chandrxla

[chandrxla]

guys this next fic i’m working on may destroy your souls. here’s a hint 👧🏻🧒🏼⛪️🌾✝️👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨😱🔪😏❤️💣🤯🤠🐎🔫💉🧐😏❤️😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

let’s just say it’s quite the departure from the national park fic. angst is my home ngl

[chandrxla]

let's talk the red string of fate + other fun chapter 8 things — tktk meta

since chapter 8's finally out, i think it's time we trace the theme of fate in tktk and the ways it's integrated into the story. plus other fun things!! if you're not caught up yet, head to ao3! spoilers and a really looooooong winded analysis of ch 8 ahead.

4k words | cw: mentions of violence, medical trauma, and catholic guilt spirals

red string theory

once upon a time, i got suuuuuuper high, so of course, i opened up my working doc and started writing. this was chapter 4 (the burn) era where the #spiral first starts. i usually hold off on finalizing any lines i write while under the influence but this one.... i think i had just rewatched the episode where saya talks about the red string theory, and it just flowed out of my brain mid-cheez-it-chew. i think i sat there screaming internally for 10 minutes over it. "You can feel it. The shift. The red string snapping. So you do the only thing you know how to do. You pick the fight." of course, we're in extremely unreliable narrator territory. the red string isn't actually snapping here. if anything, it's winding itself tighter around reader's pinky finger, so much so that the tip of it is starting to turn purple 😹😹 marcus sees her breaking down about something he has no idea about (yet) and he tells her she's stuck w/ him. he's locked in fr. loyalty is his hamartia. this is FATE.

that above quote is probably where it's stated most explicitly. but after writing that, i'm pretty sure i started tweaking because the red string/thread imagery is literally in the fic summary, and i didn't even do it on purpose:

What starts as a mistake becomes a tether neither of you know how to cut. Trust is dangerous. Desire is worse. And King’s Dominion has never tolerated loose ends.

and after that, i tried incorporating the theme subtly later on to make myself (and you, now!) tweak further. #intellectualism

firstly, it's in the physicality. there's a lot of "push," "pull," "tug," "like gravity" language in moments between them. some of it is intentional, some of it isn't.

this part in ch 5 wasn't intentional at first, but it gets built upon later.

Your forehead finds his chest like gravity pulled it there, and his arms wrap around you a second later.

in ch 6, we get:

You let your hand drift over his shoulder, fingers brushing the chain tucked beneath his collar. He leans into it like instinct. Like gravity.

and then i will admit i went a little crazy in ch 8 with:

As he walks through the courtyard, past the academic building, he tells himself he’s not doing this. That he’s not that guy, the one who can’t take a hint. The one who comes crawling back. 

But it’s not crawling. 

It’s gravity. 

It’s inevitability. 

It’s you. 

which is echoed again when he's in shambles in the motel with a more staccato rhythm to show that he really is hanging on by a singular thread (pun intended the thread is red) LMAO

He breaks. Collapses into your chest. Gravity. Inevitability. Fate. He’s been crying, he realizes. Messy, wrecked sobs that don’t even hurt anymore. Just relief.

it happens one more time in ch 9. if u spot it next week lmk ;)

there were soooo many times i wanted to mention fate before that part in ch 8, but i didn't want to kill the impact w/ a lack of subtlety. but it's there a little bit in ch 6. i was rewatching the show a bit ago and there's this scene in episode 9 where lin basically says that love is weakness and almost whacks marcus in the face w his cane before maria stops him. is that not basically the thesis of this whole fic? i had to include it. here, though, we reverse it. reader's the one who almost gets her nose broken and marcus stops it from happening. that makes it hurt later when he gets absolutely pummeled looking for her later. i'm evil i know.

“Emotions are a chemical mirage that will betray you. Leave you exposed,” Lin murmurs, calm as always. He taps Marcus’s side with a blade you didn’t even see him draw.

The tip rests right between his ribs. The softest, most vulnerable part of him. Wide open because he reached for you.

He holds it there. Lets it sit. Long enough for everyone to see.

Lin sheathes the knife. Pulls his cane from Marcus’s grip. Returns to the front of the room like nothing happened.

“To care for another human,” he says, “is to create your own greatest weakness. If you love someone enough to die for them…”

A pause. A look. At you. At Marcus. 

“Then you surely will.”

in the moment, it probably just reads as lin being scary and giving reader another warning. but after chapter 8... girl that's a prophecy.

the red string imagery comes back when reader and marcus go clubbing with a side of mission later on in ch 6.

He doesn’t lead. You don’t follow. You just move, half a breath apart, tethered by something invisible and fraying fast.

and then a couple times in ch 8. it happens a lot here because i wanted to emphasize that there's something more than just marcus wanting answers that makes him look for her. call me dramatic but i needed this reunion to feel cosmic. but these you probably wouldn't notice unless you were really really looking for them. so i guess the reunion would be considered more subconsciously cosmic. it was mostly just for me to keke to myself while writing LOL

the first is when he decides to go snooping in your room. fraying here, because at this point, he thinks you still hate him lolz:

He’s halfway through lighting his next when something shifts. Not outside, but in him. Like there’s a string wound too tight, tugging him somewhere even though it’s down to its last fraying fiber.

then when he finds the shoebox:

He remembers it like it’s stitched into him. The tension. The electricity.

again when he decides to go to the motel:

It’s not until the sun’s started to drop, that dusty golden hour that makes the city feel softer than it actually is, that the last place begins to pull at him. 

and lastly, when he's actively bleeding out but still trying to go to that damn motel:

He finds the door by muscle memory. 

Seventeen.

“I just like the number,” you’d said. It feels like forever ago and yesterday at the same time, that night that tethered the two of you together. 

so there you have it. reader and marcus are meant to be. not even death can do u guys apart. he was literally dragged back to you via a tether you’ve been pretending wasn’t real for 8 chapters/60kish words. that red string is probably more like red shackles reinforced with three hundred layers of steel.

The Scene™

one of my most fav scenes i've written ever in my entire life is in this chapter and it's when marcus gets stabbed and beaten and thrown around behind some crusty san fran laundromat LMAO

at first i kinda wanted to earn that graphic depictions of violence archive warning by making it, well, super graphic. however, none of the dozens of drafts were landing quite the emotional punch i was aiming for. too many details were dulling the point of the scene, which was to show that No Matter What, Marcus Is Still Very Much In Love With You. yes this chapter is about pain but just as much it is also about love and what still lingers, even when you're on the brink of death..........

so we went cinematic with it B) my goal was aronofsky-style jump cuts but with words, where we feel things more than we see what's actually happening. the rhythm is present pain pain pain, then a flash of past peace with the reader, present pain pain pain.... rinse and repeat. choosing which scenes to call back to was probably the most fun part of this!

Fists.

Boots.

Concrete.

You in the greenhouse. Hair mussed. Sunlight catching in your earrings. Laughing like nothing’s ever hurt.

idk i just really adore the rhythm here. that above little snippet is a callback to a moment in the things-are-back-to-normal-but-not-normal montage in chapter 6.

Afterwards, you sit on an overturned crate, hair mussed, skirt crooked, trying not to smile.

Marcus lights a cigarette with shaky hands and says, “Fuck. If I knew you were gonna do that, I would’ve brought flowers.” 

You laugh so hard you nearly fall off the crate. He catches you, still grinning.

in that scene, some kind of frisky activity is implied. but what is marcus thinking about moments before possible death? not that cookie. it's reader laughing in the sun <3

His head bounces off the pavement and stars blot out the edges of his vision. His body goes slack, but they don’t stop.

Your fingers twisted in the chain around his neck. Tugging him closer. Synth and bass and the end of the world.

THIS ONEEE this one is my favorite. this calls back to the club scene in ch 6, and if you'll notice, there's a similar rhythm to this part from reader's perspective.

You tilt your head, kiss him harder.

It tastes like smoke and whiskey and the end of the world.

idk i just think that turn of phrase is so romantic. ur lips my lips apocalypse... and then when the beating finally comes to an end LMAO the pacing picks up a little and we get three quick flashes

A swing.

A crunch.

You in the archives. You at the diner. You in his room, head on his shoulder, picking at his sleeve. 

archives is all the way back in ch 3, with the tell me to stop scene that sets this entire mess of a relationship in motion. diner isn't shown explicitly, but it's a spot that reader and marcus frequent often as seen when he goes looking for her earlier.

The waitress comes by, balancing a pot of coffee. “You’re in early today. That pretty girl of yours late again?” she teases, pouring without asking. 

He hesitates. Hands still. “Nah, uh—just checking if she came through. You seen her?”

That softens her. She sees the pot down. “Ah shit, I haven’t, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He nods. Doesn’t order. Leaves a five on the table anyway. 

and kind-of in the shoebox scene:

More drawings. You asleep, you mid-bite into a diner sandwich, you smiling, you scowling. Your hands, your eyes, your lips.

and then the "you in his room" part is also in that montage from ch 6, where marcus forces reader to listen to a tape he made, she bullies him about "asleep" by the smiths (some dialogue i stole from willie in ep 2 sorry willie), and they end up fantasizing a little about a future they're not sure they'll get.

so basically my baby is dissociating 😔💔 body breaking and going through insane trauma but mind grabbing for the softest thing it can think of for comfort — YOU!!!! (even though reader is the cause of all of this in the first place LOLLL and also a source of a lot of his pain. crack open the dsm-5 we have a lot to go through when it comes to marcus lopez arguello)

it also has to be said that it's not anger or resentment or even his life that flashes before his eyes before almost-death, it's his you!!!!! romantic, yes. but also in this story he and reader are the king and queen of ruinous codependency and circular suffering. you're probably the first softness he's experienced ever since his parents died so of course it's what helps him survive all of this. this section can be read like a pre-death acceptance montage, but also like hope/desperation, depending on how you're feeling that day. in my head, it's a mix of both damn i'm dying because of her but at least i got to experience being loved even though she never said it out loud and also please no not yet i still love her and i want to stay alive long enough to hear her say it.

he's left for dead in that alley after all of that :D but marcus has a serious case of lucky girl syndrome because he doesn't die after all!! i will admit though that i did think about the possibility of having to tag this work with Major Character Death bc i was feeling a little devious. but don't worry it's not gonna happen it was just a thought <3

luca continues to haunt the narrative

a guild handbook was mentioned once for like 0.5 seconds post-vegas in the show LMAO it's what they use to find a clinic to get fixed up post the whole chico disaster. but when something is mentioned for 0.5 seconds in canon i love turning it into a Big Moment.

i lowkey didn't mean for reader's family to be the main antagonists in tktk (it was supposed to be more grounded in canon via the king's rumor mill + finals) but ngl mafia dynamics are so fun. maybe 2015 wattpad WAS onto something.

king's as an antagonist is institutional and from the start is just out to get everyone who attends lowkey, but i LOVE LOVE LOVE the theme of blood and betrayal from family, who's supposed to protect you. not try to kill you and then your boyfriend :| it ups the stakes imo because it's not just reader's life at risk, but also her identity.

luca was introduced and died literally like less than 15k words into this thing but he Stays haunting the narrative. one of my fav tropes ever. even though i didn't mean for this OC to become so powerful driving the story HAHAHA

here, grief moves through action in addition to angst. reader has to push through her grief for luca and through her fear of also losing marcus and act. you guys know i live to maximize your pain, so of course it's done so here. grief is most painful when you have no other choice but to make it functional >:)

You haven’t opened [the handbook] since he died.

Now it’s the only thing that might save the boy who killed him. 

it's lowkey such a cursed heirloom LMFAO bc it makes the tension soooo good. reader def feels it's a betrayal of some sort, at least deep down.

idk why but it was really hard for me to come up w/ luca's annotations. but we ended up with:

If it’s more than a papercut, don’t go to Mercy. They’re butchers.

Mechanic on 31st past business hours is good for quiet checkups and anything that might get you kicked out of King’s. If you need it, I don’t wanna know. Knock twice—don’t run when the dog barks.

24th & Valencia for when shit’s real bad. Say you’re Rosetti and they’ll give you the good stuff when they’re done stitching you up.

You’re smarter than me, nanetta, but not that much. Use this if you need to. Please.

i've changed that nickname BILLIONS OF TIMES. but i think we are gonna keep nanetta. it's basically like shorty. idk. teasing older cousin vibes. rip luca. but it does a lot here, and in that brief interaction in ch 2 before he dies.

Luca stands like he owns the whole street. Hands in his pockets, head tilted, grinning like he’s still the cocky kid who taught you how to cheat at cards.

“Hey, nanetta.”

His voice is rougher than you remember. More tired. Still too warm.

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but your throat feels tight. “You shouldn’t be here, Luca.”

“Neither should you,” he shrugs. “But here we are.”

since he dies so early, he kind of gets mythologized in reader's references to him after the fact. but i think it's accurate to how it feels to suddenly lose someone so close to you in your teens/20s — they stop being real and kind of turn into a legend in your head. even posthumously he's still looking out </3

ngl i kind of want to make an entire lore post about the rosetti family. if u guys could see the things i have in my head rn....

all that to say, we continue to reinforce reader's trauma and fear of being loved 😭 both luca and marcus love her too much. luca going through with the hit in ch 2 is probably framed as a mercy in his head. he's the one that would have had to live with it, but it would be less painful than whatever would happen if a succession war were to start. but because of that love, he's dead af 😵😵😵😵. and at this point in the chapter, marcus is halfway there too for the same reason 😹😹😹😹😹😹😹

marcus is a Bad Influence but we love him more than Anything

another one of my favorite scenes ever is when reader uses her life savings to pay for marcus's surgery. finals are coming and i wanted more Edge to the student designations at king's so i decided to make them Discriminate. so basically it solidifies the caste system at king's and makes this even more tragic.

“It’s all we’re authorized to provide for Rats after May 1st. If you want more than basic stabilization, you’ll have to speak with Master Lin.”

You laugh. Sharp and furious and so close to sobbing it hurts. “Master Lin can eat my shit. If King’s won’t pay for it, then I fucking will.”

do u recognize that quote? >:) marcus says it in ep 1 when he's first brought to king's. his impact on reader is >>> he's rubbed off on her and made her just a little more feral like him LOL. it's rebellion and it's love and it's loyalty, but most importantly, it's fuck you, i will ruin myself and everything else if it means that he lives.

in ch 1 of this story she would have NEVERRRR said anything like that. but now the boy she didn't mean to fall in love with is about to die because both she and the system have failed him, and we see her finally choosing him here out loud over king's, over her family, over her money and her legacy status, over EVERYTHING.

You bend close. Press a kiss to his forehead.

It tastes like salt and blood and everything you’re afraid to lose.

“Be good,” you whisper into his skin. “Come back to me.”

im a real sucker for pre-op displays of love. i really do think it's the grey's anatomy watcher turned healthcare worker in me. these are Real Words i heard in Real Life. yes i cried in the supply closet after and yes they are ok now.

it's soft but it's also a dare. one thing i tried really hard to do in this story is softness with an edge ALWAYS. so yes this is awww so tragic my boyfriend is about to have abdominal trauma surgery and he might not make it back but ALSO i've given everything for you so you better stay alive or i might do something Totally Irreversible.

so yes. systemic resistance. undoing a lifetime of mental conditioning. unlearning obedience to an institution that prioritizes you but is built to destroy the person you love most in the world. why? because marcus lopez arguello.

catholic guilt <3

what's a fic in a gritty, gothic academic setting without a little catholic guilt? when we get a little medical drama-y (my guilty pleasure and im forcing you all to enjoy it with me) and reader hears the flatline through the wall miss girl starts praying even tho she def hasn't touched a bible since her last CCD class in 8th grade.

You put your shaking hands together like you were taught to do at three years old. Fingertips up so angels can dance on them. Eyes squeezed shut so you can’t see them laugh in your face. 

idk if i have any fellow Former Catholic Girls here but i remember we'd always be told to pray with our fingers together instead of interlaced. this is another one of those lines i sat and stared at for 10 mins. it's a little niche (i think?) but if you get it, You Get It. it's ritual on autopilot, even after belief's gone hollow. performance as coping, not because you think it'll work, but because you don't know what else to do :D

we have a few saints mentioned here and lowkey it was really hard to choose who to mention. i'm happy with how it turned out thematically though.

we have saint rita (patron of impossible causes):

Santa Rita, patron of impossible causes, ti prego. Grant me this miracle. Please not him.

saint dismas (the thief who was crucified next to jesus):

San Disma, you were good. I’m not. He is. He doesn’t deserve this, he’s just a boy he’s just a boy 

saint raphael (patron of medical workers):

San Raffaele help them bring him back I can’t do this without him don’t let him leave me don’t let him leave me here alone

and of course God LOL (with a side of slight, desperate aggression and a pinch of self-hatred):

Dio if you’re there if you’re listening take anything else

Take everything take me

I don’t care what you do to me I’ll burn for it I will

Please he’s dying it’s not working do something please fucking do something where the fuck are you

then mary (which is how we know that shit is super serious):

Madonna mia per favore

Ti supplico this isn’t his fault

Tell God to take me instead I did this

Take me instead I’m begging you just not him please please please

if the saints don't answer, go straight to HR. and if that doesn't work, go to HR's mom 😹

interspersed within all of this is that flatline defibrillator code blue energy. it kiiiiind of mirrors that earlier scene w/ the hit on marcus just in its jump-cut style construction, but this time, we're inside of reader's head then back in the clinic as opposed to present then past with marcus. i HATED studying stream of consciousness in high school lit but now...? i owe william faulkner and the sound and the fury a MAJORRRRR apology.

at the end of it all marcus lives YAY! but we don't see him yet, we just hear it through the walls with reader. the end of this chapter i feel is a real turning point when she remembers she's supposed to be on a plane back home in an hour and half to leave all of this behind.

You look down at the envelope, just for a second. At the version of your life where you never met Marcus Lopez Arguello. Where your hands are still clean. Where Luca is still alive. Where you’re at some four-year college studying something like World Literature or Art History and spending your summers off in Milan. 

You tear it in half. It feels easier than it should. 

You shove it into the nearest trash can and follow the nurse down the hall.

technically she could have left. marcus is alive and would be capable of figuring out how to manage on his own from here. and there's a part of her that thinks maybe she should and that things would be better that way. but goddammit we're in love!!!! and also very much Codependent!!!!! The Choice has been made. officially. no going back now!!!

this is reader saying I Want Marcus Lopez Arguello (girl me too) And The Danger And The Chaos And The Pain Too. especially the pain. but in addition to that, it's her choosing meaning. and something real. and probably the only thing that's ever been truly hers to begin with.

ch 8 is probably one of my favs in this work, next to ch 6. i hope it threw u through the emotional wringer reading just as much as it did me writing it. see u next week💋

[chandrxla]

08. the mark is now posted <3 to kill, to keep ♰ marcus lopez arguello x reader ao3 | wattpad

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rated: explicit word count: 8,220 chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence

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As he walks through the courtyard, past the academic building, he tells himself he’s not doing this. That he’s not that guy, the one who can’t take a hint. The one who comes crawling back. 

But it’s not crawling. 

It’s gravity. 

It’s inevitability. 

It’s you. 

[chandrxla]

call me izzy! (she/her) ౨ৎ

writer. occasional editor. lover of leon s. kennedy.

ꕤ

links.

ao3

faq

askbox - for requests and questions and giggling together

masterlist - all works + meta

personal account - fic recs and a little shitposting…

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tags.

#tokilltokeep - current project

#mywriting - all posted works :)

#meta - fic analysis and rambling and screaming into the void

#izzyspeaks - me pretending this is twitter

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current.

status: tying up loose ends in tktk… then leon western au >:)

requests: open! (soft ask, no guarantees)

asks: always welcome <3

[chandrxla]

avoidancy and why you should never trust anything reader rosetti does ever — tktk meta

ok. first meta post ever! i have a bunch of these ramblings saved in my notes so i figure i'll post here so you guys get the inside scoop on the process behind to kill, to keep.

spoilers ahead up to chapter 7! if you're not caught up already, you can do so here <3

2.2k words | cw: discussion about substance abuse and sexual themes

so. let's talk about ms. rosetti and her serious case of avoidancy (yes, she is technically a reader insert, but ngl she's got a fully formed personality, so we're starting to verge into oc-ish territory imo). we know there's a lot going on in that head of hers — being raised adjacent to the mafia and kept clean handed and then being enrolled into a school for assassins will do that to you. but since we're in second person, we get to see her thoughts in real-time in addition to her denial. so not only is she lying to marcus, she's also lying to you/herself :D

at first, it's fine because it's the fun kind. the slow(ish)-burn nooo-i-don't-feel-anything-for-marcus-no-way kind. like at the party at shabnam's house in ch 1, she thinks:

for one horrible second, it feels like something real.

girl. we know it was more than one second.

and then when they pass that note back and forth in class a few days later, she's SO MEAN. literally says things like "fuck you" and "enjoy your ego trip. don't talk to me again" but she STILL keeps the note. she's also the one that started the exchange in the first place.

it's so clear that even maria clocks it in ch 3, way before reader admits it to herself and to marcus.

Maria scoffs. “Really? Then why do you keep looking over there?” she asks, tilting her head to where Marcus is sitting with the other Rats. “And why does he keep looking back?”

it literally takes forced proximity and marcus outright telling her to just say it in detention for reader to finally say ok fine yes maybe i do feel something for you.

once she admits those feelings and finally has something to lose..... girl..... she loses it a little (rightfully so. i would too if my secret boyfriend was marcus lopez arguello).

by the time we see them having that sweet little rooftop looking at the stars/lighter exchange/smoking a blunt scene in ch 4, this is more than just fun and games to her. she's falling in love, even though she hasn't admitted it to herself.

"You roll over and kiss him, slow, soft, and a little clumsy. He catches your face in his hand, thumb brushing your cheekbone, like he’s afraid you disappear if he moves too quickly. He tastes like smoke and sky and something sweeter you don’t have a name for yet."

hmmm i wonder what the something sweeter is... when her dad calls her out on it, of course she refuses to name it. and if you look closely, it's never mentioned once in her narration or unless it's by someone else (until ch 7, but even then, it's all in her head). but contrast marcus, who literally thinks about the possibility in ch 2 (which is something that we'll probably need a whole other entire essay to unpack) then readily admits it OUT LOUD in ch 7 even though it's probably in the most painful context in which those words can be said.

an example:

“You think you’re immune because you love him.”

The words hit harder than a slap. You flinch, silent.

You open your mouth, instinctively — to deny it, to argue, to say no, it’s not like that, but the words get stuck somewhere deep in your chest.

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to know it.

But it’s there.

Heavy. Unavoidable.

Like a noose tightening every time you look at him.

and then later:

Whatever you’re feeling, it won’t save you here. It’s the weapon they’ll use to gut you both.

named or not, there's one thing she's learned up until this point, love = loss. and reader rosetti in this story is TEXTBOOK AVOIDANT. as in, reinterpret-everything-marcus-does-in-a-way-that-makes-the possibility-of-loss-hurt-less avoidant. we see this super clearly in that second rooftop scene in ch 4.

marcus shows up late and just a little beat-up, and it's the first time there's a physical consequence to anyone besides herself as a result of her lying about luca. but instead of coming clean and telling marcus the truth about it all when he notices something's wrong, she picks a fight with him the second he stops her from using her body to distract him :P

“You said yes before,” you murmur quietly. “Back at the motel.” You say it like a challenge, but you mean it like a plea. 

His hands tighten where they’re still braced around your waist. “It’s different now,” he mutters.

“Why?” you snap, faster than you mean to. But it sounds like a blade.

You used to want me like this, you think. What changed?

...

“It just is,” he says roughly. His hands clench at his sides, and you tell yourself that it’s anger. You don’t let yourself wonder what else it could be.

there's a lot going on here. but the biggest thing is her misinterpretation of his responses. back at the motel in ch 2, marcus gives in to the sex-as-a-coping-mechanism because 1) he needs to forget just as much as she does and 2) she's seen the worst of him, he's told her a little about his past, and she hasn't run — that's a first for him. whatever he felt for her then, he definitely feels a hundred times more deeply now. HOWEVER what reader hears in his "it's different now" is now that i know you better, i don't want you like i did before and i might leave if you fuck this up INSTEAD OF i care about you more now and maybe i even love you so i'm not gonna let you use sex to cope with your problems anymore.

she tells herself that he's angry, but in this moment, he's really just trying hard not to tell her that it's different now because he loves her LMAOOOOOOO

we start reaching peak avoidancy in ch 5 when the drugs and the alcohol start to come out. apologies, but we're gonna put my degree to use and get a little psychological here.

dialectics is the concept of two opposing things that occur simultaneously. think something like: it's raining outside AND the sun is out or i'm happy AND i'm sad. in the context of this story, it's i want marcus to stay AND i'm pushing him away so he doesn't and is safe from me.

the reason she's so distraught in the first place is that he's in danger. what's eating her alive at this point is that she still hasn't told him the truth about luca, but based on her actions, marcus probably thinks that he's the one that did something wrong (which again, we probably need another entire meta essay to dissect).

You rip your arm out of his grip. “Fuck off, Marcus. You’re high too.”

That lands. You see it in the way his expression falters. Like you slapped him. But then it hardens.

“So what?” he snaps. “This isn’t a competition.”

You shake your head, laughing once, sharp and humorless. “You’re right, it’s not a competition. It’s you making a scene in the middle of the goddamn hallway.”

“I’m the one making a scene?” His voice is rising. “You show up to class spun the fuck out and I’m the one losing it?”

“Would you just leave me alone? Was the past week not enough to make it fucking obvious?”

so yeah. dialectics in action. yes she cares about him and deep down wants him to stay AND yes she is being cruel saying she doesn't want him to.

but you know, this story wouldn't be what it is if it didn't get messy, so it all falls apart after shit goes down in lin's office and reader gets super drunk. i think i'll probably do an entire other post about the body and sex in this fic as a symbol/metaphor, but when The Blowjob of Shame™ happens, it's more about i feel so guilty about what i'm doing to you and this is the only way i know how to apologize for it and tell you that i actually do care about you rather than oh yeah this is so hot.

after marcus and reader have their little codependent talk, things are fine for a bit (but less so than before) before they go to complete shit again, and that where the real turning point happens.

reader FINALLY decides to tell marcus the truth after a direct threat is made on his life by her uncle LMAO. frustrating yes, but we have to understand why. it's psychological denial as survival.

for starters, if she admits that marcus killed someone who was like a brother to her, that also means admitting that 1) someone in her family ordered her death, 2) she's the reason he's eventually going to be dragged into hell by said family. lying delays the fallout and gives her a sense of control.

from her POV, the less marcus knows, the safer he is. and this is the kind of relationship where there's an overlap between care and compulsion (cough, codependency), so there's a need here for her to shoulder all of this, to rot from the inside out so that he doesn't have to. he's already killed for her, and she knows it keeps him up at night. this is her fucked-up way of returning the favor even though it makes things a thousand times worse.

lastly, she is terrified he'll leave. when the time comes for her to actually admit it to him at at the shed, the spiral gets so bad that she gets high out of her mind and is physically incapable of telling him when he goes to look for her. saying "you killed my cousin" also means saying you killed someone important to me, i helped you bury the body, and then i let you fuck me after. damning optics. extremely damning.

to sum it up, instead of trusting him with the truth, she tries to earn his love and hopes that will make it not matter. whoops.

so when that big argument happens after he finds the file in lin's office, it's not just about her lying anymore. it's about betrayal and agency and an imbalance of power. he's fallen for a safer, cleaner, less dangerous version of her, so naturally, things EXPLODE.

does reader apologize for it? NO!!!!! at this point, she knows she loves him back. but instead of telling him, she does something Much Worse but Understandable.

“God, listen to yourself. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you sneer, even though it hurts to say. “You don’t love, Marcus. You fixate. And you call it love so it doesn’t sound as pathetic as it is.”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him. You’re not done. Not yet. You can’t stop now. You have to make him leave.

“You want to blame me for everything? Fine. Blame me. Hate me. But don’t fucking pretend like I asked for this. Like I asked for you,” you say coldly. “I didn’t want to fall for you. You just kept showing up. And I was so fucking tired of being alone that I gave in.”

does she mean any of this? hell no. but does she think it will it make him hate her enough to stop trying? yes. but she really does care. when he tells her to say it wasn't real she tries to save them both from the consequence of her saying it out loud by telling him to leave. it's only when marcus presses further that she feels like she has no other choice.

He’s giving you an out. A final one. And if you were a better person, you’d tell him the truth. But you’re not.

You’re the girl who let him slaughter your cousin in an alley. Whose name will get him put on a hit list. You’re the reason he’s not safe, that he’s never been safe. So you shove his hand away and say the only thing you can think of that won’t destroy you both.

“Get out,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move. “That’s not what I asked.”

Your throat burns. You can feel it coming apart in your chest, this horrible, aching thing that wants to scream it was real all of it every second it mattered it mattered you matter, that wants to collapse into him and take it all back, but you don’t let it out. You can’t. You’d rather he hate you and be alive than love you and be dead.

So you steel yourself. You look him in the eye like he asked, at the boy you begged for and bled for and stole kisses from in the middle of the night—

And you lie.

“It didn’t matter,” you say. “None of it did.”

after he leaves, she thinks he finally hates her enough that she can go without him following. reader knows that if she stays at king's and keeps seeing him though, she's eventually gonna give in, so she leaves before that has a chance of happening. and that brings us to where we are now. damn. SEE U IN CHAPTER 8 NEXT WEEK WHEN WE SEE THE CONSEQUENCES OF ALL OF THIS 😹😹😹😹😹😹

if you read all this unhinged rambling i love you <3

[chandrxla]

this must be the place 🌿 leon kennedy x reader ao3 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 rated: teen and up word count: 4,978 tags: au - road trip, established relationship, domestic fluff, no smut summary: you and leon rent an old, beat-up camper van and take a tour of the national parks.

You don’t fly. Of course, you don’t fly. Leon insists on driving because, apparently, “Flying is for cowards, baby,” and “Haven’t you heard that one saying? It’s about the journey. Not the destination.”

So here you are, in a beat-up camper van rented from the least sketchy Craigslist listing you could find. You shudder a bit thinking about that old man, his thousands of cats, and his sinister smile after you’d driven away from his little cabin in the middle of the Arklay Mountains and hope that this box of sheet metal doesn’t break down the second your trip hits a hundred miles. 

The van has affectionately been named The Rust Bucket Express, which you and Leon decided on over a stack of syrupy pancakes and too many carafes of watered-down coffee to count at your favorite hometown diner. You’d tried really hard to convince him to split the driving with you, but he just had to bring up the time you rear-ended some prick’s Jaguar and dented the front of his beloved green Jeep Wrangler. You almost reminded him about the three cars (and one boat!) he’s totaled in the past five years, but you let him have his little win. For now. 

You take a break from watching the world blur past out the passenger window and look to your left. Leon’s currently laser-focused on the road ahead, absentmindedly mouthing the words to Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” as it plays on the local rock station, and you fight the urge to break out into a stupid grin. God, you love him.

This little trip of yours — four national parks in two weeks, give or take — is built on little else but MapQuest directions you printed out at the library and a few prayers, but you have a feeling the two of you will make it work. You always do. 

STOP 1: YELLOWSTONE

A bison crosses the road, and you scream. Leon laughs so hard that he has to pull over. 

The massive animal lumbers across the asphalt, its shaggy fur bouncing with each step. It pauses just in front of the windshield, and you stare, eyes wide and jaw agape as you white-knuckle the grab handle above the window. 

“That thing is huge,” you say breathlessly. “How did it just… appear like that?”

Leon is also breathless, but it’s from laughing at you. Wiping tears from his eyes, he turns to you, playfully mussing your hair. “It’s just…” he fights another laugh. “It’s just a bison, baby. You’re okay.”

You glare at him, then look back out the window as the giant creature continues to stroll along, completely unfazed by your presence. 

“So… should we just… wait for it to finish crossing, or…?” you ask, giving him a sidelong glance. 

His expression sobers slightly as he brings his fingers to his chin. “Hm. We could wait a little longer, or… I could get out, and we could try to herd it,” he deadpans. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me anyway.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile despite yourself. You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

Later, after The Bison Incident is added on to your never-ending list of inside jokes, the two of you find yourselves tucked into the steamy embrace of the Boiling River. One of your roommates from your college years had let you in on the park’s hidden gem after you’d mentioned your trip to her, giving you a little wink and a nudge that left you wondering exactly what she meant. Apparently, it’s never crowded if you go at the right time.

She was right. The only company you keep right now is rocks, the mist rising from the water, and the current as it tickles your legs. Sitting in the shallows, you lean your head on Leon’s shoulder, watching as another couple and their black lab brave the hiking trail in the distance. 

He always gets this gleam in his eye when he’s thinking about something big. You catch a glimpse of it when he turns to you, wraps his arms around your frame, then puts his chin on top of your head.

“I think,” he murmurs, giving you a little squeeze, “we should get a dog.”

You huff a laugh. This is a conversation you’ve had once a week ever since you moved in together. “What else is new?”

“I’m being completely serious! A big, tough one, like a German Shepherd. Give it a human name, like… Chris.”

You tilt your head to look at him. “You want to name our hypothetical dog Chris?”

“Is a small one more your speed?” he asks, and by the way he does, you have a feeling you’ll be signing adoption papers the second you cross state lines back into your hometown. “We could get one of those tiny, scary white ones and name it Matilda.”

“God, you’re hopeless.” You swirl your fingers around in the water and try to fight the grin starting to form on your face. “I don’t know, Leon. I’d probably be better at keeping a cat alive.”

“Cats don’t fetch,” he retorts. “Or walk trails with you,” he adds, gesturing to the couple ahead. Their dog follows after them at a slow pace, circling back to a particularly good-smelling boulder before promptly pissing on it. You scrunch your nose, shaking your head.

“Cats also don’t cry when you leave the room for thirty seconds,” you point out. 

“Well, if you’re the one leaving, I understand. I do it all the time.”

You break out into a laugh. It’s easy to when you’re with him. He throws those one-liners around like they’re confetti, and even though it’s been years, you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it.

“Maybe we should get a dog then,” you say. “The two of you can bond over being dramatic.”

Leon grins and presses a kiss to your temple. “You wound me.”

STOP 2: GLACIER

The temperature drops sharply when you reach Glacier National Park. Thankfully, you’ve packed appropriately. You, meaning Leon.

After a seven hour drive (it was supposed to be six, but you’d insisted on stopping at every gas station you passed to load up on your favorite snacks) and a stay in Missoula’s shittiest Holiday Inn (you’d tried roughing it in the van, but alas, The Rust Bucket Express is not great at temperature control. Surprise, surprise), you pull on his extra jacket and step out onto the pavement, your breath fogging in the frigid air.

“Nice jacket,” Leon says dryly, wrapping a scarf around your neck. “Where’d you get it?”

“Some weird guy gave it to me,” you shrug. “He kidnapped me and held me hostage in this old camper van that smells like stale coffee and pine needles, and now he’s about to strangle me with his scarf.”

“Shit, that sucks.” He finishes tying the scarf and shakes his head. “But hey, maybe he’ll make it up to you with some hot chocolate after this hike.”

Two hours later, you’re shivering on the Logan Pass and praying that he stays true to that promise. The trail itself is serene, wide, and relatively easy. Your ability to soak in the views of those snow-capped mountains and deep valleys below, however, is somewhat limited — you lost feeling in all of your toes about thirty minutes ago. 

Suddenly, you spot something in the distance and grin. There’s a jagged outcropping of rock rising from the mountainside just beyond the trail. It’s practically calling your name. 

“I don’t like that look on your face,” Leon remarks, nudging you with his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna climb that thing,” you say. 

It takes him a second to realize you’re not joking. It’s a second too late, because you’ve already broken off into a run towards it, ice and rocks be damned. He curses under his breath and follows after you. 

There’s a sign right next to the crag that says “dangerously unstable,” and you just know he’s going to make some comment about it.

Leon puts a hand on your shoulder. “It says—”

You take hold of a promising-looking ledge, pulling yourself flush against the cliffside and away from his grip. “Don’t worry. I’ve watched that one Discovery Channel documentary on rock climbing, like, a hundred times.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Really? What’s it called?”

Shit. All of a sudden, you’re glad your back is to him because all the blood has drained from your face. Your foot finds a notch in the rock that you use to push yourself a few feet higher. “I, um. My memory fails me at the moment. But look! I’m like one of those mountain goats.”

He doesn’t laugh. And just like that, this isn’t so fun anymore. But you’re already halfway up. You might as well see this through.

“I don’t like this,” Leon calls from below you, his voice cutting through the cold air. 

You twist down to glance at him and realize you’re too far up to catch. “I’m fine,” you say, hand scrambling for your next hold. “It’s just a rock.” Despite all your bravado, you can feel the tension in your chest tightening, and your hands are starting to sweat despite the cold. 

He sighs loudly, still looking up at you with a frown. If he clenches that jaw any harder, you swear he’ll break a molar.

Your breath stutters in your lungs when your foot slips slightly, heart racing wildly. A few pebbles fall and hit the ground with the tiniest of clatters. 

“Alright,” he says, voice tight with thinly-veiled frustration. “That’s enough. Get down before you fall and crack your head open.”

“You sound like one of those paranoid old men that scream at the sky,” you tease, but you can’t hide the way your arms are starting to shake. Damn that stupid documentary. This is way harder than they make it look.

Leon’s pacing now, muttering to himself. Oh, god. And, of course, the wind picks up around you, whipping at your face. You’re kind of terrified but not enough to come down. 

He calls your name again, voice quieter this time. “Get down from there. Please.”

You pause and look up. You’re just about two feet from the top, and with another good foothold, you could, hypothetically, make it to the summit. But you decide that your boyfriend’s sanity is worth more than proving that you’re right, and you sigh. “Okay. Okay, fine. Just… give me a second.”

When you finally reach solid ground, he’s still standing at the base of the rock, his arms crossed. The moment stretches, but you don’t miss the way his eyes scan over you like he’s trying to make sure every limb is still in one piece.

You don’t know who moves first, but you’re both silently back on the trail a few minutes later. The rest of the hike is stunningly beautiful, but it feels off without the banter between you.

The truce happens when you reach the little log cabin café near the park’s entrance. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom but return to your table with two cups of hot chocolate, a bowl of their soup du jour (which looks and smells suspiciously like Lipton’s chicken noodle), and a chicken pesto panini.

“Peace offering?” you ask tentatively, sliding the tray towards Leon.

His gaze flicks up to you from the ground, and he lets out a quiet sigh. “S’alright,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for the sandwich, like you knew he would. 

You shake your head, sitting next to him on the bench and wrapping your arms around him. “I’m sorry,” you say, and you genuinely mean it. “Really. I got my fix. I promise not to raise your blood pressure for the rest of our trip.”

He returns your hug, and the reluctant chuckle your promise earns makes you feel warmer than any hot chocolate ever could. “Swear it? I don’t think you realize how worried I get when you do shit like that.”

You hold a pinky out to him, expression softening when he hooks his around yours without hesitation. “Cross my heart,” you say. “We’ve got a long, long while together, Leon Scott Kennedy. I plan to live long enough to make you regret it.”

His smile widens. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

STOP 3: YOSEMITE

The California weather is temperate enough this time of year that you can spend a night in the van, and with some expertly-handled negotiation (Leon told the campground ranger that you’d just eloped and this was your honeymoon, and you started tearing up for good measure), The Rust Bucket Express now has a free, peak-season permit to park at the Lower Pines Campground. 

The best part? You’re close to the showers. 

They’re sorely needed after a morning spent hiking to the top of Sentinel Dome. You swear there’s still some residual burning in your quads, especially after that last stretch. Leon, of course, has no complaints, having made the trek look more like an easy stroll. 

The view from the summit was nothing like you’d ever seen before. The thicket of trees had thinned out to reveal a wide open sky, over deep valleys and high-rising granite cliffs. Half Dome stood tall in the distance, and you’d taken many-a-flick on your point-and-shoot of Leon looking out at the edge, pretending to be deep in thought when, in reality, he was most definitely aware of your camera’s obnoxiously loud shutter.

Now, you’re rummaging through your duffel bag in front of the showers, trying to find your beloved shampoo, but all you can feel is the weight of Leon’s eyes on you. You glance up, meeting his gaze.

“What?” you ask, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth, but suddenly, your heart’s beating a little faster.

His usual sharp expression has softened, and something about it makes your chest tighten. There’s a look in his eyes, a quiet affection, that makes you feel both grounded and weightless.

“Nothing,” he says, but you swear there’s a slight flush on his cheeks that he tries to hide by looking away.

Laughing softly, you grab him by the collar and kiss him, soft and slow and sweet. He grunts in surprise at first but melts into your touch soon after, hands moving quickly to your waist. He tastes like chocolate chip granola bars, and you grin against his lips as he pulls you into him with a quiet groan.

You pull away just enough to meet his gaze, your breath coming a little quicker now. His eyes are dark with something unreadable, but his lips twitch into a smile that’s more than a little mischievous. 

You look over your shoulder, make sure no one’s around, and then without missing a beat, tug him into the stall with you.

The door slams shut behind you with a soft thud, and the moment you’re enclosed in the small space, his lips are on yours again. This time, it’s all urgency, hands on your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer, impossibly right.

You stay until the water’s run cold, then sneak out one after the other with your faces flushed and laughter barely restrained. Leon steals a few kisses from you behind the trees as you make your way back to the van, and in exchange, you snap a few more shots of him on your camera. There’s one frame you’re particularly excited to develop — you catch him reaching for you mid-laugh, blue eyes crinkled with that easy smile you can never quite get enough of. 

There’s not really a dress code for the Ansel Adams gallery, considering it’s in the middle of a national park, but the two of you look through your bags for your nicest clothes, eager to catch a break from cargos and hiking boots and finally stand under an air conditioner. 

“Ah, the great indoors,” you sigh, taking a slow spin under the torrent of cold air. Leon just snorts and shakes his head at you, and you follow him over to the guestbook sitting on a podium by the door.

It takes a while for you both to get the ball-chain pen to produce ink and even longer for you to decide what to write.

“It’s gotta be kind of funny. Or cheesy. So people laugh and point at it when they see it,” you insist, trying to coax out ink by scribbling little circles in the top-right corner of the page.

“I doubt anyone’s flipping through this thing on their off time,” Leon says, but his skeptical expression shifts into a smile as he peeks behind the page you’re not currently scratching at. “Wait, look at this.”

You roll your eyes. “Point proven.”

After he flips the page over, his finger lands on some aggressively bro-ish handwriting.

We came, we saw, we arted. OSU Kappa Sig. Spring Break 2004.

You glance up at Leon, biting your lip to keep from laughing. He meets your gaze, and after a beat, his grin widens, and he gives you a slow, approving nod. It’s all you need to know he’s thinking exactly what you are.

Slowly, you turn back to the book, lift the pen, and very carefully, squeeze a little f in before the arted.

“What are you two lovebirds laughing about?” you hear from behind you, and immediately, you flush and slam the book closed.

Turning around, you come face-to-face with an older couple, both smiling with an easy familiarity. The woman’s hair is silver but neatly styled, and her husband’s glasses are perched low on his nose as he looks at you with a curious glint in his eye. 

“Just looking at some old spring break nonsense,” Leon replies, his voice a little too casual. You can tell he’s trying to hide the fact that the two of you were caught behaving like middle-schoolers.

“Ah, young love. It’s always so nice to see,” the man says warmly, giving his wife a gentle nudge. “You remember when we were like that?”

She raises an eyebrow, swatting at his arm. “I think I am still like that, dear.” Turning back to the two of you, she gives you a wink. “They say the secret to a long marriage is laughter. You two seem to be on the right track.”

The rush of heat in your cheeks lingers long after the couple has walked off, and you can’t help but steal glances at Leon as the two of you make your way around the little gallery. The hand that’s not holding yours brushes through his hair a little more often than it usually does, a nervous tic of his. 

Like always, he catches you looking and seems to let go of the tension he’s holding. “You’re staring at me like you’re trying to transmit a thought into my brain,” he remarks. “What’s on your mind?”

You shrug, trying to keep it light. “Oh, you know. Old people and their unsolicited advice. It’s cute, but, uh, a little embarrassing.”

Leon chuckles, his fingers giving yours a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know. There’s a part of me that kind of gets it.”

You still, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

His smile softens as he looks back at you, but he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I think it’s… kind of appealing. You know, having someone to go through everything with.”

The words have a bit of gravity to them that shifts the air around you, even through the nonchalant way they come out. You grin, looping your arm through his and leaning your head on his shoulder. “Everything, meaning national park road trips, dogs with human names, vandalizing other people’s guestbook entries…”

He returns your smile, a little warmer and less teasing than you expected. “Don’t get any bright ideas, alright?”

You lapse into a comfortable silence after, letting your mind wander as you continue your stroll around the gallery. There’s one picture that really captures your interest, a black and white one of Half Dome, the waxing moon just above it. You can’t help but imagine it hanging up on the wall in the shitty little apartment you share, next to the clock and a framed photo of you and Leon at one of your friends’ weddings, a bottle of champagne fizzing over in your hand.

Leon must have caught you lingering because you see him later at the gift shop trying to buy a little postcard-sized print of it. Of course, you tease him for it and make him put it back. “I was just admiring the lighting,” you joke, “not putting it on a registry.”

When you head back to the van and pack up for the night, you find the postcard tucked into the space between your hiking boots while he’s busy putting out the fire. 

The real thing’s on its way, framed and everything, it says on the back, in Leon’s messy scrawl. It’ll be there by the time we get home. Love you. -L

You practically pounce on him the second he opens the door and steps inside. Your lips find his, and before you know it, you’re both tangled up on the camper’s hard mattress. Safe to say, neither of you get much sleep that night.

SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

You get lost. More than once. You misplace your printed-out directions to Zion but find them again crammed into the pocket of the passenger seat, only to argue about whether or not you passed that same weird rock twenty minutes ago. The radio only picks up old rock stations, which Leon loves, but it starts to grate at your ears after a while.

Opening the glovebox, you pull out a cassette tape, a mix that you put together for Leon the first month you started dating. He grins as soon as you pop it in, recognizing the familiar click of the tape slot as the van’s ancient player kicks to life, whirring softly. 

The van rolls to a stop at a red light, “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer floating through the dusty speakers. You’re mouthing the lyrics under your breath without realizing it, staring at the way the light hits Leon’s profile, nose sunburnt, hair a little messy from the wind.

He glances over at you, and something about your face must do him in. He grabs your chin and kisses you, quick and unexpected. When he pulls back, the red light is still glowing, and he’s smiling like you hung the moon.

“You’re such a sap,” you mutter, giddy.

“You made the mix,” he fires back. “I’m just following instructions.”

Later that night, in the middle of nowhere, you park the van on the side of the road and climb up to the roof to look up at the stars. There’s a blanket thrown over both your shoulders, and you absentmindedly trace the veins in his hand as you tell him all you know about Ursa Major from a book you read once in the fourth grade.

In the morning, you watch the sun rise over a stretch of Nevada desert, then split the worst coffee you’ve ever tasted in a beat-up diner booth. In the afternoon, you stop for “The Best Chili Burger on Route 50.” You snap a few shots of Leon with sauce on his chin, and he kisses behind your van in the parking lot, both of you sweaty and sun-drunk and laughing.

He finally lets you drive in the last stretch to Utah. While he dozes off in the passenger seat, you think to yourself that you could do this for the rest of your life.

FINAL STOP: ZION

Leon has this edge of nervousness to him when you step out into the heat. He’s in and out of the van, avoiding your eyes like they might give something away. 

After the fifth time, you peek your head into the van and catch him staring at the dashboard, hands fidgeting with something, maybe his water bottle or the park map, but he’s not looking at anything in particular. When he hears you approach, he quickly drops whatever he was fiddling with and straightens up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't.

You raise an eyebrow. “Everything okay?” you ask. 

Leon clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, just making sure we’re not missing anything.” His eyes flick to the map on the seat next to him. “Can’t be too careful with this kind of terrain.”

You squint at him, but let it go. “Alright, Bear Grylls. If you say so.”

As you walk on the riverside trail, a squirrel darts across the path, its small paws quick on the hot stone before it disappears back into a formation of rocks. After a mile or two, you’re not sure how much farther you’re making it on sore legs. The summer heat makes it feel like you’re walking through an oven, but the beauty of the canyon keeps you going. That being said, you almost cry tears of joy when you reach the water, letting it cool your calves as you wade in.

Leon’s walking just a few steps ahead of you, his boots kicking up little splashes as he goes. You can’t help but notice how he keeps glancing back at you, like he’s making sure you haven’t melted into the river behind him.

“Making sure I don’t fall behind? Or are you trying to impress me?” you tease.

He shoots you a sideways grin. “Little bit of both,” he says, shaking the water out of his hair.  “Should I take my shirt off? Might help you keep up.”

You snort. “My hero,” you say dryly. “Bold words for someone who gets sunburnt in March. Remember that one day at the park?”

That earns a low chuckle from him. “Touché.”

As you venture deeper into The Narrows, the canyon walls rise high on either side of you, towering slabs of red and orange sandstone streaked with shadows and sunlight. They close in tight the farther you go, until it feels like river is the only path left, just water, sky, and stone.  There’s a kind of quiet here that’s not quite silence, but something deeper. Almost reverent.

You spot small ferns clinging to the walls where water seeps down, little bursts of green against the rock. Somewhere, far ahead, you hear the low splash of someone’s footfall, but for the most part, it’s just the two of you and the canyon.

Leon slows, glancing over his shoulder again, but this time, he stops.

You catch up to him, a playful comment on the tip of your tongue, but it never makes it out. He turns to face the canyon wall, tilting his head like he’s admiring the view, but you notice the way his hand shakes a little as he reaches into his pocket.

Then he steps behind you, arms slipping gently around your waist. You feel the kiss on your cheek before you feel him shift, before you notice the small box in front of you, both of you standing knee-deep in water, sun warm on your skin, ring catching the light.

“I practiced this a million times, and now I can’t remember a single word of it,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a little shaky.

You can’t help but grin when he presses another kiss to your cheek, your fingers brushing over his hand where it rests on your waist.

“Marry me?”

You laugh, breath catching somewhere between surprise and disbelief, but then, you realize that this is it. This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Yes,” you nod, grounded in a clarity you’ve only ever felt with him. “Now, please, before we drop that beautiful ring into the water and never see it again…”

His smile is almost shy as he takes the band from the box and slips it onto your finger, his hands trembling just a little. When he exhales, it’s like he’s released a breath he’s been holding for months, his whole body softening in relief, but his eyes, deep and blue and impossibly endless, are full of something else. 

Something steady. Something real.

You turn to face him, arms resting on his shoulders, his still around your waist. “I think we’re both a little out of our element here,” he murmurs, voice tender as he meets your gaze. “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You let out a fond laugh, shaking your head. “You positive? You can’t take it back, you know.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckles, his grip tightening around you. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

When he leans down to kiss you again, beneath endless sky and endless stone, the world feels simpler somehow, leaving just the two of you and a promise that feels like the most certain thing you’ve ever known.

The drive back home is filled with laughter and chatter about the future, the promise of home, and all the little things you’ll make your own. The ring on your finger catches the last dregs of sunlight as it dips below the horizon, and you turn to Leon and smile. 

“Before we return the van, can we make one last stop?” you ask.

Leon raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to you. “What, you hungry or something?”

“Not exactly,” you reply, a little mischievous, and navigate for him the last few minutes of your drive. You wish you could bottle the sound of his joy as you pull into the lot of a modest building, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights.

Raccoon City Animal Shelter, a sign reads.

Leon grins. “I knew you’d come around.”

[chandrxla]

to kill, to keep ♰ marcus lopez arguello x reader ao3 | wattpad

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rated: explicit (current) word count: 53,561 chapters: 7/10 updates weekly on sundays!

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summary: you carry a name soaked in blood. he carries a hunger he can't name. what starts as a mistake becomes a tether neither of you know how to cut. trust is dangerous. desire is worse. and king's dominion has never tolerated loose ends.