Truly bleak fiction leaves me wondering why everyone involved doesn't just put a gun in their mouth and be done with it. JJK provides an answer--because you'll get to laugh about ruining an expensive shirt, because you'll meet an acquaintance's hot mom, because the next human earthworm movie is coming out, because your favorite idol is doing a meet and greet this weekend, because maybe someday you'll finally go to Malaysia. There are many answers, and none of them are stupid.

#Chainsaw Man is also like this #op #jjk

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