#RPDs

[evilwvergil]

"Leon R.P.D costume in Resident Evil 4 Remake" : Unlocked by getting S+/S++ with every playable character in the Mercenaries mode on every map.

[jillvalart]

« Bravo team was sent in to investigate; but we lost contact. »

(Commission for @zuendwinkel !)

[stupidcopper]

day #23 favourite area

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

dont ask why i decided to do this with this prompt

anyway, would you buy the resident evil dating sim? what am i saying of course you would

[xmorguekittyx]

Chapter 1 : 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 & 𝘽𝙡𝙪𝙚

master list

Pattering, the sound of the rain pelting the windshield and the whooshing of wind kissing her windows had her heart feeling like it was in her throat. The pulsing of her heartbeat, she could almost taste it. "The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning in these following counties-", shit. It never sees to fail that while she was the most nervous, things would continue to get worse and worse. Strikes of lightening lit up the soaked pavement, there was at least 30 more miles before she hit Raccoon City outskirts. She should've postponed heading out of town, but Desmond needed some Blood BeGone soap, which she had been sent to go deliver. The storm seemed to put everyone out of commission. It was a crying shame, honestly. "-IMPACTS... Flying debris will be dangerous to those caught without shelter. Mobile homes will be damaged or destroyed. Damage to roofs, windows, and vehicles will occur. Tree damage is likely.  You are in a life-threatening situation. Flying debris may be deadly to those caught without shelter. Mobile homes will be destroyed. Considerable damage to homes...businesses...and vehicles is likely and complete destruction is possible.", Jesus, could things get worse? 

    They could; the storm seemed to be a little bit before schedule, her headlights illuminating branches and twigs laid over the pavement. The rain blurring the image as she leaned forwards, praying that the branches would grant her mercy and not wreak havoc on her tires. Surely, one thing had to go right, right? Maybe the gods could pass on a little favoritism. The road had to be cleared, but she would have to make it across, her eyes squint to try and find some distinguishable marker for her calling the sheriff's office once she gets back to the morgue. They should be able to stop traffic at least for the night, hopefully nobody has had to come through- a small gasp part her lips. Between the trees sat a blue Honda, the car having the trunk popped and, absolutely, nobody around. A sick feeling of unease crept up her throat as she eyed the car, analyzing, again, anything she could remember to tell police. Part of her wanted to jump out and make sure everything was okay, but the lights were shut off, she could only see it as her head lights shinned past it. It was just unfortunate timing; she could feel the gusts of wind trying to sway her car. Hopefully they had been picked up and just forgot the trunk, as much as that would suck; that was the best outcome. Especially with how bodies had been piling up at her job. 

   The anxiety she felt from the storm and car hit an all-time high as she heard the beginning of Nobody by Avenged Sevenfold start to play from her cupholder, jarring her already frazzled mind. The photo of Leon Kennedy flickering in her screen, it was from when her father had still been alive, working at the same police station Leon did. He passed right when Leon joined, but that had been a few years ago. No matter how much it felt like it was yesterday, time was moving fast, but she felt like she was being left behind. Her eyes glanced up at the road before she slammed on the breaks, a doe running across the street as her tires locked up, squealing as her phone fell into the floorboards. Hands fighting the steering wheel as she tried to steady the car and her heart. "I'll have a damn heart attack before I even make it back.", she sighed, her chest expanding to take in all the air she could. Nobody playing once more, had her nearly jumping out of her skin as she scrambled with the phone, scooping it from the floor. "Hello?", she held the phone to her ear, sitting in the car, she couldn't bare driving right now. Afraid was an understatement, it appears the gods found no favor for her, this night. "Where are you?  Harvy has been blowing up my office phone demanding I start up a missing person's report.", his airy and slow voice drawled over the receiver. "Well...", her eyes went back through the droplet covered window. "The roads are getting worse, I've been having some trouble returning to the morgue.", she felt the air build up on her lungs before letting it out in a huff. "Hey- Leon?", she figured now was better than never to tell him all the shit that had gone on tonight. "There's a car up here on mile marker 37, trunk's open and lights are off. It's parked in the woods a little off the shoulder. You think you guys could come check it out and clear the road?", if they would tonight, would be the real question. "I'll head out first thing in the morning, it's unsafe to be out there right now. You said mile marker 37? There's a motel just a few roads south of you. If I were you, I'd stop in for the night, Kitty.", his voice sounded like honey poured on pancakes in the golden hour of sunrise. Hot coffee laying in the windowsill as the day started early on. Saying Katerina Visage had a crush on Leon Kennedy would've resulted in pink cheeks and embarrassed groans. Now, it left her wondering; what if? 

     "Yeah, I'll stop there for the night. I'll have to book it on foot, during this but-", her voice trailed off. "It's better than getting kidnapped or taken in a tornado in your car.", sometimes, he sounded like her dad. "It's... rough out here.", her voice was full of exhaustion. It felt like today had lasted the week, "You mind stopping by in the morning on your way to check things out? It would make me feel a little better just seeing you.", in all honesty, she was spooked. The storm, the car, the deer, the motel she'd never even heard of before. "Yeah, don't worry about that. First thing in the morning I'll be at that motel, waiting to take you back home. I'll get your car towed; Chief Iron's wouldn't want you paying for that.", he sounded like he was stretching, she was sure that it must've been a slow night for the men. The rain probably the only mischief Raccoon City had going on tonight. "Thank you, Leon. I don't know what I'd do without you.", her teeth sunk into the dead skin around her nails. "I guess I'm about to start walking, I'll message you once I get there, okay?", her voice was full of dread. The walk was not super familiar, especially in the dark with a nearly dead road. "Stay safe, Kit. Don't be afraid to call me if anything happens.", he had a soft tone with those words, Kitty remembered Leon being the rookie. She was 17 when she first saw the 21 year old, fresh from the academy walk into RPD. Her dad being one of the first to welcome him.

     "My daughter put up a banner for you, we've all been excited to have you join.", he waved to the circle banner that read. 'Welcome Leon', the 'e' in Leon was twisted but she was so proud of hanging it. Her smile wide as she also introduced herself to the man, starting a friendship that grew over a mutual shared space. 

     Her father's passing brought them closer together, her father was always close with Leon. He had been the one to train him on the job. "Just get there and pray there's a room.", she sighed, before grabbing her charger, her phone, wallet and keys. Her body had to tense as she placed her hand on the handle, taking a deep breath of warm air and dryness. She had to just hurry, it was just a coincidence the car was abandoned, right?

[cronotose]

i love the rpd uniform

[realest-slenderman]

confession I'm not in the hospital because of anyone in the situation it's because I went to the RPD looking for mr X because I kind of thought he just walked around there all the time but it turns out he does not and everyone in there told me to get out so I ran away and as I was trying to cross the street I got hit by a car. :(

[xkzuka]

One thing that never fails to bring down my mood while playing re2r is having to walk past this banner:

They were all so excited for him to start. Leon was so young and he graduated from the police academy with flying colors, they were probably jumping in their boots to have such young and eager talent join the force. I bet they had stupid little party hats with streamers and cupcakes, ready to welcome him with open arms. They took the time to string up a banner along with little stars and other decorations. They even planned out a little activity for him. And when shit hit the fan, the lieutenant of Leon's chain of command went out of his to tell the rookie of their team to stay away, knowing if he had reported on time on his first day he would've perished with the rest of RPD. There was an effort made to ensure the baby of their team stayed out of harms way. I know they all would've loved and protected him at all costs.

And hopefully they're all resting with ease, especially Marvin, knowing their young rookie made it out the city in one piece.

[jullkz]

hey guys, i know that i promised i'd draw Zevran, but life suddenly got hella busy and i haven't had time to draw at all

i can finally dust off my tablet again so here's a quick doodle of Zev i did for fun; ill post a proper high-effort drawing of him in the (hopefully very near) future

[crimescrimson]

The West Wing of the Raccoon City Police Department in Resident Evil 2 (2019)

[ra-vio]

its the season

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part III: aftermath

(~5,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

After Grian and Scar reunite, they’re tucked away in a makeshift shelter—nothing too grand, but good enough for a small pause, a little bit of rest, a faint semblance of respite.

Except, turns out, it might have to be a more permanent place to stay than they’ve thought.

It’s almost in a haze that they deal with wounds and all the other immediate things, and then Grian’s curled up and pressed against Scar, asking if they’re safe. Are they safe? Can they rest? He hasn’t had a chance to rest for a week straight—a week of moving, of running, of adrenaline and stress and, literally, fighting for his life. He’s frayed, barely holding on. 

Scar assures him he can sleep. Despite the syrupy way everything feels, despite the disconcerting flicker of magic hue crawling across his skin, despite the lightheadedness that terrifies him because it reminds him of the weakness potions— He still intends to take the first watch. To guard Grian and let him rest. 

Grian doesn’t need to hear more than that little assurance. Scar is warm and he’s here and Grian finally—finally—feels safe. Hopeful, even. Like maybe things will start looking up now. Like as long as his arms are draped over Scar, holding onto him, things will be okay.

He blacks out pretty fast, slinking into a deep pit of dreamless sleep.

Scar tries, he really tries to be a good guard. To stay alert and ready for any potential threat. But as he’s slumped underneath Grian’s reassuring weight, feeling his small even breaths against him, he can’t help it. His own exhaustion’s gnawing at him, stripping him of choice, and he finds himself drifting in and out of consciousness.

Thankfully, nothing attacks them.

Grian sleeps for hours, and he wakes up dazed and disoriented after a much needed rest. It’s chilly, but not outright cold, and it takes him a moment to parse through everything to realise it’s Scar’s warmth and the weight of the cloak securely over his wings that make things so much better, curling a tentative, fragile safety behind his ribcage. 

His wounds throb and his stomach churns, running on empty, but it all feels distant as Grian shifts and looks up at Scar’s sleeping face. The familiar map of scars stretching across muddied skin. Long lashes fluttering gently as Grian lifts his hand and lightly touches the stubble on his jaw, feeling the flood of fondness and grounding at the familiarly prickly texture.

His gaze jumps higher, tracing everything, taking Scar in.

Until he snags at a patch of white.

Grian jolts.

He pushes himself up and with careful hands brushes through Scar’s hair, letting his fingers slip through the white streak that starkly contrasts with the brown. He makes sure it’s not just dirty from something; that the white is real, not smudging across his fingers; a permanent mark left on Scar, a touch that this world now left on him forever.

He waits with uneasy patience, pressed close to Scar, refusing to put any distance between them. (He needs to see and feel and hear that Scar is here. That this isn’t a trick of his mind. That this isn’t some wretched half-dream.) (Scar came back. Scar came back, he found him, and— And his skin pulsed in pale blue (something that’s now thankfully gone), and his wings were tattered, and he’s got a white streak in his hair.) (Grian’s insanely worried.) (He can’t take it. He can’t take it if Scar leaves him again after all of this, in any way shape or form.)

Once Scar’s awake, with a tense little bird curled in his arms, the first thing he does is kiss the top of Grian’s head. (It feels natural.) 

Grian squirms and looks up at him and he asks him, quietly, if he’s okay.

He gets back a grimace, a faltering pause, a clear hesitation.

He points out Scar’s hair, and notes how Scar’s equally as surprised as he was. 

Scar blames the magic. With an awkward laugh, he says he probably overdid it. It’s gonna be fine. 

Grian’s suspicious and still uneasy, but lets the explanation pass. Says they need to go find some supplies, food, maybe a better shelter.

Scar, usually eager to follow any plans that lead directly towards their survival, falls silent at that.

What falls eventually past his lips is a quiet, “I can’t.”

The sheer amount of weakness potions, the overextertion, the overuse of magic—it all culminates into an awful flare up, leaves Scar depleted and immobilised and incredibly vulnerable. And Grian’s seen a bad flare-up before. Only once when it was really bad, back in Boatem. 

But back then, there was a big bed, and safe walls, and a fridge stocked with food. All Grian really had to do at that point was to keep Scar some company and occasionally fetch things from the kitchen. 

Now? Now they have nothing.

They have a shelter that could barely hold upon inspection of alert eyes. They have a few sips of water left. It’s cold and harsh here, nowhere to really rest comfortably, and there’s nothing to eat.

Grian hates this. Feverishly, fervently, he hates this. He wants to make things better for Scar, but that means going out. It means losing sight of Scar and simply hoping he’ll still be there when Grian returns. (A fear that makes him feel viscerally nauseous.) (He thinks of returning back to an empty shelter, Scar and Juni both gone without a trace.) 

It also means leaving Scar behind when he can’t defend himself. 

The fate is stringing them up and playing with them as it twists their very first encounter and shakes it upside-down—back when Scar tucked Grian into a makeshift hiding place and had to tear himself away from him, leave him alone and defenceless without being sure Grian will still be there—or be alive at all—when he returns, as he had to go get supplies for their survival.

Now it’s on Grian to return the favour.

He pushes down the clawing edge of panic, gently brushes Scar’s hair aside with a shaky hand, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Asks him to sit tight for him. Promising he’ll be back.

The words shouldn’t feel like farewell, but they’re bitter on his tongue, and even worse in Scar’s exhausted mind. (He thinks about how he left Grian and didn’t come back to him. Leaving him completely alone, without a weapon or supplies. He thinks of the wounds that now mar Grian’s skin as a result, a reminder of a time when Scar should’ve been there but wasn’t.) 

Grian always felt like he’s the burden. Like he’s the beacon, the weak link, the one to constantly drag danger and doom to them. He wonders if now Scar’s mind awfully echoes those thoughts that always plague Grian. (A distant memory of Grian asking Scar to leave him behind because he’s nothing but a dead weight slithers and burns through Grian’s mind.) (He’s not going to accept or even entertain those words should Scar ever utter them back.) 

With a hastily put-together screen of dead branches and rocks, Grian tries to hide Scar away, telling him to rest. 

(They both try to ignore the spike of anxiety. The way it feels final. The way it feels like this is it, another cliff edge that crumbles beneath their feet and gives them nothing to hold onto to prevent the fall.) 

As Grian moves, he’s overcome with lightheadedness that threatens dark spots across his vision. His own body is depleted, barely working. Starving. He grits his teeth, takes mental note of where the hideout is, and delves deeper into the forest all on his own anyway. (He has to. He has to.)

There’s something absolutely horrible about the way he recalls the best ways to forage for food in a pinch. It’s something Juni taught him. An ironic thing, to be taught survival skills by a person who never cared whether Grian lives or dies. A person who abandoned him so very easily, leaving him in a way that almost guaranteed Grian’s demise. (And yet here he is, pushing on.) (And he’s going to keep pushing, until he’s back at Scar’s side. Until he knows Scar is okay.) 

The only reason why he can now finally gather some scraps of food is because he has the cloak, shielding the violet hues of his feathers, enveloping him in muted tones that match the wintery deadness of the world around. He’s still careful as he stumbles around on unsteady limbs, crouching through his dizzy spells, trying to keep track of directions.

He makes it back to Scar, instantly welcomed by needy arms pulling him closer. Scar’s heart was tearing itself to pieces every second that Grian was gone, terrified. (What if Grian needs him out there?) (What if something happens to him?) (What if Grian never was here actually, what if that was all a weird fever dream, a lingering effect of too much magic and weakness potions?) (What if Scar is alone, and Grian’s also alone, and nothing will ever be fixed?)

Scar is insanely clingy after being separated. (Grian is too, to be fair.) With a chest full of heartache, Grian is aware of why Scar’s like that—that he’s afraid and guilty—but it does feel nice. It’s so very needed. Grian’s been alone and barely keeping himself alive through the horrors—the wounds and scars are there to show it—so when he has Scar back? He’s so desperate to reclaim that tiny fragment of safety. He keeps thinking it’ll slip through his fingers. That the moment he looks away, the moment he stops holding on, Scar will be gone again.

This all makes Grian’s repeated foraging trips that much harder, for both of them. 

At one point, Grian finds a better hiding place, but doesn’t mention it, knowing Scar wouldn’t be able to make the trip. It doesn’t need to weight on Scar, that pressure of failure; the last thing Grian wants is for Scar to push himself more when he already came so close to a complete collapse. 

And then there comes a day when Grian doesn’t return for far too long. Scar is worried sick, mind spinning with scenarios, each more horrible than the last, the anxieties taking over. 

What if Grian doesn’t return at all?

But he does. 

He comes back at the brink of dusk, coated in blood which, for the most part, isn’t his. (>> bonus ramble about that titled hunted <<)

No other incidents beyond that occur as they try to recuperate, pulling themselves together and trying to slot back into a semblance of normalcy, curled against each other’s side in their little, barely-sufficient shelter.

-- please stay --

They spend a couple of days stay put, Grian attentively fussing over Scar, chastising him whenever Scar feels like maybe he should help with things. Once Scar sleeps less and is more aware and awake, their new dynamic truly settles into place: the over-eager clinginess underlaced with guilt and fear and endless stumbling for reassurance. 

One night, Scar whispers a soft, mumbled string of words into Grian’s hair. He’s thanking the worlds, the gods, the fate, anything and everything, that Grian is alive. His fractured, fragile gratitude spilling out of him in a string of half-formed sentences that aren’t meant to be heard by the sleeping avian in his arms.

Except Grian shifts and, turns out, he wasn’t quite asleep yet.

Scar shifts his words, redirects them to ones that belong to Grian and Grian alone: a string of gentle praises. That Grian stayed alive, he was so strong, so brave. Scar is so sorry. 

And somewhere amidst it all: “Thank you for waiting for me. I’d never leave you, never, never—” (Except he did, even if unwillingly, unintentionally, unknowingly, and the reality of it is killing him.) 

Grian has that But you did on the tip of his tongue. It tastes acidic. He doesn’t want to say it.

Instead, he just burrows closer and tightly shuts his eyes. Trying so so so hard not to think about just how long Scar didn't even realise that Grian wasn't there.

Of course Scar tried to explain, over and over. That he was weakened, dizzy, confused, scared. But it just feels like hollow excuses on his tongue. It doesn’t change anything about it, about the fact that it happened. That he didn’t even know it was happening, until it was almost too late.

In the end, Scar’s intentions and his promises amount to nothing.

He often trails off. He feels like he doesn’t deserve to cover up the searing guilt with a pile of feeble explanations, his eyes drawn to the wounds and scars that litter Grian’s skin, marks that might’ve not been there if only Scar was around. A dire reminder that Grian could’ve died, and Scar would be none the wiser. 

He swallows down the excuses and tries to make up for it, to show rather than to speak the volume of his feelings. The reverent touches to Grian’s scars, his affection, his tight hold and kisses pressed into Grian’s hair.

Grian doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. It’s a tangled mess that feels too heavy and painful to untangle. 

During his time alone, he didn’t know if he got abandoned, or if Scar got killed. Somehow, those seemed like the only options in his mind. To have it turn out that Scar was tricked away from him—tricked so easily—that he didn’t mean to abandon Grian, and yet failed to realise that Grian wasn’t by his side for days… 

Scar finds himself apologising frequently, quiet, somber. But Grian doesn't really want those apologies. They don't make it stop hurting. They don't put lid on that thick, overflowing uncertainty that took root in his soul. 

Whenever his feelings slip and spiral a bit too much, he keeps begging Scar to stay. He pleads for him to not leave him again, in a choked, broken, terrified voice. 

He tells Scar he won't be able to take it the second time. He won't, he won’t.

That breaks Scar’s heart. It’s suffocating, absolutely horrible. Scar can’t even vocalize a decent response. He just shakes his head, holds Grian tighter, and weeps.

-- a familiar face --

It takes Scar a while to realise just how traumatising the whole thing was for him. Because it was more than just being terrified of losing Grian or overexterting himself. He was basically kidnapped. Tricked. Poisoned. His trust betrayed in such an absolute, irrevocable way. And the worst part of it is that Juni used Grian’s face to do all those things to him. 

It keeps tripping Scar up, in unguarded, jolting moments. He finds himself sweepingly overcome with doubt, abruptly terrified that this is all a lie—that he’s still with the wrong person, being strung along, stuck in a trap he doesn’t know how to escape. 

When Grian offers Scar some water, Scar finds himself hesitating. Should he drink it? What if it’s dosed with weakness? Is this just another trick? — But he doesn’t know how to check. He can’t touch Grian’s feathers. He can’t ask.

He can’t admit he’s not sure.

Grian searches Scar’s eyes, confused why Scar wouldn’t take it from him. He calls his name softly, a question that goes unanswered.

But he thinks he knows. 

He knows, because Scar looks at him with the kind of unsure, frightened expression teetering on distrust that could only be rooted in one cause.

So in the evenings, Grian slots next to Scar and talks. About Hermitcraft. About past memories and plans that never came to be. About things only he would know.

He aches talking about it, but once he connects Scar’s hesitation to the fact that the mimic was wearing Grian’s face (a fact that he hates; it makes him sick to his stomach, he feels tainted, violated in ways he can’t express), he knows he has to.

First time, it all comes out wobbly and fragmented. He doesn’t get far. He can’t. The memories hurt.

But he keeps trying.

It makes Scar feel so much better. He holds Grian close and whispers an emotional little “thank you.”

-- anchor, memories, and self --

One evening, all that Grian offers is a quiet, sorrow-riddled “I miss Mumbo.” Just that. (It has to be enough.) (He doesn’t want to keep talking.)

It makes Scar choke-sob a laugh. It’s so sad, but it’s so honest, and familiar. (He misses him too.) He nods, and lets the confession linger, fill up the space between them where another person should be.

Grian curls against him, falling silent. Sad. Clingy.

They don’t say anything else that night.

But the issue persists. Of course it does, Scar himself still wrangling with the aftermath of everything, processing it and trying to find his footing. To look at Grian and really, truly understand who it is he’s looking at, without a sliver of doubt.

Grian hates that confused, searching look Scar gives him sometimes without meaning to. In little moments like when he’s tired, or just after waking up. Groggy from sleep that feels like a dose of weakness. 

It feels like something was stolen from him and Grian doesn’t know how to repair it. It just hurts. 

But he can’t keep talking about Hermitcraft to make it better every single time. It sets a vicious kind of pain alight within him, traps it in his ribcage for it to bloom and grow razor-sharp thorns, reminding him of everything they lost and aren’t getting back. He’s been avoiding thinking about Hermitcraft for so long, and now it’s here, pressing against the edges of his skull like wildfire.

It tastes like ashes on his tongue, like grief-drenched nostalgia, like everything he wishes to have back—every single person they lost along with their safety and home.

They’re never going to hear Mumbo’s awkward laughter again. They’ll never hear Doc grumblingly chastise them for being crazy and annoying. They’ll never see Pearl’s eyes crinkle in laughter, or Impulse’s eyes widen as they set some prank right at his feet. 

They’ll never again make silly meeting rooms and pointlessly huge builds constructed for no other reason than a whim. They’ll never run to each other with inspiration chasing in their footsteps, feeling free, toppling into their friends’ arms along the way. They’ll never again hear the sound of their laughter melding in with others’, mingling into one big melody that keeps them trapped in a mutual giggling fit.

Never, never, never.

It’s all gone, and remembering hurts.

He can’t keep thinking about that, day after day after day, even if it’s to keep Scar afloat. It would consume him.

So even though it seems like the best tool to prove to Scar who he is, and he’s always glad that it helps Scar feel calmer and more secure, ultimately making it worth it every time, it doesn’t mean it’s easy—not in the slightest.

So Grian tries to implement other things. Subtle little gestures. Nonverbal language that is still closely rooted in their own intimate experiences—namely brushing his fingers over Scar’s ear. 

And then he builds on it, adds to it, lends it some habitual intricacy like a secret code only the two of them will ever understand. Tracing the same swirly pattern under Scar’s ear with his fingers each time, then kissing the spot. (A little I love you ritual.) Interlacing their fingers while purposefully gathering the ribbon between their palms, or wrapping an end of it around scar’s finger. 

He tells Scar his favourite spots to kiss. 

He kisses them often, in a pattern.  

All these things, gathered like a silent plea. It’s me. Please believe me. I love you. Stay.

Scar adores this little ritual, but he also realises why Grian is doing it—that Grian knows Scar is confused sometimes when he sees his face. And it breaks his heart, because he never got it wrong before. He wants to believe he couldn’t be fooled in his right mind, but how can he be sure, after everything that happened? 

 Eventually, Scar says it. He grabs Grian by his cheeks, looks at him seriously, and instead of this dance they’ve been doing around the topic, he says: “I know it’s you.” 

He kisses Grian in that pattern they’ve come accustomed to. Kisses him on the lips. Keeps holding his face so so gently.

Grian tears up, gaze jumping between Scar’s eyes. Breathless and wavering, he shoots back a challenging but afraid, “Do you?” 

That breaks a stitch in Scar’s patched up broken heart. He swallows hard, but insists. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” Grian whispers, and it’s still so wobbly. So very raw and emotional. He closes his eyes and leans into Scar’s touch, and it’s so trusting. So giving. He wants this to be true. He wants this to keep being true. “I’m here,” he manages to murmur. He is here, and so is Scar.

Scar nods. “You’re here.” And he normally says “I’m here”, but right now it feels more important to show how sure he is that Grian is.

It sucks how easily that asuredness was overwritten. Scar never mistook Grian and Juni for each other before. (Not even before the mimic altered his appearance slightly. Those moments when he’d look like Grian, approach Scar and touch his arm. When Grian’d bristle from across the way, just barely out of sight. Scar always responded accurately. He always innately knew it wasn’t Grian.) (It soothed Grian then, to see that. To have that sliver of security when everything else felt so awful.) (And yet… And yet.) The one time it did happen, it was so devastating, and now they’re both left in the warzone of the aftermath, trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild something that could hold.

Because now sometimes when Grian touches Scar, Scar reacts slightly off. 

Because now Scar doesn’t know how to trust himself (or Grian) anymore.

Grian watches Scar slightly flinch, that miniscule, unsure, instinctive recoil, and he feels sick to his stomach.

But they’re in this together. They’re here, both of them, and they’ll keep building from ruins until something sticks.

-- scars and permanent damage --

This is also the time when they acquaint themselves with the permanent damage marks on their bodies. 

Grian has new scars, some of them facial. They’re something Scar is forced to see all the time, knowing he wasn’t there for it. Knowing they happened while Grian was alone, struggling, fighting for his life. (If Scar was there, maybe it wouldn’t have happened—)

They don’t have mirrors, only murky water at best. Grian doesn’t even know how his face looks like now, for a long while. He can feel the scarred skin, once it stops being too tender to touch, but he prefers to keep his hands off it.

Scar touches Grian’s face, though. Gently, tenderly. He caresses the wounded bits of skin. There’s sadness to it, but also determination and acceptance. Because it means Grian’s survived. It means Grian is still alive, and Scar is now here, and he isn’t going to let anyone else touch him again. (Or, he will do his best, anyway.) (Wounds are a harsh inevitability in this world, after all.)

Once Grian gets a hint of his reflection, staring at himself and hardly recognising his face—for multiple reasons—he traces a hand across his own cheek, in a pattern he recognises from Scar’s soft touch. Feels the difference. Explores the edges, everything that’s now going to be forever a part of him. (Until he dies. Which will probably be sooner rather than later anyway, he thinks.) 

He can’t exactly say he hates those scars—it’s not like he doesn’t love every inch of Scar’s face, scars regardless. But it still feels different and strange. Foreign. It makes him feel vulnerable. It makes him realise he’s been hurt, in some deep, irreversible way. (The ugly damage on his heart is finally visible—) He’ll never be the same.

He tries not to touch his face too much, or look for his reflections. But at the same time, he craves Scar’s touch against the parts of him that are so clearly broken and changed. Scar’s fingers are soft and comforting, filled with heartache. Loving, despite everything. And Grian needs that.

He’s so used to tracing Scar’s scars and kissing the pattenrs of his skin, adoring every single bit of it. But this? This is new to him. He feels unsure and shy, fragile under Scar’s fingertips. 

Scar’s vulnerabilities also get revealed at around this time. When they met up, Grian caught a frantic glimpse of Scar’s wings, but there was too much panic and choking emotions to really process and address it until later. 

Scar’s wings were torn to tatters months ago, and he’s kept quiet about it. Meticulously hiding them away from Grian’s sight, the secret heavy, burning through him like a lit coal. But Grian doesn’t know that—not at first.

He thinks that Scar’s wings got hurt while they were separated. While Scar was left with Juni. But as he thinks about it more… When was the last time he saw Scar’s wings?

Sheepishly, Grian asks Scar about it.

And Scar is forced to admit it happened a long time ago. That he was hiding it from him.

It stings Grian, the knowledge that Scar felt like he couldn’t tell him. That he suffered alone, tucking something so significant away. 

(And it’s true the circumstances of it all were horrible—when it happened, Grian certainly wasn’t in a state to process it correctly or deal with it; he was barely alive and in the depths of a rising fever. But there were still plenty of weeks and months since, when Scar could’ve taken the chance and tell him.) 

(He didn’t know how.) 

(Scar himself was afraid to face the damage. To see the tattered remains of his wings. To feel what’s happened to them.) (It was much preferrable to hide them and pretend it away.)

Softly, Grian asks if he can see them. (He wants to see it; he wants to bear it together with Scar; he wants to be there for him and show gentleness, especially because this is about wings of all things.) He instantly backpedals, saying Scar doesn’t have to—especially if it would hurt. 

But Scar does it before Grian can fully take it back.

It feels like a deep breath after holding it in for so long, but it’s also like a broken choke on that very same air; it feels so wrong to let them loose, but he does it. He shows Grian the extent of the damage, offers the vulnerable undersides of his shredded wings so willingly.

Grian half reaches out, then pauses. Looks over their state.

It’s horrible.

He asks, very quietly, if it hurts.

Scar’s heart leaps in his chest at that small reach, but then he pulls himself together and shakes his head. It doesn’t hurt. (Not anymore.) 

Grian retracts his hand, falling silent. He doesn’t want to touch uninvited, but he isn’t sure how else to show Scar some softness and comfort. He settles for leaning in and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

It feels like an apology, and like love. 

His hands wrap around Scar’s torso and he buries his face in his shoulder, simply holding him. He asks, muffledly, if they will heal? Do vexes heal over time? Scar has plenty of scars on him, but his wings are technically made of magic, so maybe they’re different?

Scar doesn’t have the answers to those questions. He doesn’t know.

Grian hugs him tighter around his middle and kisses his shoulder. He thanks Scar, for pulling them out at his request. For showing him. (There’s a lump in his throat that tells him that Scar hid this from him, for so long. He swallows it down.)

Scar mutters a quiet “Of course.” 

Slowly, he’s realising just how much he wants Grian to touch his wings, but he has no idea how to ask for it when it’s something Grian can’t fathom in reverse. He can’t bring himself to ask, but he opts to wrap his wings around the both of them, even if they’re broken and offer practically nothing. (And, truthfully, it does hurt a little to strain them after all the time of them being put away with unhealed wounds, but he needs this.)

Grian shudders, taking a choked breath. He presses himself closer against Scar, trying to navigate the abrupt onslaught of emotions. Something about hurt wings and vulnerability and pain, and— The feeling of wings wrapped around him is so comforting, even despite their state. Even despite everything. His brain goes a bit haywire, thinking flock and protection.

-- kindness that persists --

They eventually talk about Juni. Little fragments of conversations that feel like tripping over uneven ground. 

Scar admits he doesn’t know what the mimic wanted from him. If it was security, or something else entirely. He’ll never really know. 

At some point, Grian asks, quietly. “Is he dead?”

Scar sighs, not sure how to feel about his answer. “... No.”

It’s a weird and unpleasant mix of feelings for them both. 

Part of Grian wishes the mimic was dead—it would end some of the anxiety. But of course Scar didn’t do it, and another part of Grian is immensely glad for it. There’s something incredibly soothing about how much of Scar’s humanity remains intact despite everything this world throws at them. But even then, the awful feeling in the pit of Grian’s stomach remains, acidic and conflicted. 

Because if the mimic is alive, he might return.

Because as long as he breathes, this might not be over.

Scar feels vile, admitting Juni is alive. It’s the first time he’s ever felt sick about not killing someone. Because what if not killing the mimic means failing in protecting Grian? It leaves too much room for this to come back and harm them again. 

Being soft is what got Scar into this situation to begin with. Trusting too much, giving too much. 

He felt sure about it before. Relieved he didn’t kill him. But what if he should have? Because that was once again being too damn soft and maybe he shouldn’t be.

He becomes quieter again after this. Feeling like he needs to try to be stronger, less like himself. His vex instincts rumble beneath his skin as he spirals, urging him to kill anything that threatens him and his partner.

Scar is convincing himself softness truly is a weakness. That he needs to change.

One night, he’s swelling with too many emotions as he holds Grian tight—guilt, affection, a little bit of doubt again. His chest flickers with blue light, a sign of distress, and he croaks out, “Am I—” What’s the word even? Weak? Too kind? A fool? He goes with, “Do I need to change?”

Grian squirms in his arms, peeks up at him. “No, Scar. No, nono.” His voice is stitched through with a mixture of emotions—urgency and confusion, a soft shushing and deep, rich tenderness. His fingers gently brush Scar’s face and he presses a kiss to his jaw. “Don’t change. Be my Scar. Not somebody else.”

Scar’s eyes well up with tears and he ducks his face into Grian’s shoulder, breath hitching with a sob, overwhelmed by an abrupt tide of feelings—especially upon hearing the words my Scar. It makes him ache, but in a good way.

Grian wraps his arms around him and lets him cry. He caresses and kisses his hair and murmurs soft, reassuring things to him, hoping to make it all at least slightly more bearable. To anchor him somewhere safe. Somewhere where Scar can remain himself, despite all the horrors that suffocatingly pile up on them.

Scar’s voice is small and muffled against Grian’s sweater. “What if… I get us hurt?” There’s a shaky breath afterwards, sounding quite a bit like a choked “Again.”

Grian holds on a little tighter. “It won’t be your fault.” It would be the world’s, and those who actually hurt them. He needs Scar to understand that. With another kiss pressed to Scar’s hair, he pulls away slightly, urging Scar to look at him, to meet his eyes. “I need my Scar. I need—” He chokes up a little, his vision turning blurry. 

Instead of finishing whatever he was going to say, Grian leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Murmuring a small apology that all this pressure was on Scar. Promising he’ll do better, that it’s the two of them against the world—that Scar isn’t alone in this fight.

Scar doesn’t want Grian’s apologies, but… he likes this way of putting it. Them against the world.

He doesn’t need to lose his kindness. He just needs to focus it on the only person who matters.

[jason-gold-falcon]

Sketches of Chris and Wesker

It's Weskin' Time

[lumadraws]

Ace Attorney x Resident Evil

I needed to draw this AU swap in order to sleep, I pass out now honk shu mimimi~

(I will definitely also be drawing Leon Kennedy: Ace Attorney, don’t worry.)

Bonus BSAA Mia Fey sketch under the cut

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Unlocked

Part 12: They’re… Yours?

Part 11: In and Out

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: talks of masterbation, small violence, name calling, Bunny as a pet name, talks of murder

She had spent all morning with an obnoxious scent in her apartment, her first thought? The damn power. She went up and down her fridge trying to find the source of the smell as she tossed out older things in her trash can, seeing the lid wobble back and forth after every toss. She was furious when the smell didn't change, she didn't have time for this! She had work in less than two hours. A growl from her downturned lips pushed her into her room, sliding on, yet another, pencil skirt and a grey long sleeve cotton shirt. She had to hurry, she had no time to worry about the pungent scent that lurked throughout her safe space.

After yesterday and her discovery of a certain red lacy fabric, she'd been ignoring the man's text messages, she'd stayed until that night with him, offering soft smiles and nods as she didn't want to upset the man. She'd played into his likes and wishes- ding ding ding- her teeth grit harder as she slammed the tooth brush down, she pushed herself from the counter and tread over her pajamas to reach her phone on the night stand, she lifted it Cute Rookie, she should've put Annoying Bastard, she laughed at her own thought. before she placed the phone back on the nightstand, he could just sit and be angry she was avoiding him. She didn't even bother to read the other 5 messages that held the same name. She was livid, he wanted to have other girls over before he brought her over? Fine. She'd let him have those other girls.

Her hands rose from the sink, cold water splashing her face as she shivered, it was still cold out from the rain storms that came on and off. Her window opened to allow that horrendous stench out. She could feel the cold air seeping in as she dried her face, her apartment cooling off quickly. "Phone, purse, keys-!", she rushed into the kitchen, picking up the keys from her pile that she hadn't touched in days since Leon had picked her up for work. She huffed at remembering the man as she scooped up her jacket and headed for the door. She opened it quickly with a once over her apartment, still as cozy and a little less stuffy now that she left the window open, praying the scent was gone when she got back.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway- it was 100 times worse. "Oh-", she winced, her hand covering her nose immediately. "What the fuck?!", she shut the door quickly, making a brisk jog for the door leading outdoors. She made a mental note to ask Mrs. Jones about it that smell later, maybe she'd called maintenance about it already. She was typically good about that, seeing as she never hardly left her apartment but for taking out Tilly, her dog... her brows furrowed slightly as she tilted her head, she lifted her arms to place her jacket on as she thought back to last night. She hadn't heard Mrs.Jones or Tilly... she didn't hear them come out of the apartment or Tilly's barking. Yeah, she'd definitely stop by after work and make sure everything was okay... it was odd not to have heard from them. She was really craving that chicken casserole, maybe she'd ask for that too. A smile fell on her lips as she thought about the meal. Her fingers going under the door of her Maxima, lifting it and sliding into the drivers seat.

It felt like years since she'd been in the small car, she looked up at her rear view mirror, moving it so she could apply her lip gloss, her plump lips coated in a clear, mint flavored gloss as she capped it and fixed the mirror, her eyes falling upon a green Jeep parked behind her and pale knuckles adjusting on the steering wheel. She could do the nicer thing and get out of her car and hop into his, accepting the ride that he probably texted her about but she didn't see it, or she'd just pretend she didn't see him or the text and drive herself, saving her the trouble of faking her good mood to him.

With a purr, her car came to life, opting for the latter of her options as she backed out of the small parking lot. She knew he'd probably find her at work and ask her... but her phone was on silent all morning... how was she to know? A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, it's what he gets for being a creep.

She'd pulled up and yes, she noticed the same keep following her all the way to the parking lot. She could see his fingers adjust on the steering wheel once more as she hopped out, making sure to grab everything as she walked her way into the station, swinging her hips just to piss him off just a little more, tugging up her skirt so her ass slightly showed before pulling it down. She could play this game too. He wants to fuck other girls, then she'd give him a little peek here and there to make sure he realizes what he missed out on. She felt a tickle in her chest as she thought that, since when did she get so brave?

———

Since when did she get so brave? The thought gnawed at his brain, his left hand gripping the steering wheel as he watched the black skirt raise over the very bottom of her ass cheeks, basically tempting him to jump her in the parking lot. His hand tightened around his phone, 8 text messages, all left on delivered. He knew she saw him in the apartment parking lot, he wasn't dumb, he was watching, he'd also seen her check her phone right after he sent her 3 consecutive messages and she placed the phone back down without looking.

"Bratty girl.", he scoffed, he didn't get why she acted so strange since yesterday. Yeah, she'd asked to go home but he wasn't taking her in a storm and he had maybe realized half way through the day her little hums of acknowledgment were about the only thing she added to any conversation the entire day. He also knew that no body had found the neighbor lady, yet. He wondered if she knew something was wrong, her little thoughtful look to her car made him think maybe she wasn't as dumb as he pegged her, then again... she was acting pretty dumb right now as he watched her enter the glass doors. He looked down at the cup holder, a fucking mocha frappe and a sausage egg and cheese biscuit. "Don't make me add ungrateful to the list, Bunny.", he sighed, what was going through her careless mind now?

Leon's fingers crumpled the small brown bag, his other hand knocking at the door, trying not to spill the slightly melted coffee. "Coming!", he threw his head back, adam's apple poking from his neck further. Rebecca.

"Rookie! Hey!", Rebecca leaned on the door, her green shirt and lab coat contrasting the entire room. "Ms. Chambers.", he nodded with a thin lipped smile. "Came to drop these off for-", "Well, aren't you the sweetest thing?! I'll make sure she gets them.", Rebecca's voice was overly excited. Either she was hiding away in the office for him or she was somewhere and Rebecca didn't want Leon to know. His eyes scanned what he could of the room, through the crack the width of skinny Rebecca. "Yeah, just make sure she gets it.", he was infuriated.

First, she deliberately looks at him and drives away, knowing he drove an extra 15 minutes to get to her apartment. She also knew he always gets her coffee and breakfast. He really didn't want to add ungrateful to the list of things he needed to change about her. He didn't miss the open window in her apartment either. He also wasn't stupid enough to think she locked that door before she walked out. He nearly thought about strangling her the next time he got close to her. She was suppose to answer his "good morning, my sweet bunny", text with a cute one back then he would tell her he's on his way to pick her up, then she'd hop in his car, eat breakfast with him and he'd take them to work. No- she has to go and get an attitude with him out of the blue and it was fucking up his plans! She- she fucked up his plans. He did not go through all that trouble for her to slip out of his fingers.

He leaned back in his office chair, the files piling up on his desk. He needed to get started and fill out the reports but he really, really couldn't focus knowing she was hiding behind that dark oak door. His eyes cut to it every now and then, he thought about walking by just to catch her voice, just to dull that nagging voice in the back of his head. "Kennedy!", Leon's body jumped, his hand tipping over the coffee, he'd yet to drink, he's started to not force the bitter bean juice down his throat as much as before. He didn't truly care about fitting in anymore, he just wanted her. He wanted her more than anything else. "Shit-", he hissed, "You day dreaming, boy?", the coffee had marred some of his reports. He'd have to retype those up now. His eyes closed as he listed to Chief Irons, "I'm sorry, sir. I've got a lot going on, i need to leave it outside the door.", he sighed, knowing the speech Irons gave anyone who used that excuse, but how could he leave it at the door when the problem was in here with him, behind her own door? "Clean that up and quit lallygagging.", Irons clapped his hand down on Leon's shoulder.

The door to the break room was already ajar, he heard someone using the sink as he pushed it open with his foot. The creak caused the figure to turn around, a familiar cup placed in their hands. "Oh...", her eyes rolled as she turned back to the sink. Leon froze, was she seriously pouring out the coffee he'd gotten her? "You're- You know i spent money on that?", he was near choking the girl out. "Well, i didn't ask you to- and i didn't ask you to wait outside my apartment either, Leon!", she whispered yelled, her neck craning to look at him over her shoulder. "I have picked you up every day since the first night! How was i suppose to know you didn't want me to pick you up? You wouldn't answer the phone!", Leon matched her tone, his teeth clenched down on the other as he stared down at her. "Exactly! I didn't want to talk to you!", she scoffed, her hands tossing the now empty cup into the trash can, Leon's eyes followed the cup, seeing a brown folded up paper wrapping.

"You didn't eat the-", he groaned, hands going to his face, rubbing down at his furrowed brow. "You're so ungrateful-", he quipped, his blue eyes hardening into a stern look. "I spent good money on those and you're gonna be so disrespectful to just toss them like trash?!", their argument was in lower tones, careful not to disrupt the others working hard in the office space. "Yep-", she popped the 'p' at the end of the word as she turned towards him. Her arms crossing over her chest as she arched her neck, squinting at him. "Don't want your money. Don't buy me coffee anymore.", she spoke in an attitude. Leon's brows knit, his mouth agape as he stared daggers at her. "You-", "What? Say it?!", she was not backing down, the boldness she had to flash him on her way in seemed to stick to her today. "You ungrateful little brat.", he was still staring daggers, if he was a cartoon, he'd have smoke coming out of his nose and ears.

"Me- Me?!", her voice cracked, "I'm pissed at you- you have some fucking nerve, Leon Scott Kennedy!", she was a bit louder as he waved his hand to quiet her, he didn't need the entire station to hear an argument between the two. "What the hell are you talking about it you, crazy bitch?!", he whispered yelled, walking over to her and grabbing above her elbow and pulling her towards him. "Don't touch me-!", she pulled back slightly, trying to break his grip until he tightened it. His fingers dimpling into her arm, brushing the soft flesh. "Don't.", she has never seen him so pissed off than she had in this moment. The comment in the car, nor the family moment they shared had him looking this angry. She flinched back, like his glare as nipped at her.

"What the hell are you on about?", at her silence he tugged her arm slightly, pulling her towards him. "Use your big girl words, you were so ready to spit then at me a few minutes ago.", his normal boyish look was not on his features now. He looked like he had a glint that radiated authority and the peek of dominance. This was new and honestly it threw her into mental loops. Her eyes flickering over his face as she parted her lips just to close them once more, eyes set. "I was in your bathroom, yesterday...", she sucked her lips against her teeth, "in your cabinet there was a pair of red panties.", she whispered, she was slightly intimidated by Leon's look and grip that started to falter.

"Panties-", Leon's cheeks lit up as he heard her utter the words, red... lacy... panties... "Oh- Oh!", his hand dropped from her arm instantly. "Those-!", he reeled back, his hand going behind his head to brush at the blonde locks. "Whose are they, Leon?", she sighed, her chest heaving softly as she let the puff of air out from her nose. Leon was struggling, his tongue darting to lick at his lips, his eyes going to hers then back up to the cabinets over the sink. "Don't lie to me, Leon...", she begged, her arms still crossed as her right hand brushed the rising bruises from his grip.

He couldn't tell her... he'd come off as more of a creep than he already did. God- he hoped she didn't touch them, the hard, cum dried lace that he'd wrapped around his cock as he pumped himself dry, imagining those pouting lips wrapped around him instead of those panties. Her soft hands fisting his cock as he bucked his hips meeting the back of her palm.

"Leon?", she whispered, she was desperate for an answer. Leon was desperate for an excuse, he'd never been in this bad of a predicaments "They're...", he looked down at her, eyes wide as he wheezed the only thing he could think of, "mine-", she nearly felt her eyes pop out. "They're... yours?", she nearly felt her jaw drop. "Y-yeah... i have a thing for red lace and-", got he was blushing so hard as he gazed down at her stunned face. "It's- it's not weird-", he tried to cover his ass, Leon could barely walk past the women's underwear in the store let alone go up and purchase one himself. "They're mine, i use them when I-", "Alright!", she waved her hands, this was awkward enough without his description. "I- I get it...", she nodded, a sheepish smile on her lips. "I should've asked instead of assuming.", she placed her hands on her hips, "i'm sorry for ignoring you and pouring out the drink and food.", she sighed, looking back at the trash can. "Maybe, i can make it up to you and we go out to eat tomorrow after noon?", she smiled softly, her gaze going back to him. "Yeah, yeah... tomorrow.", he was eager, back to his boyish enthusiasm as he thought about the date they'd go on. "I'd like that a lot.", he lowered his head slightly.

    "I'm sorry for grabbing you so hard.", his hand reached out to brush her bicep, she tilted her arm back, hissing as he made contact with the angry skin. "I'm really sorry...", he whispered, a frown embedding his lips. "It's okay.", it wasn't okay, she moved on rather quickly in the moment, but the hours after she'd gone back into the office with Rebecca, with the promise of a date- news had come in. A new body had been discovered in an apartment, seemingly murdered as her throat was slit. Her apartments, the smell... the lack of routine she realized this morning. Mrs.Jones. She felt sick.

[drowsy-dreamwalker]

do you do anything outside of trials? or are you stuck at the campfire

"I also like using the washing machines they have."

[cheryl-cutie]

Thoughts on Leon? Met plenty of people that like the ship idea 🤭

//I LOVE THEM BOTH SM,, LIKE AHGHRAG G RGRRN GRRR BUT I JST KNOW THAT CHERYL WAS TEACHING LEON ALL ABT HOW TO SURVIVE WHEN HE FIRST SHOWED UP !!! U CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND,,, andikivebeengone4solongthisblogdied:skull: BUT YK WHAT I HAD TO DO THIS ASK BC LEON N CHERYL !!!

also have this lil doodle !! it was supposed to b the answer to this ask but i forgr :c (idk what i was on when i drew leon hes so-)