mostly just an art blog these days. my personal rambling and fannish thoughts are elsewhere. serving mostly 616!stevetony, a dash of doctor strange and now, apparently, resident evil?
selkie au - take what the water gave me - part 2-1: drinking game
[part 2-2: drinking game here]
SORRY, i am splitting this part up. i will bomb your dash with like 5 pages at a time, maaaaaybe 6. but this is going to be at least 8 pages. i haven’t quite got the end laid out yet. the good news is pages 5-7 are sketched. the bad news page 5 as like 10 panels on it, wtf.
i told you we’d get to explicitly selkie bits and here we are. i swear one of these is not going to be set in a bar one of these days.
anyway, thanks again to @thebrandywine for the selkie brainrot. mav’s selkie fic [call of the sea, call of the moon] — the thing that inspired this, the second cake — is now being posted! so please check it out.
hey guys, i am still kicking, still in my resident evil era, but i am taking a tumblr vaycay from now until i play (and finish) resi9. i am sure i will rejoin you soon and we can resume being ill together. ✌️
Random questions that wont help you get to know your mutuals at all
thanks for the tag, @silvercap 🥰
favorite shampoo (scent or type/brand)?
all mine are medicated and none of them are that nice, sorry to say 😔 the least unpleasant one smells like lemons.
do you sleep with the light on or your doors closed?
mood lights on and door closed.
hot or cold coffee/tea?
iced coffee and hot tea.
do you use the same username for all/most of your socials?
mmm. i used to change usernames often, but now they are almost all phoenix related, at the very least.
white shoes, yay or nay? why?
never. what is the point? only rookie leon is silly enough to wear white shoes (uh. sorry white shoe owners.)
what song is stuck in your head right now? (if none, last one you remember listening to?)
this was in my head in the shower, thanks to @thebrandywine.
would you rather watch three twenty minute episodes or a one hour movie?
since i probably would just be listening while i doodle, i prefer an hour, so i dont have to potentially be interrupted every 20 minutes to advance to the next episode.
would you still love the person that tagged you if they were a worm? (/p /lh)
of course 🥹 wiggly little worm 🪱 wiggly little eel. 🐍
many people i know have been tagged, but @lliinno-blog, @sineala, @citurtlanu, and anyone out there reading this who wants to join in 💕
Let it not be said that Hunnigan never sends him anywhere nice.
Amidst the damp soil and hemlock trees of Harvard Forest, Leon treads with cautious steps. His flashlight is trained to the undergrowth, ensuring every movement of his feet are secure ones, while his other hand holds his pistol in a low ready. The night buzzes loudly around him, all manner of bugs and nocturnal wildlife making unusual noises that he strives not to startle at. The destination provided to him by his superiors is buried within the depths of this national park, far from any hiking trails and research stations. It had been flagged for possible bioweapon activity by the faculty, who reported audio anomalies on their equipment and a handful of strange, unidentifiable tracks. Further investigation by the DSO pointed to a dense cluster of thermal signatures north from the main trail. His superiors suspect a small, isolated lab. Leon was sent to find out.
But he has to win this battle with nature first. The end-of-June humidity plagues him, leaving his neck and face damp as he moves step by cautious step. The ground is treacherous off the beaten path like this. Even with his flashlight, the pitch black of the surrounding wood is unsettling, the canopy overhead so dense he can't even see sky. It's dangerous for him to be out here—but danger is just another day in the office, isn't it. He just hopes that if he finally does kick the bucket, it won't be from twisting his ankle and drowning in a bog.
After long minutes picking his way over roots, rocks, and uneven ground, the trees start to thin. Grass gets thicker around his ankles, building into a sea of fibre that nearly reaches his waist. He grimaces, thinking about all the dangers in that grass that could make his life very difficult, but continues on ahead. At least twisting his ankle and drowning would be preferable to death by snakebite. Or getting covered in ticks.
Finally, Leon draws into the treeline that edges a small field, clicking off his flashlight to allow himself to adjust to the appearance of moonlight. The open air carries a heavier breeze here, where the vegetation is sparse, but it doesn't help him any. He takes a moment to swipe the sweat from his temple.
And immediately ducks behind a tree trunk.
There had been a flash, a flicker of light in his peripheral. Tiny, but obvious in the darkness. His first thought was a laser sight, which meant trouble. It seemed too small to be a fire or torchlight, but he's been wrong before. It could also have been an LED from a piece of equipment, which could mean any number of things. Had he stumbled into a research station without knowing it? Or was the 'lab' he was meant to find out in the open air? There's no telling without a visual.
With his gun drawn up by his shoulders and a deep breath, Leon slowly peeks around the bulk of the tree.
It takes three or four rapid flashes for Leon to realise what he's looking at. His breath catches. For a long moment, he simply stares. Then he takes a cautious step out from behind his shield. And another.
There, hovering over the expanse of grass, are the soft, twinkling glow of fireflies. Dozens of them, pulsing back and forth to each other, lighting up the field like stars. It looks like something out of a movie; an overgrown field illuminated by moonlight, thrumming with dancing lights. Leon finds himself drawn out from the safety of the foliage, his eyes catching on every yellow trail that crosses his vision.
He hasn't seen any in years.
He used to. In Boston, he would beg his parents to take him out searching for them. There were a few spots far enough away from the city for the light pollution to not reach, just enough to see the waltz of lightning bugs at dusk. His father had taught him to be patient, settling down onto a rock or fallen tree beside him and guiding Leon into careful observance. His mother had caught one within her palms, opening them slowly for Leon to see the tiny beetle inside. He had let it crawl across his knuckles despite his fear, watching closely as the abdomen lit up and the bug took flight, and his father had called him brave.
The wonder of those outings stuck with him when he was young, a fond memory of a good childhood. And somewhere around his fifth or sixth foster family, Leon had forgotten.
Now, the tentative grasp of peace holds him in its embrace while he watches. The fireflies illuminate the area one blink at a time, rising and falling like waves. His feet swivel as he follows one that dances around his head, tracking its path like an old friend. It seems to linger for a while longer, hovering just so beside him. Bringing him into a single turn of their dance.
He's reminded, gently, just what world he's fighting for.
Until the unearthly clicking of a mutated growl interrupts him, his gun up and aimed in a split-second. There are more trees to his right, closely packed with little space to see in between. There's no telling what kind of bullshit he's about to walk into, or indeed if he'll make it out alive, but he has a job to do. With one final glance at the memory he must leave behind, Leon takes a breath, and walks.
