#5 umbrella military

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Eventual smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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Chapter 5: Honeymoon Blues

You woke up early the next morning to the smell of breakfast cooking. You slipped out of bed and went to the small bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for the day.

You were well rested. It was probably the best sleep you'd had in months. You went to your suitcase and found your simple black two-piece bathing suit. You were on vacation until Wednesday, and you planned to enjoy it. You slipped a pale blue Oxford button up on over your bathing suit and a pair of white shorts. You tossed your hair into a high ponytail before gathering a few things you would need for the lounging by the pool, which was right outside the sliding glass door of your room.

"Good morning, Sweetie." Bradley greeted you as you entered the room. "I made pancakes and eggs and bacon." He said.

You turned into the kitchen, and you had to do a double take. Bradley looks so different from the man you were used to seeing. He'd traded his suits for a pair of swim trunks, a white tee, and a Hawaiian print shirt.

"Who are you, and what have you done with the president?" You tease him. He laughed before setting a plate of food down in front of you. You perched on a stool at the island and began to eat.

"Oh my god! These are the best pancakes I've ever had!" You exclaim through a mouth full of food.

"Thank you, Bradshaw family secret recipe." He laughs. "Does that mean you're going to share it with me sometime?" You smirk at him while wagging your rings in his face. He tenses before muttering, "Yeah, sure, I guess I can." The two of you talk for a bit. After breakfast, you insist on cleaning up the kitchen.

You then grab your things to head to the deck. "I'm going to lounge on the deck. Would you like to join me? You might as well take advantage of this free time we have." You tell him.

"I might be out there in a few." Bradley replies. You shrug your shoulders and head outside.

Once outside on the private pool deck, you open the umbrella beside a lounge chair and set your things down. You place your book, phone, and water bottle on the nearby table before spreading out your towel on the lounger. You slip off your shorts and unbutton a few of the shirts' buttons, but decide to leave it on before you settle down in the chair and start reading.

After about thirty minutes, Bradley joined you with two beers in his hand.

"Isn't it a little early to start drinking?" You asked him.

"It's five o'clock somewhere." He mused as he handed you one. You set your book down and took a sip.

"I think I'm ready for a swim. Can you put some sunscreen on my back for me?" You asked him.

He nodded. You grabbed your bottle and passed it to him before turning to stand with your back to him. You slipped your shirt off your shoulders and tossed it aside.

Bradley almost lost it at the sight of your in your simple black bikini. He'd never seen this much of your skin. It was just as beautiful as he thought it would be. And he had thought about it a lot. Probably more than he should have.

He swallowed thickly as he quickly composed himself and rubbed the lotion on your back and shoulders before setting it on the table next to him and sitting back down. You turned around to thank him—and that's when he saw it. His eyes almost buldge out of head. Thankfully, you couldn't see them because of his sunglasses.

He was enraptured by what he saw.

The distinct black ink on the left side of your chest that curved under your left breast and disappeared under the band of your swim top.

"You have a tattoo?" He blurted out in surprise. "Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you?" You asked him. No, you most definitely did not tell him. He would have remembered that. He would have fantasized about what it looked like if it was the only thing you had on. "It's not visible all the time. Sometimes I forget about it." You laugh.

"What is it?" He asks you. You move closer to show him. You lift up the band of your top ever so slightly so he can see the whole thing.

"It's one of Ruth Bader Ginsburgs lace judicial collars she used to wear. It says 'I belong in all places' on the inside because of my favorite quote by her: 'Women belong in all places where decisions are being made.' I got it here because I wanted to keep that close to my heart. Being a woman in politics isn't always easy. I wanted a reminder that I belonged here." You explain to him.

"It's amazing." Bradley tells you. Without thinking, his hand reaches up to trace the ink. You shudder under his touch. "Sorry." He quickly draws his hand away.

"It's fine, I'm just ticklish." You laugh. "Care to join me?" You say as you nod toward the pool. "I'm fine, have fun." He tells you as he leans back into his chair. Bradley waits until you've dove under the water to get up and leave. The sight of your nearly naked form and him learning about your tattoo have made him impossibly hard, and he needs to get back inside now before he combusts.

.........................

Wednesday couldn't come fast enough for Bradley. After the tattoo fiasco, he'd spilled wine all over your pajamas by knocking your glass over. You were frustrated because you didn't have another set to wear. He'd offered you one of his worn Navy shirts he had packed, though he would have preferred it if you wore nothing at all. It was almost sinful the way it fit your body, stopping at your mid thighs, leaving just enough to the imagination. You spent the rest of the weekend prancing around in it, and when you had to reach up to get something off the shelf and he caught a glimpse of your lace underwear, it almost did him in.

But the thing that really killed him was Tuesday night. The two of you had decided to watch a movie, and you had ended up falling asleep on him. Bradley had to will himself to get up and put you in your bed and not his. He loved the way your body tucked into his. He had to do something.

Your flight back was easy, and everyone was happy the two of you were back. You were all smiles when you entered the White House. Bradley was quickly pulled into a meeting in his office while you went to your room to unpack.

Only, when you got in there, your things were missing. Everything of yours had been moved. Your smile quickly turned into a grimace as you asked one of the housekeepers where your things were.

She informed you that Bradley had called that morning and made arrangements for your things to be moved into his, well now your shared bedroom.

You rushed down the hall to his office. You were fuming. How dare he? You spend a long weekend together, and now he thinks he can just move your things without your consent? He thinks just because you're married, now he can boss you around? Just when you'd started to like him, he becomes a dickhead again.

You both knew this marriage was a calculated business arrangement. There was no reason for you to have to live with him.

"BRADLEY!" You shrieked as you stormed into his office. He was by himself, his meeting over you assumed.

"Yes, Sweetie?" He asked as he cocked his head to one side.

"Where are my things!" You yelled at him. "I had them moved into our room. You won't need your old room anymore now that we're married." He preened.

You locked eyes with him. You could detect a hit of something. It wasn't anger. It was more like resentment or frustration. Was he mad that you slept in a separate room over the weekend? No. That couldn't be it. He didn't want to share a bed with you? Did he? You shook the thought from your head.

"It wouldn't look good if people saw us sleeping in separate rooms, now that we are back, would it?" He asked you.

"I know that the staff have been thoroughly vetted, but all it would take is one of them saying that you still sleep in your old room for the tabloids to go crazy. The rumors would start flying immediately. You know I'm right." He stated.

You sighed. It was all part of the game you two were playing.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. He did have a point.

"Fine. But next time you have my stuff moved, you'd better tell me first—dear." There was an edge in your voice as you used the pet name. "My apologies—sweetie." He shot back at you. You groan before storming out to go to your new bedroom.

"That went well." Jake chuckles as he comes into the room. He'd stepped out for a moment and heard everything.

"You know you're being petty right now?" Jake asks Bradley. "I'd be a lot simpler if you just told her how you felt instead of forcing her to shack up with you." Jake croons.

"I'm not forcing her to do anything. I'm simply keeping up appearances." Rooster smirks before kicking his feet up on his desk and taking a sip of his whiskey.

...................

That night, when bedtime came, you were nervous. Bradley had already showered and was watching TV when you got back from a post honeymoon dinner with Jaycee. You got your sleep clothes and found everything you needed for your shower. You drug out your skincare routine as long as you could. When you emerged from the bathroom, you noticed Bradley had set up some pillows and blankets on the couch and was getting ready to lay down.

"Bradley, I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed. I can take the couch, or we can get a cot put in here." You tell him gently. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to make you sleep on the couch, and definitely no cots. You can take the bed. This couch is insanely comfortable." He assured you.

"Bradley, dear, the president shouldn't be sleeping on a couch." You tell him. You look at the bed, and then you look at him. "This bed is huge. We can—we can share. I mean, no matter how comfortable you say that couch is, you can't sleep on it for the next four years." You tell him

He takes a few seconds before he reluctantly agrees to it. You inform him that you sleep on the left side of the bed, which is fine because he prefers the right. He even takes time to build a pillow wall between the two of you before he slips under the blanket.

You click off the light and tell him goodnight before turning over.

Neither of you knows it yet, but neither of you gets much sleep that night. Both of you are too busy longing for the person on the other side of the pillows who is so close, but still so far away

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I know it wasn't as much drama, but I promise the next two parts are going to have you reeling!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lt-bradshaw @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @chicomonks @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @desert-fern @bradshawsbaby

[ellas-journey]

From a thing to wear to an icon of culture 👘

There is this hidden detail in Muzan that when I noticed I could not help but smile. Remember how he said that the thing he hated the most was change? Well coming from someone that had to live in 5 different eras is kinda funny, and it's even funny when you realize that he ended up adopting the Western fashion pretty fast. But that's the twist, if you look at Muzan's vest you come to realize that it's the exact same pattern as the kimono he used to wear. The best part? That was a thing that actually happened in history.

Wanting or not, the clothing that the people used to wear represents the history they lived through. "To look seriously at art objects of the everyday, such as clothes - their discourse and practices, their meaning-bearing forms and their codes of internal and external interpretations - in an essential, and often neglected, component of any study of modern aesthetics." - Slade, 2009 Yofuku [Western Clothing] is a type of clothing that is now common all over Japan, but during a lot of time, it was a type of clothes that only selected few grew up with. The 1st contacts with these types of clothing [even if extremely different from what we now call western clothing] was in the 16th century when the Portuguese arrived in Tanegashima. With them came not only different shapes but also different fabrics. But the “true” introduction to western fashion would only happen with Commodore Matthew Perry, catharsis to the Meiji restoration, where Emperor Meiji would start to dress in a typical western military outfit, and soon after the empress would start to aper in the typical victorian dresses. In the Edo period clothing visually distinguished the social classes. "Certain articles of clothing visibly differentiated people of diverse social classes, and simultaneously distinguished an individual within a specific group. The materials, motifs and construction of military campaign coats, for example, marked their wearers as men belonging to the military class." - Milhaupt, 2014; Samurai ranked on the top, followed by farmers, artisans, and merchants on the bottom. What happen was that most of the times the samurai where poor while the merchants lived in economic success. But samurai had the privilege of using certain types of fabrics and patters, even tho most of the times they could not afford them, and so, the merchants would start to adapt the fabrics and patters they were allowed to were and would end up becoming the patrons of arts and fashion. The trends of fashion would later be documented in ukiyo-e, and not only in the work of art sense, but also in pattern books were people could browse the prevailing styles. After the 1st contacts with the westerners, what would start to happen is that slowly but surely the Japanese would start to integrate the western ways of dressing into their lives. The Japanese started to introduce some of its elements with the kimono, shoes, hats, gloves, glasses, umbrellas, etc. Then in the 19th century a full change would happen starting from the man in the highest classes to the man in the lowest classes. The emperor decided to cut his topknot in 1872 and started to dress in western clothing in official appearances, also changing some of the more cultural habits like eating meat and more wester kind of meals. In the official portraits he appears adorned with a French-style military uniform with ornaments in gold and ostrich feathers. Before this, the emperor was never a public figure, so when pictures of the Meiji Emperor became available, and he started to appear more publicly the nation would have their eyes on him and start to imitate him. Women would, for the longest time still dress in the now classic kimono, that would develop as a symbol of the old and traditional Japan. The idea of the western clothing being associated with a modernized Japan and the Kimono [that literally means “thing to wear”] to a traditional country came from the fact that the emperor would choose to wear western clothes in more formal, international events, and for religious national events would choose the traditional Japanese court dress. The western clothes will end up being a symbol of the modernization of Japan, and the Meiji government would use it as yet another tool of national control. For all the Japanese born after 1945 the western clothes became the norm. Most families would end up transforming their kimonos into western clothing pieces, and the patterns sold for kimonos would double for kimonos and western clothing.

But it is funny to notice how despite it all Muzan is the one being presented in western clothing and Ubuyashiki is the one in traditional clothes, always being the contradiction of the other, but also it can also be interpretated as the Ubuyashibi family being "trapped" in the past since in hundred years the corps never killed an upper moon, the history never changed. And Muzan in his ever-changing cycle of his life, in the changing of eras and changing of personas he decided to reuse the only thing he could: his clothes. And just like him, they would adapt through the times.

MILHAUPT, Terry Satsuki. 2014 - Kimono: A Modern History. London: Reaktion Books [Ebook]; SLADE, Toby. 2009 - Japanese Fashion: A cultural History. Oxford, Berg. [Ebook];

[seoul-bros]

What lies ahead

Magnate posted photos of Jimin's basic training graduation on Instagram in which Jimin received the Division Commander Commendation. He and Jungkook worked hard and made a positive impression on their trainers and fellow trainees in the last five weeks.

"Hello, I'm ZM-illennial (メグナット) Did everyone bring an umbrella? Like it's going to rain soon It's cloudy, so for those who have been waiting for news of rain, we hope you have a moist day with our condolences to those who are worried.

If it's long, it's long, and if it's short, it's short. It's over, thanks to your support and constant interest and love, 1 year and 5 months is a long time, but it can also be a short time. ARMY was a great help Thank you from the bottom of my heart"

It's an inflection point in their military life and now the hard slog of soldier's duties begins. They will reportedly be assigned to one of the units of the artillery brigade.

It makes me nervous knowing that they and their fellow graduates are serving in the military at such a dangerous moment. It was chilling to read this news posted on the BBC website yesterday.

In a report published last week for 38 North, a US-based organisation with a focus on North Korea, former State Department official Robert Carlin and nuclear scientist Siegfried S Hecker said they saw the situation on the Korean Peninsula as "more dangerous than it has ever been" since the start of the Korean War in 1950.

"That may sound overly dramatic, but we believe that, like his grandfather in 1950, Kim Jong Un has made a strategic decision to go to war," it said.

"We do not know when or how Kim plans to pull the trigger, but the danger is already far beyond the routine warnings in Washington, Seoul and Tokyo about Pyongyang's 'provocations'."

No one will benefit from a fresh outbreak of war on the Korean peninsula and BTS members are now on the front line of any aggression. Although it is difficult to see at the moment, I hope there is a way back from the brinkmanship that currently characterizes North-South relations.

Post Date: 18/01/2024

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 5

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary:  There’s no escape. You’re prey in a spider’s web.

Rating: T. Heed the warnings y'all!

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, trauma, ptsd flashback including non-con touching, fear

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you always for the kind support💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Body

The warehouse is bone-chilling. 

It’s your first observation when you follow Rockford inside, body temperature dropping as the frozen air slices through your jacket like the blade of a knife. The windows are all busted, jagged shards of glass litter the grimy concrete floor beneath your feet. Various metallic beams covered in rust criss-cross overhead. It’s a hauntingly eerie place, even with the multitude of policemen and CSIs meandering about.

And there, in the center of it all, a woman lies dead wearing a bright yellow duffle coat and matching yellow rain boots.

You inhale a sharp breath upon seeing her. Banjo whines softly, laying down with his head on his paws, and your hand fidgets with the urge to pet him, empathy twinging in response to his fear. 

“Victim is Carmin Carrillo, thirty-eight years old from Toven with a gift of claw extension according to her driver license,” Inspector Dorrance informs you and Rockford, his voice a low rumble as he recites information from his pocket notebook. “We’re in the process now of determining contact details. Couple of kids screwing around found her, but it doesn't look like she’s been here long. Suicide by cyanide ingestion, just like the others.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Rockford mutters under his breath, snapping on a spare pair of latex gloves Dorrance provides.

Your match wastes no time in striding forward to carefully analyze the body, staring down for a long beat at her hands stained scarlet with blood. He moves onto her coat next without saying a word, crouching down and running a gloved hand over the yellow material, flexing his fingers afterwards almost clinically. An umbrella is pulled out from the coat pocket, scrutinized by his brown eyes as if it were an explosive device. He actually reminds you a bit of bomb-sniffer dogs at airports and train stations, unflinchingly calm and dedicated to their task at hand.

Unlike the canines who usually sit upon making a discovery though, Rockford stands to full height and swivels around. “Miss Roan, what do you feel?”

“From who?” you ask with a quick, confused look over at Dorrance. The inspector merely crosses his arms over his chest with a quiet sigh, radiating something akin to resignation.

“Our victim here,” Rockford says.

Your eyebrows lift so high up your forehead you’re surprised they don’t fly off. What Rockford’s suggesting—feeling the emotions of the dead—is a delicate process involving empathic echoes. Emotional imprints left behind in the wake of traumatic events which empaths can tap into and experience for themselves. During your service, you’d been instructed to focus your mind-gift on the living souls rather than the deceased, but that didn’t stop the echoes from setting off a series of ominous clicks in your eardrums like a Geiger counter when you brushed too close.

“If it’ll solve this case faster, go ahead,” Dorrance says, noticing your hesitation. He eyes Banjo, a note of firmness slipping into his tone when he adds, “But the pup stays back.”

You glance over at Rockford, finding him rapidly scrolling on his phone, oblivious beyond the screen. “O-okay,” you reply, and hand over Banjo’s leash in exchange for your own pair of latex gloves.

The concrete is cold under your knees as you kneel beside the body. Carmin’s lying on her left side with her eyes closed, raven locks framing her head, long and frizzy. She could almost be mistaken for sleeping, if not for her unnatural stillness and the dry blood coating her hands. 

Dorrance had mentioned the victim left behind a note. What he’d failed to say was that she’d cut the message into her own palm with her fingernails—no, with her claws.

Naranja.

The Spanish word for orange. You mouth it to yourself, baffled. Was it a side effect of the cyanide resulting in the self-mutilation or is there another, more meaningful reason for its existence? It’s gruesome either way.

Rockford’s leather shoes shuffle out of the corner of your eye, reminding you of the task at hand. Empathic echo. Right. Your match is counting on you to be helpful. You mustn’t let him down.

You stretch out your empathy, the emotions of those in the room overlapping and ricocheting off of one another like rain pattering on a metal roof, but they aren’t what you’re searching for. Focus. You sidestep them, feeling your mind-gift sharpen, scraping along the walls, the floors, no corner left unchecked. Focus.

A distinct clicking sound sends a little spark down your spine, growing in frequency as your empathy zeroes in further, and you have no idea what you’re engaging with, but it’s–

The change from individual clicks to a shrill whine is explosive, silencing all other sounds, vision whiting out as if a spotlight’s been aimed directly at your eyes.  

Fear starts pooling in your gut, slow at first, ignorable. But it keeps building, bubbling up your throat, wrapping around your heart. The desire to scream burns worse than acid. Can’t. Your mouth is sewn shut. Muscles paralyzed. Everything’s on fire. There’s no escape. You’re prey in a spider’s web. 

Trapped. Poisoned. Dying.

You hear it then. Somewhere as close as it is far away, muffled and distorted by time—the quiet hiss of laughter. 

Shuddering, it reminds you of—

Oh, dear God no.

“Miss Roan?”

Hands tear at your clothes, grimy fingers grazing skin as a heavy weight pins you to the ground. Acrid breath floods your nostrils. And lust, so much vile, thirsting lust it sours your stomach, gagging at the deluge. Get off, you think hysterically, get off get off get off.

“Miss Roan!”

You blink, sucking in a shaky lungful of air. You’re in the warehouse still, on the floor, but you’d been moved away from Carmin several feet. How long were you ensnared by the echo? By the…rest of it? You blink again, struggling to focus. Rockford’s crouched in front of you, brown eyes full of concern. 

“It’s alright, Roan. You’re okay.”

His hand squeezes your shoulder, and it grounds you back in reality the same way an asteroid crashes to the earth, sudden and violent. Uncaring of the destruction upon impact.

You flinch, and there’s a collective groan from the entire room’s occupants as they press their hands to their heads, teeth gritting and eyes scrunching. Even Banjo’s afflicted, pawing helplessly at his ears. 

It’s your fault they’re in pain. Empathy taking root in their minds, holding them hostage, applying pressure until it hurts. You force yourself to take another breath, trying to reign it in, box it up, but it’s not–it won’t–fuck, what the hell is wrong with you?

“Kez.” Rockford’s gaze remains steadily locked with yours, expressing nothing, an impenetrable mask, though his voice is a little rougher than normal. “Take her outside.”

“Tim,” Dorrance starts.

“Now, Keziah,” Rockford cuts him off, not quite snapping but close enough.

Too rattled to speak, you feel like you’re watching yourself be pulled clumsily onto your feet by Rockford and passed over to Dorrance. The inspector holds onto Banjo’s leash in one hand and your bicep in the other, leading you both towards the rear exit of the warehouse, away from the lights and cameras still swarming at the front.

Even while functioning on autopilot, it’s hard to ignore the stares of the CSIs, their silent judgment palpable even without your triggered mind-gift achingly aware of their distrustfulness like individual bug bites. It’s even harder to ignore how Rockford’s emotions have never felt so distant from your reach before, guarded and indecipherable. A door once freely open now barred shut.

And it’s funny, you think, how someone who’s the most important person in your life can so suddenly change into an unrecognizable stranger in a mere matter of minutes. As if you never really knew them at all.

My fault. I caused this.

It’s all so fucking hysterical.

The Discussion

Inspector Dorrance guides you to a bench outside, releasing his hold once you sink down heavily. Banjo hops up on the seat next to you, snuffling at your jacket sleeve before curling closer, and the man seems to realize the dog is trained enough to remain put, letting go of the leash so it hangs limply next to your leg.

You try again to wrestle control of your empathy, but it continues slipping free and bleeding out into the atmosphere, drawn to the laid-back stillness of Dorrance’s mood. Unshaken by your episode. Unbothered by your nearness.

Just…clockwork calm.

Maybe it’s due to his training that he keeps a cool head, or maybe the sucker he digs free from his inner suit pocket is infused with some kind of mood-numbing ingredient. Either way, after unwrapping the candy, you barely catch a glimpse of its bright green coloring before it’s shoved into his mouth, rolled around on his tongue.

Dorrance looks over across the wharf, out at the docked boats and to the nightly horizon beyond. You follow his gaze, absently stroking a hand over Banjo’s ears, the mutt’s affection a low hum taking some of the sting out of your mind-gift, and there’s a moment where the whole world feels hushed.

The moon hangs above the sea, cascading streaks of silver light upon the waves. Shining brightly even in the darkest of hours. A rebel against the encroaching, ravenous shadows.

“I used to smoke like a damn chimney. My boyfriend hated it,” Dorrance says, out of nowhere. He holds the sucker’s stick between his fingertips, gesticulating as he talks. “It was Tim’s idea, substituting candy for cigarettes. Loathed the suggestion at first, thought he was taking the piss out of me, but now…” He shrugs, wedges the sucker back into the corner of his scarred mouth.

You stare at him, the details of his face highlighted by the moon. Standing out as a beacon in the void. He shouldn’t be here–there’s a dead body literally right behind you, far more important than your pathetic issues–but he shows no signs of impatience, outward or internal. No blame either, but its absence doesn’t loosen the weight on your chest. Doesn’t mean you didn’t royally fuck everything up.

Banjo presses impossibly closer, wet nose against your wrist disrupting your spiraling thoughts. 

“Tim Rockford is a very perceptive man, Miss Roan,” Dorrance says, blunt and to the point now. Your eyes snap back to him, subconsciously sitting up straighter in response to the tone shift. “But even he has his blind spots. Things—and people—he takes for granted, expecting them to do whatever he wants them to regardless of the consequences. Especially when there’s a case to be solved. Do yourself a favor and don't let yourself become one. Talk to him, alright?”

When Rockford had said–

You belong anywhere I am.

We’re stuck with each other.

–he’d meant every word. 

At the time, at least. Before your lapse of self-control proved your empathy can’t be trusted under pressure, not even with your match within close reach. You used to face down enemies bigger than mountains, teeth bared and blood under your fingernails. You used to be fearless. 

You’re not that person anymore. And you’re not who Rockford deserves as his match either.

You need to be better. You have to be.

“...Alright,” you repeat quietly, thinking back to the icy certainty you’d felt back at the apartment. How you’d known there was another side of your match you’d never encountered before. And this is it, so it would seem, a side passionately dedicated to his work that shouldn’t have to be burdened with your mistakes and triggers. “I–I’m sorry for losing control the way I did. It shouldn’t’ve happened. It was unprofessional and–”

“At ease, soldier.” It should be irritating to hear, a reminder of a life you’re no longer living, but the words strike a chord deep within, shoulders reflexively dropping. “Headaches are common amongst the force, each of us trying to understand why people do the things they do.”

A burning sensation lingers in the back of your throat. Hand trembling even as it runs through Banjo’s fur. “She was scared. Carmin, I mean. Absolutely terrified during her final moments. And I swear…I know how this sounds, but I swear, inspector, I heard somebody laughing at her. She wasn’t alone.”

Dorrance’s eyes widen slightly at that, and you can feel the ticking of his mind speeding up, realization striking. “Fuck,” he breathes, half turning to glare back at the warehouse as if he could see through to the interior. His jaw clenches so harshly around the candy stick you’re surprised it doesn’t cut in half. “Fuck, Tim’s been right all along, hasn’t he? These suicides—somebody’s been pulling the strings. But how? Why?”

You don’t have the answers he wants. You’re not Rockford. Can’t produce calculations and explanations out of the tiniest of observations. The only thing you can do is offer Dorrance’s own advice back to the man.

“Talk to Rockford,” you say, because he’s the best chance of making sense out of any of this bloody mess. And together, Dorrance and him will get Carmin and the other victims the justice they deserve. “Tell him what I felt.”

Dorrance is silent for a moment, just watching your face, and to his credit he doesn’t ask why you don’t tell Rockford yourself, doesn’t dig his fingers into the proverbial wound you’re struggling to stitch back up. It hurts to wonder what you must look like in his eyes, fidgety and unstable. A far cry from the woman he met earlier. 

“I will,” he finally nods. “Take your time out here. Come in when you’re ready.”

And then he’s walking past you, turning his back on the moonlight and returning to the warehouse of metal and death. Not once does the steady tempo of his mind falter.

You’re not sure if you’re more comforted by his strict self-control or envious of it.

You’re not sure of much right now, actually.

The Woman

Time has a strange way of moving when you’re lost in your thoughts. Could be five minutes you sit there, could be forty. You don’t know, don’t care much either—it’s just you, the moon, and Banjo.

The little mutt nudges at your hand when it’s still too long, and then when that doesn’t achieve the ear-scratches he craves he goes one step further and stands with his two front paws on top of your thigh. He looks at you squarely in the eye. You stare back. 

“I was back there for a moment,” you tell him, a hollow, emptiness in your voice. “In camp during the raid when that man…when he tried to…” You take a slow, trembling breath, swallowing harshly against the lump in your throat. “Well, you don’t need to hear about that. We’ve all got our bad days, yeah? Just the way the cards are dealt.”

Banjo sneezes. Maybe that’s all it is, but part of you like to think he’s agreeing bad days are a total pain in the ass.

“Finding you was a good day though.” You boop him on the nose. “One of my very best.”

Banjo’s tail starts to wag, but then his ears perk, hearing something. He turns immediately, a low warning growl building in his chest. And that’s the thing about your scrappy dog—he’s a friendly, easily pleased ball of fur at his core. He doesn’t growl at anything or anyone unless there’s a damn good reason to.

And that’s when you feel it.

A shard of curiosity deliberately pricks your mind-gift, sparkling and bright. Attention-seeking. It doesn’t stem from the direction of the warehouse, but closer. Alarmingly so. 

You turn your head so fast your neck aches, squinting against the darkness. 

There, several feet in front of you, a woman stands on the concrete dropoff separating land from water. She waves when she catches your wide-eyed gaze, a cheeky gesture, curiosity morphing into satisfaction. A glimmering diamond which might have mesmerized your mind-gift if not for its sharp edges promising a painful cut. Whoever this stranger is, not only has she snuck up on the backside of a crime scene, she’s also been trained to fend off empaths.

Alarm bells ring loudly in your mind. You’re torn between shouting for backup–if anyone will even listen to you–and going down there and confronting her yourself. The woman stares you down, practically daring you to make a choice.

It’s Banjo who makes your decision for you. He leaps off the bench before you can even think of grabbing him or the leash. The second his paws connect with the ground he’s off like a rocket with his sight set on the woman, ignoring your cry of his name as you chase after him.

The distance to the dropoff is short, but with the amount of panic pumping through your nervous system it might as well be miles. You’ve got to catch Banjo, stop him before he causes harm. Growling is a rarity for him. Outright charging at somebody though? It’s as if he’s been possessed or replaced with an entirely different dog. 

You don’t think things can get any worse. 

The woman falls backwards over the edge into the water.

What the–

Banjo doesn’t stop, committed to his hunt, and jumps after her.

FUCK.

If your heartbeat wasn’t throbbing in your ears, maybe you would’ve heard the lack of splashing after their dives.

As it is, you make the leap, your little mutt dog the only thing on your mind. Your body instinctively braces for the cold water to hit, but it never comes. You just keep falling and falling, the colors of your vision warping into a blurry haze. 

Of course, you think, mentally kicking and cursing yourself for forgetting every lesson instilled in you during recruit training, including the most important one of all. Determine the enemy’s gift before engaging. Of fucking course she had to be a portal maker.

When reality finally settles again, you find yourself rolling across a wooden tile floor, stopping just before your head collides with the edge of a leather sofa. For a second you merely lie there, taking stock of your body, the aches from your limbs of being unceremoniously dropped out of the portal. 

A familiar bark has you sitting up in a rush. You spot the woman first, dark haired and stylishly dressed. She’s reclining comfortably in a plush chair next to a marble fireplace with a massive piece of artwork worthy of being displayed in the Louvre hanging above. You’re in someone’s house, you realize, another stone of dread dropping into your stomach. The woman smiles at you, perfectly pleasant, but her glittering amusement makes you grit your teeth in irritation. 

Banjo barks again, yanking your attention to the other half of the room where the largest book case you’ve ever seen takes up almost an entire wall. He isn’t growling anymore, but his hackles remain raised, tail held stiff. Once you notice the man crouched in front of Banjo, offering his hand for the dog to smell, you cannot believe what you’re seeing.

Because the man he…

Brown eyes lift over Banjo’s figure to lock with yours, a dimpled smile curling on a mouth outlined in dark, bristly hair.

The man has Rockford’s face. Identical to the very last detail.

“So, you’re the unfortunate soul who matched with my brother.” He stands to full height, dressed in formal wear with an untied floral robe swishing with every movement. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, Miss Roan. You and I have got quite a lot to talk about.”

[sahsalart]

Designed my Resident Evil OC for Death Island, bought it the second it came out and I haven’t stopped watching it since. Meet my baby girl, Eunjoo Chandoo-Arnáz. Agent of the DOS (and wifey of Mr. Kennedy), She is very much so Mommy. I just had to draw my gorgeous girl for the movie. She is a native of Haiti, born to a South Korean mother and a half-Haitian/half-Puerto Rican father. In the drawing and during the events of Death Island, she is 32 — making her the youngest of the group. But, she also is the only mother out of the group! She has fraternal twins with — the cherry of it all — Leon S. Kennedy himself. Yes, they are a couple cuz Leon is just so <333

I mean look at her and then look at Leon, they are just tooooooo good to not be the ultimate baddddie couple. She is meowmy <3 and great news for baby boy Leon, she actually cares about him and tries not to get him killed or betray him!!!!!!!!

Some fun facts about Eunjoo:

- She is highly trained in several forms of martial arts, but her main art forms of combat are Heihuquan, Capoeira, and Hapkido. Her fighting style is very aggressive with powerful, tiger-like strikes yet is balanced by eloquent, graceful leg movements. Her father was a martial artist that has competed in several competition throughout the Caribbean and South America, he has won several national championships and titles.

- Going in hand her martial arts background, she is extremely flexible and acrobatic. In her youth, she was a renowned local gymnast in her hometown.

- Eunjoo stands only at 5 feet and 3 inches, same height as Rebecca Chambers.

- Her signature combat gloves not only serve for great gripping, but have long, indestructible claws that can be used to slice and sever through anything. The claws itself are made with Tungsten metal reinforced with carbon fiber materials and are retractable.

- Her native language is Haitian Creole but she can speak/read/write in a multitude of languages including, Korean (her second language), Spanish, English, French, Italian, Portuguese, and German.

-Eunjoo was originally a Haitian-police recruit that came into contact with a strain of the G-Virus after a small group of ex-Umbrella Scientists, who sought refuge in Haiti, unleashed the virus on a remote base she was stationed at. There, she was forced to kill several of her friends and allies as she fought to survive the night. The US Military, who had been secretly tracking the scientists intervened but were too late to stop the devastation. Eunjoo had managed solely to find the scientists along with their lab that was located underneath the base, killing the scientists (now mutated after injecting themselves with the G-Virus) and destroying the virus. The US Military later coerced Eunjoo into joining them under the guides of being able to protect her family from future biohazard outbreaks.

- At age 18, she started training under the USA’s military.

- At age 19, she met Leon. Their meeting was one that happened accidentally, however they both knew of each other’s history with the G-virus.

- At age 21, just days after her birthday, she accompanied Leon on his operation to Spain to rescue Ashley.

- Her date of birth is 8/13/1983.

Enjoy!

[awkward-tension-art]

Remain By His Side Chp.5 Unable to Sleep

Chapter 4. Chapter 6. (Smut)

Leon, with dread, realized how he felt about you.

Warnings: Leon needs a hug, self-hate, one-sided love, Leon being Leon, talks of Raccoon City, grief, death mention, guilt

Leon only had a week before he was taken for more training. A week to spend with you.

He wanted to tell you. Desperately. 

He wanted to tell you why he was going to special forces. He wanted to tell you that they put a gun to Sherry’s head. They threatened you, willing to snuff your life out as well if he didn’t comply. You and your cousin were unknowing cards in the hand of the government. 

No. He had to keep you safe. Let you live your life in blissful ignorance to the threat. 

The night he told you about Raccoon City, there was a light that died in your eyes. The reality of it all had set in, knowing the horrors your aunt unleashed onto the world. He recognized guilt. The same guilt he saw in himself every time he looked in a mirror.

You knew what happened, the day you two met in the military compound. But this was the first time that details were properly given. Nothing was hidden.

He must’ve traumatized you. Your brother died in Raccoon City, so maybe your mind gave you the thoughts that he was one of the undead that Leon shot down. 

The former rookie held you as you cried. Strangely, you apologized to him. For the crimes of your aunt. For working at Umbrella Corp for a summer. For having the dark and corrupt corporation on your resume.

Another reason to feel guilty, Leon thought, he made you cry…

You had given him several months of peace. Security. Time to heal physically. You gave him a taste of a normal family. You gave him holidays with company, as opposed to the solitude he was used to. Dinners with parents. Celebrations with siblings. All things Leon didn’t have. 

And to repay you? He made you cry. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, trying to calm you down, “I shouldn’t have said anything…”

“No.” you calmed quickly. It was a skill, to shut off your emotions and don the mask of stoicism, “I needed it. The truth.”

You had no idea…

He nodded, “Are you ok?”

There was thick silence. As if you weren’t entirely sure how to answer, “No,” you were honest, “But I think I will be.” You pulled away from him, wiping your tears.

The former rookie nodded again. He felt…cold when you stepped back.

With terror, he realized what he felt. 

You were the warmth in a blizzard. A roof during a storm. The feeling in his heart was something he hadn’t felt before. 

A deep affection. A desperate longing for you. To hold you close. To kiss your lips. To love you and be loved by you. 

Fuck!

He looked at you, hand twitching at his side. It took a lot of will to stop himself from wiping your tears. He couldn’t make you uncomfortable. He couldn’t cross unspoken boundaries. You’ve given him so much, and the idea of harming you…

He didn’t want to break you.

“Listen, I…” Leon would swallow his feelings. 

No. These weren't true feelings. They couldn’t be. He was clinging to you in a desperate attempt to maintain the sliver of good in his fucked up life. You were a means to stability. To keep something of an existence in his hell. He could play pretend, act like he had a family. People who loved and cared about him. All because of you.

That's all. This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. It was gratitude. Appreciation for everything.

“I'm here for you.” Leon settled on those words, “I promise.” He gave you a small, reassuring smirk.

You returned his smile with your own, “Thanks Leon, you're the best.”

“Hardly,” He snorted, “I didn’t give you a graduation gift.” 

Your hand went to his own at his side. Your eyes, clear and beautiful, met his, “Your presence is a good enough gift.”

His heart beat loudly in his chest. Your touch felt like electricity up his arm.

Oh fuck. Gratitude didn’t feel so…intense.

Later that night, hours after you had gone to bed, he stared at his ceiling. Realization hit him like a train. He couldn’t deny his feelings for long at all. His silent argument with himself had lasted an astounding 30 seconds. 

He liked you. 

He liked liked you. 

The former rookie put his hands to his face, rubbing his eyelids.

He’s had crushes growing up. A few through his growing years. He even had a girlfriend in high school for a few months. But after he graduated, he left his hometown and never looked back. Even while he got his degree before the academy he wasn’t interested in finding anyone. 

Until today, it seemed. 

When had his heart opened to you? Was it when you two met at the military compound? Was it love at first sight?

Or maybe it was the night you talked with him during a storm. 

Or during the holidays as you introduced him to your extended family. 

Maybe it was today, seeing you in your cap and gown, eyes bright and smile wide.

“Oh fuck.” he mumbled to himself. 

How could he untangle his messy feelings from you? How could he shove this affection down? 

Leon didn’t want to walk away. He wasn’t strong enough. This life you’ve invited him into. This family that you asked him to join…this security and happiness. He couldn’t give it up.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

He was selfish. Plain and simple. He selfishly saved himself in Raccoon City. He selfishly let Ada slip from his hand and fall to her demise. He selfishly put a bullet in Marvin, undead or not. He selfishly let the first officer, officer Elliot, get ripped apart by zombies. He didn’t save anyone. Sherry had been saved by Claire, not him.

Leon was a selfish, powerless, coward.

He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, praying for some fucking sleep. What time was it now? 2AM? 3AM? 

Did it matter?

His feelings wouldn’t fade over a single night. He’d be stuck in this dark pit for a while. 

He swallowed again, praying he could fall asleep soon.

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Transman Jack Krauser x Transmasculine Reader

I usually write far more detailed things than this, but I'm currently in the ER and thought this would be a fun thing to brainstorm. I hope y'all enjoy. This is my poetry/writing blog but you can find more of my content on @toadwarts and @boipussybiohazard I definitely plan to write more of this along with Krauser dating hcs!

First Meeting

• Krauser comes back to consciousness after being stabbed by Leon. He is injured and not particularly able to move, but Albert Wesker has been keeping an eye on him. Agents are sent to retrieve his body and are shocked when Krauser is in fact alive, if barely.

• Wesker dedicates time and resources to healing Krauser, with the written contract that Krauser will now become one of his agents. Krauser is a BOW now, and Wesker has enabled it so that he may mutate at will. The Plagas could not be removed without killing Krauser, but it could be modified. When not mutated, Krauser's arm and face are still disabled--leading to difficulty with facial expressions and motor impairment.

• Krauser knows how to do one thing well, and that's following orders. Him guiding Leon to finish him off was the first decision he had made completely on his own and it failed. He is empty, a shell of a person, and has nothing to live for. He does work for Wesker and he does it well.

• Krauser has to forcibly de-mutate after a heavy skirmish. Going in and out of mutating is incredibly painful, but it was neccessary this time. He is badly hurt and finds you cutting through some allies to get home--he demands medical items, food, water. He is extremely intimidating. You look at him and his arm bleeding profusely while dangled at his side, and think of your own disabilities. You struggle with walking and have an exceptionally weak constitution. You understand the pain in his eyes that he tries to hide behind a biting tone, though you have no idea who these mysterious man in military fatigues is. You speak to him softly and get him some first aid. His cruel manner of speaking goes silent, but he is cold. He mutters something about being too far away from his rendezvous point.

• You offer him to take it easy in your apartment. He is incredulous. You suspect there is more to him than meets the eye. You tell him gently that you lost your parents to an operation by Umbrella...looking at the sudden widening of his eyes, you realize your hunch was right. You let him know that you tend to keep your head down and just work your 9-5, so he should be safe at your studio apartment. He reluctantly agrees and walks with you, insisting on carrying the groceries you had had in his uninjured arm. You get a feeling he is showing off his machismo, but for who? It's clearly hurting him. You fret, though you get the feeling that if you showed him pity you'd likely get some knuckles to the face.

• You go to give him the bed, but he refuses. Not in a chivalrous sort of way, but instead claims that he isn't soft and he'll do just fine with a sleeping bag. He keeps muttering how he shouldn't even be here. How he has no idea of what to do with civilians like you. Too normal and complacent, people like you are. He seems lost. You smile and start making something simple for you both to eat. You figure a big guy like him eats a lot.

• He's an army guy, obviously, so you want to try and find something familiar. All American. As he tends more to his arm, you fry up some hot dogs and warm the buns. You grab each of you a beer from the fridge. You bring it to him and he blinks. Doesn't say thank you, just starts to eat. The way he scarfs it down is more than enough for you. He asks for seconds, then thirds.

• "Who are you?" You ask.

• "Not important." He says. He takes his time with the beer. Looks like this guy is a locked chest, and you won't be getting anything from him soon. After he's fed and you give him some of your pain medication, you crawl into bed. You wonder if you're safe--he's an older man with bloodstains on his clothes and has hardly said more than a few sentences. He doesn't exactly scream safe... After all, he IS taking advantage of you, isn't he? Or at least he tried, before you led him right to your home like a lost puppy.

• Still. You remember what happened to your parents, and the flash of recognition in his eyes when you mentioned Umbrella. Umbrella is why you had been disabled and silenced...why your parents were dead. Maybe they had hurt him too. Maybe the world itself had. He looked like a guy carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, hiding it behind snarky remarks and a deep scowl.

• You didn't believe in fate, but when you fell asleep with him sitting straight up and staring at the wall, you felt like this was something meant to be. You wanted to help him, but you also knew...that was his choice. Not yours.

Getting to Know Each Other

• Krauser stays with you for a few days. All he says is that he cannot reach his contact. He is abrasive and mostly silent. His eyes are empty and he stares out into space often.

• Over the next three days, you slowly get him to open up. You ask him what his favorite movies are, and he flatly says he doesn't watch movies. Board games? No. Books? No. Video games? No. Hobbies? Nu-uh. You are shocked. Irritated by you, he finally tells you he hasn't bothered with anything like that since he was a child--he was too busy with his military career.

• You invite him to watch a movie with you. It's some military flick, not something you're particularly interested in. He is reluctant, but sits on the couch. He clearly doesn't know what to do when out of action.

• You watch the movie together and have to take frequent pauses for him to make some sort of commentary or get up and pace restlessly. A two hour long movie turns into four hours. You don't mind, because he's finally talking, and he's finally passionate about something. He has a sneer that most would find nasty, but you think is cute. You're receptive to his infodumps and understanding of his needing to pause, and he notices this.

• You watch more movies with him--he loves Highlander and Braveheart, movies like that. You show him sci-fi and fantasty, move on to some comedies. The Princess Bride actually makes him laugh. The two of you start talking more. He isn't sweet, but he's a great verbal sparring partner, especially when he's passionate about something.

• He shows you one of his knives and the tricks he can do with it. He seems to glow from the way you're impressed, but just acts like he deserves it. He tells you about his favorite knife, one he...gave away to a friend. You don't ask questions.

• One day, he is just gone. It was only five days, but it felt like forever, and you wanted to get to know him more. It felt like this mysterious stranger had left an imprint on your life forever.

• Three months pass. Nothing. You grieve that you never learned his name.

• You come home from work one day, struggling with your cane. Your back and leg are killing you. You almost scream when your front door swings open as you approach, and your Mysterious Stranger is standing there. He grins at you, seemingly pleased to have given you a fright, then has the decency to look sheepish. He says he remembered the spare key. He tells you that he needed a place to stay again. You're incredulous, but let it slip. Not without bitching at him for eating your food and leaving without a word. He bites right back, your home feels more alive again.

• This cycle continues. He finally tells you his name. Jack Theodore Krauser. You love it. You spend a lot of time inside, showing him different kinds of media, but slowly get him to venture outside. He almost seems agoraphobic when it comes to anything other than a battlefield or room with four walls, and it's a long process. He's not used to eating things much more than MREs and chicken breasts and veggies. You get him to try new things, to venture out to the park, to find some new clothes at the mall. Specifically at the big and tall store.

• You two have fun together. You become good friends, and still you don't know a lot about each other. It doesn't matter.

• He gets the mail one day. He's a nosy bastard and opens it...it's your testosterone subscription. You see him holding it and nearly have a panic attack! You have no idea how this army guy is going to react to the fact that you've been hiding something so big and--

• Krauser stares at the prescription for a moment, lips pursed. He shrugs and tugs up his shirt. Barely there, extremely faded, are keyhole top surgery scars. You would have to know what you're looking for to see them, especially with all the muscle he's built.

• You both kind of stand there in shock, before he tells you about his experiences as a gay trans man in the American military. How much he had to hide, the papers he had to forge... It was a hard life. He finally tells you about Operation Javier. His face is stone cold, but his hands tremble. The military discovered he was transgender then. Between that, the failure and his disability, it got him discharged.

• You put a hand to his. He's so much bigger than you, different than you, and yet...there is a thread that ties you together. Many threads. He looks at you, his glassy blue eyes hiding any trace of emotion.

• And then he leans down and kisses you. He is a sloppy, wet kisser, and you can tell he doesn't have much experience, though his passion is like a brightly lit flame.

• You make out with him and curl up in bed together, the first time he has ever deigned to touch your sheets. He tells you about Las Plagas. He tells you what he is. What he has done.

• You smile at him. You let him know that you would love him no matter what.

• He says nothing.

• He is gone in the morning.

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

The Princess of Wales’ Stats - Fourth Quarter

In the final three months of 2023, the Princess of Wales completed 33 engagements, averaging 11 engagements a month. Her overall work rate has definitely improved after the coronation, although her she only undertook 5 engagements in December due to a relatively early break for Christmas. She also appeared in 17 released photos, videos, or statements, and was spotted four times - twice in October, once in November, and once in December. While none of these months have been her “busiest”, November was her busiest November without a tour.

Of her now 29 patronages, she has visited or completed work for 6, totalling 18 engagements in total. In October, Catherine completed three engagements on behalf of the Royal Foundation of the Prince and Princess of Wales and one each on behalf of the Rugby Football League, the Rugby Football Union, and SportsAid. In November, seven of Catherine’s eight patronage related engagements were for the Royal Foundation, while she also completed one for the 1st Queen's Dragoon Guards. In December, she completed one engagement for Evelina London Children's Hospital and three for the Royal Foundation.

Of her 33 engagements, 16 have been solo while another 9 were when she was accompanied by her husband, the Prince of Wales. Two engagements took place with foreign royals (Crown Princess Victoria and Prince Daniel of Sweden), while six took place with a range British royals present.

All of her engagements - bar one (her Rugby World Cup appearance in France) - have taken place in the UK, in England (27), Wales (2) and Scotland (3). More specifically, 14 of her engagements took place in London, while��8 took place in Windsor. She has also undertaken engagements in Cardiff, Birmingham, Hull, Nottingham, Berkshire, Moray, Inverness, and Norfolk.

Many of her engagements have linked to her Early Years Initiative, with eight engagements falling under that umbrella, while four engagements apiece were linked to diplomacy, culture and mental health. There were also 3 engagements linked to children and young people, 2 linked to sport and 3 linked to the military. Four of her engagements did not fit into the theme headings I have created.

Clotheswise, her most worn identified designer was Holland Cooper, followed by Emilia Wickstead and Alexander McQueen. Her carried ten different bags, each from a different bag designer. Her most-worn shoe designer is, again, Gianvito Rossi, although she has worn Emmy London and See by Chloe twice, and has two unidentified pairs. In terms of jewellery, she has continued wearing the late Queen's jewellery, with 5 pieces worn. She has also worn four unidentified pieces and four pieces which were once owned by Diana. When it comes to hats, Catherine was seen in three hats - one from Philip Treacy, one from Jane Taylor and one from Juliette Botterill - as well as the Strathmore Rose Tiara and Queen Mary's Lovers Knot Tiara.

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki SSL Hakuo Gakuen Story Vol 5. Okita Souji-hen Rainy After School

I found the tl of 薄桜鬼 遊戯録弐 秋の新選組大運動会！ so I'm planning on translating that next... but I don't know how much of it there is so I might do it in segments as I believe there are 5 "chapters". Maybe? I have an extremely vague recollection of how the story goes.

Anyway this story was originally published in 電撃GS杂志2014年7月号, and was the only one that didn't come with a new graphic.

Also sorry this is late... but I may have been watching Op.4, and I may have fallen asleep after doing so... 😅 and then I may have simply have had no motivation to rush translating.

Hakuoki SSL Hakuo Gakuen Story Vol 5. Okita Souji-hen Rainy After School

Translation by KumoriYami

It was in June.

A the first semester's exams approached at Hakuo Gakuen, the majority students rushed to prepare for their exams after their club activities. Among those clubs was the kendo club, which hadn't ended their activities any earlier, but continued its practice as scheduled. It was headed by the three people - second years Okita Sosuji, Saito Hajime, and Toudou Heisueke. The other second and first year students were all reluctant to accompany them for practice, but were studying during their breaks. As for why only the kendo club was doing this, Okita explained it as follows:

“Stopping club activities for the sake of dealing with exams, isn't that the same thing as being played around with by Hijikata-san, I super hate that.

"Because exams are meant to test your normal fortitude, isn't it strange to specifically study for these exams.

"Ah, it's a cool goal to be well-versed in literary and military arts. In that case, perhaps there will be female manager who will worry about us."

As soon as those words were spoken, Saito and Toudou had no choice but to accompay Okita for practice, until the midterm exams were about to begin. Eventually once the exam season started, all of the school's club activities were suspended, including the kendo club. A bored expression was on Oktia's face as he glanced around the empty dojo, lightly sighing as he walked to the door. This is a story that occurred right before the midterm exams began.

"Eh, it's raining..."

After changing his shoes at the door, Okita Souji, who was preparing to step out, stopped as he saw the raindrops falling from the gloomy skies. Because he didn't bring an umbrella, he had planned on picking up an umbrella that had been left behind in the umbrella rack by the door here and using it, however said umbrellas in the umbrella rack seemed to have remained unused for a long time, and were either covered in dust, or had its ribs snapped. Using such an umbrella on the way home would really upsetting, so he had no other option but to go home in the rain.

"If you catch a cold because of the rain and can't take the midterm exams, that would be an unavoidable casualty, right?"

As he was mumbling those words, eh was preparing to walk out into the rain.

"Um, Okita-senpai, where's your umbrella?"

Hearing someone call him, he turned around to see Yukimura Chizuru, who had just entered the school this year. standing there with a worried expression.

"Well, I didn't bring it. So I'll just be heading home in the rain."

"How can that be... you'll catch a cold. If you don't mind it, please use this umbrella."

Chizuru took out a collapsible umbrella from her bag and handed it to Souji.

"Thanks for your kindness, but what will you be doing if you lend me your umbrella?"

"I, uh, have... have a spare in the classroom..."

Seeing Chizuru glance around him, Souji gazed at her with a smile on his face.

"A spare umbrella... really?"

"Um.... that's really true..."

"Surely after you lent me your umbrella, you were intending to run over to the staff room and ask a teacher to let you borrow one of the dusty or broken umbrellas that were left by the door, right?"

"I... uh..."

Since he guessed what she was worrying about, Chizuru was speechless and lowered her head.

"I won't refuse if Chizuru-chan wants to lend your umrella anyway, if this results in Chizuru-chan needing to hold up one of those broken umbrellas and getting caught in the rain, I don't want to see that happening. That's why I don't want to borrow your umbrella."

“…………”

"But if Chizuru-chan wants to lend me her umbrella regardless, if you don't want me to get wet, the solution to this problem isn't impossible. How? Can you accept that!"

"Ye…. Yes, I'm willing to accept that!"

Hearing Souji's proposal, Chizuru lifted her head with eyes widened with happiness. "Obviously I didn't say what to do…." Souji bitterly laughed/forced a smile in his heart before taking Chizuru's collapsible umbrella and quickly opening it up.

"Then, we'll head home together."

"......Huh?"

"What's wrong? This is the only coordinated solution to the way we think."

"This, you mean to say..."

"Alright, let's go."

Without waiting for her response, Souji took Chizuru's hand and walked ou tthe door. Despite how the two walked as close to each other as possible so as to not get wet, Souji still leaned the umbrella as close to Chizuru as possible to prevent her from getting wet.

"Ah… Okita-senpai will get wet like that… I'll be fine."

Looking at Chizuru, who was pushing the handle of the umbrella into his direction while she spoke, Souji smiled happily.

"Hehe. If you don't want both of us to get wet, we have to move a bit closer."

After saying that, Okita tightly pressed their shoulders together, and Chizuru looked at him with a bewildered expression.

"Look, this way we won't get wet. Then let's go home."

Hearing what Souji said, Chizuru managed to squeeze a "yes" out of her mouth.

On their journey home, the heavy rain caused the temperature to drop, but where the two people touched was always warm.

【END】

That's the last of these stories. Still have more random SSL content lying around though...

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil 5, and why ‘Man who punched a boulder that one time’ is not a personality

Since I’ve already talked about Resis 2, 3, and 4, it’s probably about time to tackle RE5, which may be relevant to the greater state of the franchise for two reasons. For one, after the success of the RE4 remake, RE5 may well be next up in that queue. And considering the franchise’s recent trajectory, with all that RE8, too, owes to the original RE4, it’s worth asking whether something much like RE5 (for better or worse) may well be what we have to look forward to in RE9.

RE5 certainly sold well – to this day, it remains one of the best-selling titles in the franchise. Cynically though, I can’t help but wonder how much of that was simply the franchise coasting off the reputation of RE4 – a game is still cited as one of those titles-that-redefined-the-genre, whereas RE5 doesn’t have much legacy beyond being ‘the racist one’, or That Time Chris Redfield Punched a Boulder.

To give credit where it’s due, by reputation RE5 was a lot of fun to play with a partner (as it was intended), though it may be more notorious for how frustrating it was to play without one, depending on the infamously-awful partner AI as a stand in. Running away from your own AI partner as they try to waste the good healing items on you when you've only got a scratch is apparently a regular part of the single-player experience. I’m stuck saying ‘by reputation’ here because I haven’t actually played RE5 myself, and thus everything below should probably be taken with a pretty big grain of salt.

What I can tell you is that, experienced purely via let’s-plays and cutscene compilations, this is easily the most boring numbered entry in the whole RE franchise.

The biggest single problem here is its protagonist, Chris Redfield, who’s be reimagined for the new console generation as a huge, muscular slab of a man, and with all the personality of a sheet of cardboard, not-much-enhanced by such exciting dialogue as, "There's one thing I do know. I have a job to do, and I'm going to see it through."

This is not a problem unique to Chris: Jill, in her few actual scenes, fares no better. ‘Dedicated para-military professional’, ‘designated good guy’ and ‘wants to save the world from bioweapons’ are perfectly good character traits. They should not be someone’s entire personality. This is a game that does that classic Winter Soldier trope where Jill comes back from the dead brainwashed by the villains, and somehow manages to make it boring. That shouldn’t be possible, but with Chris and Jill, RE5 has pulled it off.

Not all the heroes are as bland as Chris: Sheva gets to be friendly and upbeat and a dedicated para-military professional. But despite being the designated local, she’s entirely here to support Chris, with no real plot of her own or personal investment in his mission. I mean, she does have some history with this other local squad leader guy called Josh, and there’s a bit where he might be dead or something and you have to go find him, but then he’s fine, NBD. Josh himself is about as interesting as Chris, and I can’t help but suspect he’s in this game mostly as a response to criticism that the only other notable black character (Sheva) was a light-skinned woman with a British accent, after which no-one had the guts to actually do anything with Josh for fear of accidentally being offensive. He's just there.

As usual for RE, the villains are far more memorable than the heroes: Wesker is here to leave no scenery unchewed in his usual ridiculous anime-villain way, and Excella… well, you can’t say she doesn’t have personality. But their plan is the usual uninspired dreck: do wildly unethical experiments to bring about the apocalypse and/or next stage in human evolution, get revenge on Umbrella by doing the exact same shit Umbrella always did, blah blah blah. You’ve seen it all a hundred times before.

Like so many RE titles, RE5 opens with a clear thesis statement: appropriately for a co-op shooter, this is a story about partnership. Chris’ reaction to meeting his new ‘partner’ Sheva is heavy with regret over the loss of his old partner, Jill. So, this is one of those Learning To Love Again kind of stories, where Chris has to learn to trust someone new, right? Or maybe Chris will have to make hard decisions between going after his brainwashed old partner, Jill, or backing up his new partner, Sheva? Nope! Maybe this theme comes through for some in the gameplay, but it sure doesn’t go anywhere in the narrative. Chris discovers Jill is alive and brainwashed all of one boss battle before Jill is rescued, immediately un-brainwashed, and promptly left behind again (because, like, she’s injured now and Chris has to trust his new partner, or something). So like so many RE titles, the opening thesis statement goes nowhere.

The other big problem with this game is the complete lack of atmosphere. You can (and RE frequently does) get away with bland heroes just fine if the setting has enough personality to carry the title, but RE5 doesn’t have that going either. There are probably writers out there who could tell a gripping horror story about a hardened para-military team hunting monsters in open spaces in bright sunlight, but they sure weren’t writing for RE5. The RE series at large is never more laughably absurd to me than when it’s trying to go full military shooter, and RE5 is doing that as hard as it can.

I haven’t yet touched on the big controversies this game arrived with, because lord knows I’ve got no special insight into how to respectfully portray African people and an African location. But I think it's safe to say that mindless waves of zombie-uncontacted-tribesmen waving primitive shields and clubs probably isn't a great way to represent Africa's native population. It's not like you're going to meet any un-zombie native tribesmen. Zombie is apparently just their default state.

Still, even from my limited, white-Australian perspective, what stood out most was just how irrelevant the African setting is to the greater plot. RE’s 2 and 3 were set in a (named) American city, with an American pharmaceutical company as its villains. RE4 was set in a Spanish village, with a pseudo-medieval cult as its villains. RE5 may be set ‘somewhere in Africa’, but both its hero and its villain are white Americans. There may be some vague faff about Wesker researching a particular local virus, but for all plot purposes, Africa is little more than an unfortunate bystander, an indifferent battlefield for foreign white people. The only African people worth talking to have guns, and are already working for Chris’ organisation. Jill of RE3 had to watch her home city and her own friends and colleagues fall to the zombie plague, but no-one pays more than the briefest lip-service to the broken communities or human casualties in RE5 – after all, there are bigger things at stake than a few African villagers, Chris has a missing white friend to find! Besides, there’s always, like, wars and famines and shit breaking out in Africa, it’s just a scary, violent place in general. The zombies probably didn’t even make it any worse, amirite?

Yeah, fuck that nonsense. The entire African continent exists to this game as an exotic location where lots of people can die without the player having the feel too bad about it.

Nothing in this game adds up to even the sum of its parts. The reveal of Jill’s face doesn’t produce a ‘omg, it’s Jill!’ reaction from the audience, it gets a ‘wait, who’s this generic blonde lady?’ The mind-control device Wesker uses on Jill is unrelated to any of the biological research he’s been using to turn other people into zombie slaves, it’s just a glowing mechanical thing that can be easily removed. There’s a document you can pick up which spells out a backstory for Sheva that is honestly more interesting than anything going on in the plot, but which fails to provide any insight into how an African-born native who was apparently educated in America has been walking around the whole game with a distinct British accent. The progenitor virus – the nominal excuse for the whole setting – is apparently nothing that Umbrella's researchers haven't already known about for decades.

Is there anything to recommend this game for? Well, Sheva is so much my cup of tea that she’s been turning my head ever since I first ran into a picture of her in some random gaming magazine sometime back around 2008, and I cannot even properly resent this game’s love of showing me close-ups on her ass (it’s a very nice ass, okay?) But after being saddled with such terrible gaming AI, she’s stuck being one of the more widely hated characters in this franchise, and she has so little story of her own that enjoying Sheva doesn’t get me very far.

Oh, and there's Chris' "Heavy Metal" alternate costume. That's certainly something.

RE5 is obviously reflective of the direction the franchise was already taking towards action and away from horror, but probably owes much more to Capcom chasing popular trends. Military co-op shooters set in sunny, arid locations populated by disposable brown people were in at the time, never mind whether that fit the Resident Evil brand. And though the game was a big sales success, it also led directly into the disaster that was RE6, which just about killed the franchise (though being forced to go back to the drawing board for RE7 inarguably did the series a world of good in the long run).

As successful as the remakes of 2, 3 and 4 have been, it’s hard to see the case for remaking RE5. Since 2009, the era of co-op mechanics being shoehorned into everything has come and (thankfully) gone – what was a controversial new direction for RE then isn’t likely to go down much better now. Though it’s now 14 years old, RE5 still looks like a modern game in a way that even the original RE4 doesn’t, and it can’t boast any of the first four games’ reputations as genre-defining classics. Is it possible to reimagine a title like RE5 enough to bring it more in-line with the other recent remakes without alienating those who remember the original fondly, campy co-op nonsense and all? Is it worth courting another round of ugly, racist controversy just to regurgitate a remake of a game so widely considered the franchise’s shark-jumping moment, and which was more of a sequel to the (so far un­-remade) Code Veronica than any of the previous remakes? That’s ultimately up to Capcom to decide, but my money’s on a ‘no’.

Since the semi-reboot of RE7 and 8, Capcom has already returned to much purer survival horror, and then again transitioned into a more action-focused experience a la RE4, effectively speed-running their way through early franchise history again in just two games. Is a continued shift back towards action in some RE5-style follow-up inevitable?

There are good reasons to wonder if that’s already the plan: Chris’ section at the end of RE8 was heavy on the military-shooter-isms, and there’s plenty more in the endgame and on the internet rumour mill to suggest he’s set to be the lead again for RE9. But speaking personally, ye gods do I hope not. Three more games since RE5 have not made Chris any more interesting to me as a character – not unless they’re willing to commit to the increasing hints he’s on the edge of going completely off the deep end into irredeemable villainy, and I doubt Capcom have the guts for that. The last thing this series needs is a new case of military-shooter-itis.

RE5 may not be the worst game in this franchise, but for my money, it’s easily the blandest. I can't speak for the whole fandom ‒ I can't even speak as someone who's actually played the original ‒ but I for one would prefer to see it left firmly in the past.

[drbased]

Another Takedown: We're with the big boys, now!

So I happened to spy a copy of the International Socialism journal, issue 157 published in Winter 2018. On the front cover there is a rainbow trans symbol and the title of one of the chapters: Marxism, feminism and transgender politics by Sue Caldwell. I thought wow, this is it, this a defense of genderism within a socialist framework. This'll be my undoing, finally I'll be able to recognise that my terfism is wrong. This isn't randos on tumblr anymore. So, I buy it, turn to page 25, and begin my journey.

And gyns, if you've read those randos on tumblr, I can assure you that there is nothing new here. I'm going to take apart this whole thing. So this is gonna be a long one, folks.

In August 2017 Donald Trump tweeted that transgender people1 were no longer welcome in the military because they are a “burden” due to “tremendous medical costs and disruption”.2 This was the latest in a series of attacks on transgender people which include attempts to overturn legislation that allows people to use the toilet for their preferred gender. Transgender people face the threat of violent attack; 2017 is on course to see the highest recorded number of killings of transgender people in the United States.3 In the UK transphobic hate crime has tripled in the last five years, while prosecution rates have dropped and transgender people report lack of trust in the police. More than a third of transgender employees say they had to leave their job due to discrimination in 2016.4 A survey released by Stonewall reports that eight out of ten trans school and college pupils had self-harmed and 45 percent had tried to take their own lives.5

1 I am using trans or transgender as an umbrella term to denote people whose gender identity does not match their birth sex, and this includes non-binary and gender fluid identities. When I use trans man or trans woman I am referring to people who have transitioned from female to male (ftm) or male to female (mtf) respectively, regardless of whether they have had any medical intervention. I am aware that these terms are contested and that meanings may change over time. 2 Thanks to Alex Callinicos, Joseph Choonara, Gareth Jenkins, Laura Miles, Sheila McGregor, Judith Orr and Camilla Royle for their comments on this article in draft. 3 Human Rights Campaign, 2017. 4 Yeung, 2016. 5 Weale, 2017.

Hmm. So, right off the back, I think it's a bit of a reach to describe 'banning from military' as an 'attack' on transgender people. I mean, first of all, you're a socialist journal. You're supposed to be materialists, right? Not being made to fight in a war is saving someone from an attack. I know this is a nitpick, but this is what we do, here: we deconstruct narratives and analyse how rhetoric is employed to achieve an affect. A socialist journal uncritically parroting liberal, egalitarian rhetoric? Love to see it.

Now, the '2017 is on course to see the highest reorded number of killings of transgender people in the United States'. So, first of all, kinda curious there's no number used here, right? Why not use it? This is clearly, off the bat, a persuasive piece, so really go for it. The statistics and facts are on your side, right? So what's that really hard-hitting number? 29. Up from 23.

'Some of these cases involve clear anti-transgender bias. In others, the victim’s transgender status may have put them at risk in other ways, such as forcing them into homelessness.'

Hmm. Look, I'm not going to belabour this point, because it's been done by better people elsewhere. Statistically, that's not a significantly high number, even for the transgender population. And it's nothing compared to the murder of women and girls in the same year. But let's talk about what's not being said, here:

Considering how little it takes for a person to ID as trans, there's no reason to assume these people were presenting in any way that makes them a target.

To belabour that point, you guys know we still live in a homophobic society, right? You guys know that homophobic violence still exists? How can you be sure that the motivations have anything to do with gender and not sexuality, considering how often those two things end up being linked?

As better women than me have pointed out, black transgender women in prostitution have the highest murder rate. That's a lot of overlapping risk factors. And in this statistic, a good number of these are people of colour, specifically black people.

Including killings of transgender men is really, really icky, considering how we already have an epidemic of violence against women. But it makes up the numbers. Because, for all the supposed compassion for trans people, this is more of a numbers game than anything else; a desperation to prove the unprovable. And even then, when you make the bar to entry this low, the numbers still aren't particularly powerful enough, so instead they're obfuscated with a really lazy 'highest recorded number of killings'.

A similar rhetorical tactic is used with 'In the UK transphobic hate crime has tripled in the last five years'. So, I couldn't find the source for this one, but you know what I did find?

The law recognises five types of hate crime on the basis of: Race Religion  Disability Sexual orientation  Transgender identity

HOLY

SHIT

BATMAN

MISOGYNY ISN'T EVEN CONSIDERED A HATE CRIME IN MY COUNTRY???????? Transgender people have only been in the public eye for less than a decade whereas FIFTY PERCENT OF THE POPULATION, A POPULATION KNOWN TO BE VIEWED AS PROPERTY SINCE THE BEGINNING OF RECORDED HUMAN HISTORY, DON'T HAVE A RECORD OF HATE CRIMES AGAINST US IN THIS COUNTRY?

ARE

YOU

FUCKING KIDDING ME????

OK, WE NEED TO STOP RIGHT HERE, I'M DONE BEING COY.

Is there anything we can do about this? Is there anyone in the UK who knows anything about the law who can help get misogyny recognised as a hate crime?

[ermwhattheflip07]

~Get to know me~

———————————————————

my name is Reagan

my favorite color is red

i’m 16 years old

i like to draw and paint

looking for mutuals

———————————————————

~My Interests~

The walking dead (i’m only on season 5)

Batman (been obsessed since i was little)

Joker (juaquin pheonix in general 🤤)

My Chemical Romance

Panic! At The Disco (ryan ross era)

Mika (only real french person tbh)

lemon demon 😋😋

The Umbrella academy

Ghost B.C (saw them in concert in september)

Iron Maiden (going to see them next year)

Fall out Boy (also going to see next year)

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (this one definitely more obscure)

Hamilton/ early america as a subject in general

Call Of Duty (haven’t played the game i just like military men)

ensemble stars (tsumugi my fave)

Frank Sinatra

Roblox

PAUL DANO (FAVE PERSON EVER EVER)

Emo/scene culture in general

Pierce the Viel

Falling in reverse

———————————————————

⭐️ Dm me if ur interested I NEED FRIENDS and i am equally obsessed with all of these things and would love to talk about everything with y’all ⭐️

my most recent painting:

[drywit-dimpledsmile]

BridgertonBabe Drabble/AU (in timeline order)

Literally no one asked for this, not even @bridgertonbabe​ but as someone who love Shinnie’s writing and for those who love to keep up with her non-official fics, I had some time to spare to get everything organized for her fics not on AO3:

Royals AU

Long Story Short (the entire summary of the Benophie love story)

RIP King Edmund May He Rest in Peace

ABCG Serves in the Military: a summary

It’s not a Bridgerton story without scandal!

How Sophie Met Her Teenage Crush

How Benedict Met The Love of His Life

Prince Benedict and Sophie’s First Date

Sophie and Benedict Learn to Compromise

House Bridgerton Finds Out

Benedict and Sophie Find Out that Everyone Else Found Out

Princess Sophie and her GNO

Popping the Question

Teenage Dream

Prince Benedict and Miss Sophie Beckett’s Engagement Announcement

Royals fight off the Media

Sophie’s First Royal Engagement

Sophie Sees My Cottage For the First Time

Queen Violet Gives Sophie a Wedding Present

An Interrupted Honeymoon Surprise

The Princess-ification of Sophie Beckett

House Bridgerton tries to take a Family Photo

Prince Charlie Gets Baptized and of course his cousins are up to no good

Princess Sophie and Queen Lucy and their no good, terrible relatives

Queen Kate and Princess Sophie Get Lady Boners for their husbands at a polo match

Baby Violet is Born

Prince Benedict is a Girl Dad (pt. 1)

Prince Benedict is a Girl Dad (pt. 2)

2 Little Girls and their Merry Rake Uncle

House Bridgerton Shenanigans

King Anthony is Tired of his Family

The Benophie (Royal) Babies are Ranked by their Parents

Long Live The Queen!

Harry Potter AU:

Violet Has a Vision 

Edmund Figures It Out

ABC Rescue Sophie

Ember’s Origin Story (Ember the Owl Adventures - in timeline order)

Ember Adopts Benedict as her surrogate father

Hyacinth’s obsession with Sophie continues in every universe and Ember is stuck in the middle

Ember Gets Attacked by Gnomes

The Gnome at Dinner incident

Professor Danbury Meets Ember

Edmund bonds with his first “grandchild” (*the grandchild is an owl)

The Benophie Babies with Ember

Pre-Yule Ball Bliss

Summary of Benedict F*&KING up (Pt. 1) :-) 

*BONUS: Summary of Benedict NOT F*&KING up (AN AU OF AN AU)

Benedict and Sophie’s Yule Ball First Kiss

Benedict finds out about Fletcher

The Menace Called Fletcher

Screaming the wrong name in bed (Benedict’s Version)

Benedict F*&KING up (Pt. 2) :-)

Screaming the wrong name in bed (Sophie’s Version)

Michael’s 23rd Birthday

The Panic Attack Saved In True HP fashion: with Love

Sophie and Benedict Struggle to Conjure their Patronuses

Anthony Fails at Being a Wingman

Best Man and Bridesmaid duties (ft. Kathony)

FINALLY!

Sophie’s First Time That In Retrospect She’s Glad it didn’t happen in a Greek Beach

Protecting their Love Bubble

Sophie Gets Moved In (and other stuff)

Colin attempts to Crucio Ben

The Lingerie Everyone Needs in Life

Benedict Thinks Sophie Beckett is the most perfect human on the planet (VALID)

Colin and Philip Reconcile after Baby Mama Drama and Sophie and Benedict Get Engaged

Sophie Has a Tumble (tw//miscarriage)

Little Charlie is Born

Colin the Cat crawls his way into the My Cottage Family

The Benophie Babies Get Sorted!

William Turns his Brothers into Weasels

William Gets a Howler 

Irwins AU

Long Story Short

Sophie is the Bridgerton’s Biggest Fan Girl

Edmund Becomes Sophie’s Dad

Benophie Loves Elephants 

The Benophie Babies are Introduced (LION KING STYLE)

The Umbrella Academy AU

Umbrella Academy Assemble?

Benedict Becomes the Man of Sophie’s Dreams...Literally

Bridgertons Assemble?

Sophie Forgets

All Hell Breaks Loose

Benedict and Sophie Finally Reunite....Then Time Travel Splits Them Up :( 

If I missed anything let me know! 

UPDATED (10/26/22): with the Ember the Owl Adventures

UPDATED (4/5/23): with 5 months worth of new drabbles and new fics!

[oftoska]

R/esident E/vil verse.

Some official notes about Malcolm's verse in the R/esident E/vil franchise.

Following the timeline of the games, Malcolm's date of birth has been re-adjusted to 1970 to compensate for age differences.

All notations of Malcolm's past history remain the same, including his birth and living arrangements on his family's ranch in Texas until he was 5, where they relocated to a ranch in Giles, Virginia.

At 18 he enlisted in the Navy with the goal of joining the SEALs, which were still relatively new at the time. At 21 he was re-assigned to a special team under orders from the Pentagon where he worked adjacent to A/lbert W/esker. They had little personal interaction, however Malcolm's skills were noted.

The offer to join UBCS was extended in 1996. Still contracted by the military, Malcolm met with S/ergei V/ladimir under the recommendation of W/esker and began working for Umbrella's specialized Biohazard Countermeasure team. He was assigned to Team Charlie.

Official Umbrella files have him marked as Missing in Action, Presumed Dead following the R/accoon C/ity incident.

Interestingly, he was flagged as a person of interest for the Tyrant project in high classification files - meaning only those with high clearance could see such notes.

Under an alias, Malcolm worked as a freelance private military contractor, using his skills against B/OWs for specialized, high-paying jobs. In 2011 at the founding of the D/SO and after several adjacent run-in's with the American government, Malcolm was formally hired as an operative.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Hot take: “House of Ashes”, even though it’s also a game, is the closest thing we’ll get to a GOOD Resident Evil movie. It’s mainly because the game is already set up like a movie.

Reasoning:

1) Military personnel are sent to a location in order to investigate something. The investigation goes wrong, forcing the military personnel into this other location that’s infested with monsters.

2) The alien vampires are totally something you’d fight in a Resident Evil game. In fact, they kinda resemble the Hunters.

3) Monsters are revealed to be biological instead of supernatural. Also, there’s the theme of the humans getting infected. 

4) There’s this one, intelligent monster (The Ancient One) that’s chasing the main heroes. Similar to Mr. X and Nemesis. 

5) You find documents from people who previously encountered the vampires. A lot of the world-building comes from reading these files that are scattered around the area. 

6) Eric King kinda looks like Albert Wesker. He’s even the team leader. 

7) The idea of two people who are natural enemies to each other being forced to work together is the premise of Resident Evil Zero (Jason and Salim, Rebecca and Billy).

8) The finale is a showdown with the monsters, followed up by the survivors flying away in a helicopter. In fact, that last scene in the helicopter feels exactly like the ending of the first Resident Evil game. 

9) At the end of the game, shadow government forces attempt to cover up the incident. Insert something about Umbrella Corporation here. 

[historyhermann]

No. 5 on my list of top animated series for 2023: "My Adventures with Superman"

Some time ago, on social media, I heard about My Adventures with Superman, and with all the corporate shenanigans at Warner Bros. Discovery, I thought it would be cancelled and never see the light of day. Luckily, that did not happen. Although I'm not a fan of the films produced under the Marvel Cinematic Universe umbrella, finding them often formulaic, pro-military, and otherwise detestable, I thoroughly enjoyed this series, which mixes the romantic comedy, action-adventure, and sci-fi genres. This was, in part because Clark Kent transforms into Superman in a magical transformation partly based on Kaido Minami's transformation into Cure Mermaid in Go! Princess Pretty Cure, one of the first times I've heard Pretty Cure mentioned as an inspiration for a U.S. series.

This animesque series shines through with a focus on identity, canon-compliant Lois/Clark romantic relationship, diverse cast (Jimmy Olsen is a Black man and Lois Lane is a Korean woman), trauma, social media, fighting injustice, and dimensional travel. There's also supporting gay characters (Mallah and Brain), villains who try to trap Superman (Task Force X), and complicated family dynamics. There are unavoidable comparisons with Superman in Justice League and Justice League Unlimited. The show crew includes former crew members of She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Young Justice, The Legend of Korra, Glitch Techs, Kipo, Pantheon, and Final Space, and many talented voice actors. Hopefully, the second season is even better.

excerpted from "Burkely's Top Ten Animated TV Shows of 2023"

© 2023 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.