Water Cooler Goldfish

A creative catch-all blog, which means basically it’s where any art I’m not petrified of sharing ends up.

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Hey someone that knows AO3, what does it mean when the ‘works’ page shows one number for bookmarks but the ‘statistics’ page shows a totally different number?

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Hello again enjoyers of the bug boy

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Have a sprinkle more Content as I try desperately to make my brain do Literally Anything

Tags: @polarspaz @quasar-crew

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Woe, zombies be upon ye

https://archiveofourown.org/works/84289691

I know it’s not Bugs but y’all getting tagged anyways so feel free to ignore me lol

Tags: @quasar-crew @polarspaz

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Working on a thing that, shock and awe, is not bug

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Is there any interest on tumblr in zombie Leon (from me), or do I just keep it in on Ao3?

Post?

Share it here you coward

Please leave me alone

Voting ended onMay 5

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Working on a thing that, shock and awe, is not bug

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I’m considering putting all the RE stuff on AO3

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Ok so I did, it’s all (except one drabble that will stay here for lack of any logical place to put it) gonna be under this series.

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[chanting] BUG! BUG! BUG! BUG!

Sort of an unofficial follow-up to this post and also this one by @quasar-crew (and inspired, as always, by @polarspaz , this time Rookiebug flavor).

I hope it’s chill I kinda hijacked your thing quasar-crew I promise I mean well I just have a lot of feelings

Knight meets Rook(ie)

“Leon?”

He turns carefully, tail trying to swing wide as a counterbalance he doesn’t let move. The voice came from a woman, maybe Leon’s age, with blonde hair and a baffled expression that only gets more confused as the seconds pass.

“Yeah? I—sorry, I mean, yes, I’m Leon. Are you new?”

She blinks up at him, eyes wide and brow furrowed, before she fearlessly grabs his wrist and starts marching back into the base without a word.

“Woah, hey,” Leon tries, twisting his arm a little in her grip to try and get her to let go, but it’s no use. She’s not letting go without a fight, and Leon’s not stupid. She’s not dressed like the soldiers, so either she’s a scientist or she’s admin, either way it’s infinitely smarter not to try and force her hand away.

She shoves open the lab door without hesitation and Leon stalls. It doesn’t look right, it looks different than it did just the other day. He had to go let the scientists take his new measurements two days ago, a little faller and a little broader after a molt, carapace a few shades darker brown.

“Luis!” the lady shouts. “Something’s wrong with Leon.”

The sound of rolling chair wheels on tile, and a dark ponytail appears from behind a tall shelf, the man it’s attached to being tan, handsome, and visibly distracted by something in front of him. “Princessa, Sancho is away on a mission, what are you talking… about…”

The man stands up abruptly, eyes wide and confused just as much as the woman’s, and he doesn’t so much as blink as he takes the woman (Princessa?) by the arm and guides her behind him.

“Luis, what—“

“Leon is on a mission,” the man (Luis?) whispers, stepping hesitantly backwards, eyes still locked on Leon, who is honestly starting to feel kind of offended. “Whoever or whatever that is, it’s not our Sancho.”

“Obviously,” the lady says, rolling her eyes and pulling her arm free, “I mean, look at him, he’s tiny.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m almost eight feet tall, lady.”

“Yeah, like I said, tiny. And it’s Ashley.”

Leon blinks. “Wait, Ashley from Spain, the president’s daughter. Oh, shit.”

Neither of the other two move.

Leon sighs. “Your me, your Leon. About ten foot, darker carapace, grouchy old man? Has better clothes? He doesn’t have Matilda, he calls—no, he calls his… ah, what was it? Plaga? Plaga. He calls his Plaga a freeloader, but he said that Luis calls it Rucio sometimes.”

Ashley stares. “Wait, that was real? I thought that was just a weird dream he had.”

“It would certainly seem so,” Luis says. “You are Leon, but… not right. How old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

“Oh, that’s why he’s little! He’s a baby, Luis!”

“I seem to remember your twenty-third being only a few months ago, Princessa.”

“Semantics.”

Leon shifts his weight, used to being talked about like he isn’t in the room, but still uncomfortable.

“What do you do about clothes?”

“Huh?”

Ashley rolls her eyes again, but looks fond as she steps around Luis. “I mean, you’ve gotta be pushing the limit of what you can fit into from modifying commercial sizes, right? Your sleeves don’t even reach your wrists.”

Leon tugs on a hoodie cuff self-consciously. “It fits, I just need to finish stretching it out, is all. It’s only been a couple days.”

Ashley cocks her head. “What do you mean, only a couple days?”

“At this height, not in general. I only molted like, three days ago.”

“You molted?”

Luis steps forward with an outstretched hand, a gleam of curiosity in his eye that puts Leon’s teeth on edge despite (or maybe because of?) the lack of warning from Matilda. Leon steps backwards, tail tucking back behind him rather than resting curled around his feet.

The scientist looks taken aback for a second, then there’s almost a flicker of hurt in his expression before it’s schooled back to the mildly concerned neutral.

“Ah, we haven’t met yet, have we?” Luis asks.

“Not in person, no. But I’m pretty acquainted with your work.”

The wince Leon’s tone gets is blatant.

“Not my work,” Luis almost mumbles. “I myself was never in America before this base. And my corporate career was considerably shorter than it seems your Luis Serra’s was.”

“Sure,” Leon says, not meaning it in the slightest. “And you had no idea what your research was for, I’m sure.”

This time, Luis doesn’t even bother to attempt to hide his full-body flinch. He has an expression on his face like somebody shot his dog.

“Hey!” Ashley snaps. “You’re different from our Leon, and he’s different from your Luis. That’s just how it is. Quit being an asshole, Scott.”

“I did know,” Luis admits, head down. “I did not want to believe it, but I knew. I carry my own sins, Leon.”

Leon grimaces. “Your Leon said you were a friend, but I’m… not ready to take his word for it.”

He gets a nod in response, the other man still not looking up. “Perhaps our Señorita would be a better companion, then, while you are here.”

Ashley puts a hand on her hip. “I was planning on sending you back with some designs and patterns for clothes, but not if you’re gonna keep acting like a dick, Scott.”

“Scott?”

“Well, I’m not calling you Leon, you’re too short.”

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I’m considering putting all the RE stuff on AO3

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Anybody in the market for some solid B- body horror? A direct continuation of this post.

@quasar-crew (based on @polarspaz Verdugo Leon au)

“Last chance, you guys really don’t want to be here when this happens. It makes Luis sick, and he’s… well, Luis,” Leon warns.

“Excuse you. Mama Redfield didn’t raise a bitch,” Claire says, almost sounding genuinely affronted. “And if she did, it was Chris.”

Leon’s startled laugh turns to a rough hacking cough. He bends over, one hand on the ground and the other over his mouth as Sherry thumps him on the back.

Blood drips out from between his fingers, speckling the ground between his knees. Claire grimaces, but neither of them move away.

Chris knocks quietly and nudges the door open. “I have candy, should I just leave it and go, or—“

“Sit.”

“Okay,” he agrees sheepishly, perching on the very edge of the opposite lower bunk. “Dr. Serra said to remind you that it’s worse if you try to fight it.”

“Yeah, well, when Luis loses some fingers and the ability to speak Spanish, he can talk to me about that,” Leon gripes into his hand. His voice is raspier than it was a minute ago.

“How can we help?” Claire tries again.

“You can leave?”

“As if,” Sherry says, tucking his hair behind one ear. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Leon sighs. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I—“ he cuts off with another hard cough. “Jacket, sweatpants. Get shredded if I don’t—“ another cough.

Chris stands up and tucks his hands under Leon’s armpits, hauling him upright easily despite the extra height. “I assume your tighty whities stay on?”

Leon gapes a little at Chris as he works to ease his sweats off, cheeks a little red as he remembers company. “Jesus, Chris, what kind of steroids are you on?”

Chris laughs as Leon eases back down to his knees on the ground and unzips his hoodie with a shaking hand. “Top secret BSAA blend, the Chambers special.”

Leon laughs into a coughing fit again. Claire folds the discarded hoodie and sweatpants, seemingly for something to do with her hands while he’s busy hacking up a lung.

“So how does this work?” Sherry asks finally. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” Leon admits tiredly. He doesn’t bother wiping the blood off his lips this time. “Not sure how much of it’s in my head though.” He’s interrupted by another cough. “It goes inside out. Internal changes, external changes, molt.”

“Molt?” Claire asks.

“You ever seen a cicada shell? Imagine that, but meat.”

Claire grimaces and sticks her tongue out. “Ew.”

“Why do you think I was trying to get you to leave?”

“Is that why you’re coughing?”

Leon nods. “Vocal cords, part of the esophagus. Gonna be just bug noises again here in a minute.”

A particularly hard cough has him wincing, bringing his hand away from his mouth in a closed and bloody fist.

“It’s a barrack. Every surface is concrete and there’s a drain in the floor,” Chris says. “I guarantee it’s seen worse.”

Leon paints a pathetic figure, knelt on the floor and hunched over his knees in just his underwear. Another cough sends teeth scattering over the hard floor, sudden enough that Chris lifts his knees up to his chest and even Sherry jumps.

Leon’s skin discolors, going pale and waxy as sweat beads on his face. One hand clutches around his stomach, the other bracing him on the ground.

Dark points push up through the skin of his knuckles, between the index and middle fingers, and the pinkie and ring figures. His claws grow back in quickly, digging into the concrete floor. The tip of his thumbs split, deep brown cracking his nails in two and tearing the skin away to reveal another talon on each hand.

Leon’s whole body pops and snaps, bones stretching and muscles tearing with a nauseating cacophony of sounds.

He lurches in place as his legs crack, his feet twisting into shape as the skin sloughs off in clumps that hit the floor with muffled thumps.

All over his body, points and spines push up just beneath the surface of bloodless flesh before piercing through. His breath goes shallow as each rib cracks and reforms, expanding visibly as bones strain against skin stretched thin to the point of breaking.

A particularly loud and violent snap has Leon whining as he bends even further forward, neck craning forward as he puts a hand on the back of his head. The talons cradle his skull as his human fingers flop and dangle, limp and boneless.

Plates of carapace push slowly up through his neck as it grows wider, still hunched forward as Leon closes his eyes and grinds his forehead into the floor. As the plates grow further down his back, the skin splits further, almost right down his spine, peeling away from damp brown carapace to drape limp, like fat trimmed from a cut of meat.

He chitters, and it sounds distressed. Sherry strokes his hair soothingly as she tries not to lose her breakfast all over this gruesome scene.

He takes a deeper breath, splitting the skin around his ribs further, flesh hanging loose over his knees like a discarded jacket.

“Hey, didn’t you have a—“

Crack.

“—tail,” Chris finishes lamely.

It’s hard to tell through the boxers, but a bony point presses hard against the seat of the fabric. The seams strain before the material itself gives way to the tail forming out of Leon’s lower back. Vertebrae snap as the limb lengthens, encased in some thin membrane that blunts the edges of sharp spines and rough plates.

Leon pants, forehead pressed to the concrete still as his tail gets longer and longer, mutations seemingly rushing to finish.

Claire tries to tuck his hair behind one ear, only to snap her hand back as his entire ear comes off, plopping to the ground in a wet pile of what must be the lower half of his face.

Finally, finally, the growing and straining and tearing seems to be done, leaving Leon panting in the sudden quiet.

Finally, he uncurls from over his knees and sheepishly spreads both three-fingered hands to wiggle them. Like the world’s most fucked up jazz hands, his human fingers still flop bonelessly from between the talons.

“It’s a little like deer antler velvet,” Sherry muses, peering at the mess on the floor.

“Si. And like that velvet, the rest must come off as well.”

Everybody except Leon jumps. How long Luis has been standing up against the door, none of them are sure.

“Where is the candy you took?”

Chris immediately starts emptying his pockets. “Right, shit. Why candy?”

“Sugar water,” Claire drones as Leon pours a whole bag of M&M’s directly into his open mouth.

“Men in Black?” Chris asks as Claire snickers.

Sherry sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. “Siblings, right Leon?”

Leon nods, chattering something agreeable as he tears into another package.

“Wait! I’m mad at you!” Chair exclaims, jumping to her feet to point at Chris. “A crate?!”

Leon pinches her sleeve between the sides of two claws and chirps.

“‘You don’t need to yell at him for that, Ashley already tore him a new one,’” Luis translates. “His words, not mine.”

“Well, I don’t know who Ashley is, but I think we’re gonna be friends,” Claire says, pulling back her pointing hand and instead running her fingers through Leon’s sweat-damp hair, causing it to stick out at odd angles.

“Lo siento, guapo,” Luis whispers, tucking a kiss against Leon’s split palm. “I thought this one would work longer.”

———

Claire: so when do I get to meet this Ashley?

Chris: never.

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Okay this is actually genuinely kind of an unprecedented run in the sandbox for me. A continuation on this post, inspired in part by @quasar-crew ‘s comment and as always by @polarspaz ‘s au. Sure hope nobody’s allergic to italics cause the concept of restraint and I aren’t on speaking terms.

Luis works fast. The suppressant is a different formulation than the last one they tried, hopefully the alterations will make this one last more than halfway through a transformation before everything cracks back into place.

It’s gross and messy like always, but afterwards Leon flexes all five (five!) of his fingers on both hands and wobbles to the lab shower to get the blood and gunk off his skin.

Peeking back into the little bunkroom Claire and Sherry have claimed as theirs for the time being prompts a scream, hugging, and more crying. Leon jokes about being dehydrated. Sherry smacks his shoulder gently.

The door creeps open and Chris peers in, sheepish, silent, before he catches sight of Leon and tries to back out just as quietly.

“Oh no, absolutely not, get back here,” Claire demands. “Right now.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Leon says quietly, “it’s fine, I know it’s weird.”

Claire snorts. “It’s adorable you think he has a choice. Christopher Elizabeth Redfield, get your boulder-punching ass back in here right now or so help me—!”

The big bad BSAA captain obediently shuffles back into the room, looking at his feet. “I know you’re probably not comfortable, around me, I—“

“Hang on, wait, no,” Leon interrupts. “You think I’m uncomfortable around you?”

“Well… yeah? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were uncomfortable around me.”

Both men look at each other in confusion.

“Boys,” Claire sighs. “So stupid. Never get involved with them if you can avoid it, Sherry.”

Sherry snickers from her perch on the bottom bunk.

“Why would either of you be uncomfortable around each other? I mean, I know this is sort of a mutual friend situation, but come on, you’re grown adults. Get it together and play nicely,” Claire says.

Chris rubs the back of his neck. “I… my team was on transport duty. We didn’t exactly show the best of the BSAA. I’m sorry, Leon.”

Leon brushes the apology off. “It’s not a big deal. Not like we were expecting you to let a monster ride shotgun.”

Claire hisses sharply, and Sherry flinches. Even Chris looks upset.

“You better not be referring to yourself,” Claire says, poking a finger at Leon’s chest.

“Well I obviously don’t mean Luis,” Leon tries to joke.

“You’re not a monster, you idiot.”

Leon snorts. Claire glowers, and jabs her finger harder into his sternum.

“Leon. You are not a monster.”

“I have eyes, Claire. I know I am.”

“You are not!”

“It really doesn’t get much more ‘monster’ than a ten foot tall bug. It’s okay. I’ve accepted it,” Leon says, voice slowly raising. “I am a monster, and I’d be delusional to think otherwise.”

“Oh, just cause you hit a growth spurt suddenly you’re a monster?!” Claire shouts. “Shut up!”

“I’m not even human!” Leon yells, leaning in as he does.

“Am I a monster?”

Everyone flinches at Sherry’s soft question.

“Wh—Sher, no, of course you aren’t—“

“Why not? If you’re a monster, then so am I. There’s still dormant G-Virus in my blood, and it’s never going away,” Sherry continues, sliding off the bed to her feet. “I could have mutated, like my—like my Dad did.”

“It’s different,” Leon tries, hands resting on Sherry’s shoulders. “You aren’t a monster. Jesus, of course not.”

“How is it different, Leon?”

“Because you’re a good person, Sherry, and I’m—I’ve—“

“I know about the STRATCOM deal.”

Leon pulls back, hands trapped in place by Sherry’s hands on his wrist. Her thumbs are tracing gentle circles over his pulse.

“What?”

“I know what you traded, Leon. A bad person wouldn’t make that deal. So don’t try to convince me you’re not a good man.”

“How do you…” Leon whispers. “How? That was supposed to be classified.”

“Director Hunnigan told me at the wake. She thought I deserved to know,” Sherry says, equally hushed.

There’s a moment of tense silence. Tense like a garage door spring, wound tight enough you worry about ricochet and bystanders when it finally breaks. Tense like a bungee cord ready to take someone’s eye out.

“Do one of you two want to explain?” Chris asks finally.

Sherry doesn’t take her eyes from Leon’s face as she speaks, thumbs never stopping their tiny circles. Her expression is kind, despite the words she utters. “About three weeks after the three of us split after Raccoon, the federal government picked up Leon and I. They knew about the G, somehow, and they wanted to study it. But Leon made a trade, him for me. He would work for them until it got him killed, and in return I got to live a normal life and didn’t wind up as a lab rat.”

Claire’s face goes red as Sherry talks. Chris’s cheeks drain of color as his expression falls.

“I had no idea,” Chris says finally.

“Nobody did. Nobody was supposed to, that’s kind of the whole idea behind something being classified,” Leon grouses. “I just… I couldn’t let you lose anything else, Sher.”

“And that’s why you aren’t a monster,” Sherry says patiently. “Because underneath all that armor plating, you’re still the same baby-faced 20-something signing a deal with the devil for a kid you barely know. Because you’re a good person, Leon.”

“I did not have a baby face,” Leon says quietly, smiling faintly when Claire snorts and Sherry giggles.

“I did think you were Claire’s age when we first met,” Chris says.

“Rude.”

Leon grins as Claire laughs louder.

Wow, he’s really out of practice smiling. His cheeks already hurt.

Wait.

“Shit,” Leon says. “Shit. Okay. I’ll… I’ll be back in a minute, I have to… yeah.”

Claire catches him by the hood as he tries to shuffle past her. “Absolutely not. You can talk, use your words.”

“This,” Leon says, gesturing to himself desperately, “wears off.”

“Oh. Woof, okay, that sucks. Makes sense. But sucks.”

“What do you need from us?” Chris asks.

“I’ll just go, I’ll be back in a little bit, really it’s gross—“

“Not the question I asked,” Chris says. “What do you need from us?”

Leon groans, then winces as his chest tightens and his neck cracks. “Somebody to tell Luis the time, and grab a bunch of candy from his desk.”

“On it,” Chris says, all business as he jogs away down the hall.

“Candy?” Sherry asks, holding Leon upright with a hand on his torso as best she can.

“Sugar,” he shrugs, then winces again as his shoulders pop loudly. “Plaga’s a bug, remember?”

Claire mirrors Sherry on his other side with a snicker. “That guy from Men in Black. Sugar water.”

“You’re the worst,” Leon says mildly. Claire laughs as the two of them help ease him to his knees on the ground. “Easily my least favorite Redfield. And that’s saying something, since your brother locked me in a dog crate.”

“…He WHAT?!”

—————

Chris, bursting into the lab: ELEVEN-OH-SEVEN, WHERE IS THE CANDY?

Luis, opening a drawer: Tell your sister she needs new boots.

Chris, stuffing candy in every pocket of his pants: huh?

Luis: I can see the tread pattern on your neck

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What’s this? Two posts in one day? What the hell? What is this? (It’s a continuation of this, inspired by a comment from @sonicasura , and as always, based on @polarspaz ‘s Verdugo Leon au.

Leon is still getting used to the idea of living in close quarters to human beings. Normal humans, specifically, people that aren’t Luis ‘Confessed Sexual Attraction to 1954 Creature From The Black Lagoon’ Serra.

Everything on this base is a far cry from how they were living before. Consistent environmental controls have been a godsend as the weather gets cooler, and steady electricity is nothing short of a marvel.

Leon is in the middle of attempting to drag Luis away from his research for the first meal of his day at 3pm when a walkie-talkie crackles to life.

“Hey, uh… doc? It’s AJ, we got… something weird. You there?”

Luis gives up the fight, releasing the table leg he hooked his good arm around with an overblown frown at Leon. Leon rolls his eyes right back.

“Si, si, what is the trouble?”

“There’s… two women out here? Demanding to come in. Said they’re with Terrasave. Do we let ‘em in, or…?”

“Are they able to provide ID? We do not have any visitors for the next two weeks, as far as I’m aware.”

“Yeah, they look legit. Uh… an organizer, Claire Redfield, and an intern, Sherry Birkin. Those names ring a bell to you?”

Leon feels the floor drop out from under him. He physically recoils from the radio, taking a half-step back.

Luis notices, Luis always notices. He puts the radio back down on the desk and comes closer to Leon, neck craned backwards to make eye contact.

“Sancho? Leon, you okay? Those are your friends, aren’t they?”

[Haven’t seen them in years. Sherry must be an adult by now. They should think I’m dead. How are they here?]

“AJ, how did they get here?”

“Rental car, looks like. Off-roader.”

[Why are they here? I’m dead to them. They should think I’m dead.]

Leon finds himself with hands on his face, Luis much closer than he strictly ought to be. Ah, Leon is crouched down to the floor. Makes sense.

“Sancho, look at me. Do you miss them?”

[Every day.]

“Then we let them in. If they behave badly we let Harris throw them out, hm?”

[They—I’m—] Leon fumbles, gesturing at himself. [Raccoon City.]

“If they are half of the way you have described them, they will adjust,” Luis says, bonking his forehead against Leon’s. “Take deep breaths. Doctor’s orders.”

[You’re not that kind of doctor,] Leon says shakily, but he gulps a deep breath anyways.

“AJ, tell them to park in the garage. I will meet them.”

—

Sherry’s technically too old for the college intern badge, but what good is a G-Virus baby face if you can’t use it to your advantage? She could be a continuing education student, they don’t know.

Claire carefully guides the gray rental SUV into the space pointed out by the security guy, who watches her park like a hawk.

There’s another man standing next to the security guy, this one a little older with some gray in his curly dark hair and a hand in the pocket of a pair of plain jeans.

“Hola. Claire Redfield and Sherry Birkin, si?” the stranger asks, hand out to shake. “What is Terrasave doing all the way out here in our corner of nowhere, hm?”

“Kinda rude to ask us that before we even have your name,” Claire says, not taking the offered hand. She’s shooting daggers with her eyes, and while Sherry is a little more subtle, Claire knows he’ll find no quarter there either. The man has an accent, Spanish possibly, and the vague impression of a fancy rainforest bird.

The man gasps, theatrical and aghast, before he sweeps into a melodramatic bow. “You are correct, señora. Name’s Luis. Encantado.”

“The BSAA said that this base is populated with the idea of being a safe haven for victims of BOW infections that have mutated but retain their humanity,” Sherry explains.

The man, Luis, looks at her. “Odd place to bring an intern, no? And your name, Birkin… is familiar.”

Claire clenches her fist tightly in her own pocket. Is this guy Umbrella? How does he know the name? Who is he?

“Captain Chris Redfield of the BSAA said you already have somebody here,” Claire interrupts, stepping between Sherry and this Luis guy. “This is a joint base, BSAA and STRATCOM, and given what I know about STRATCOM, I don’t trust you people as far as I can throw you.”

Luis blinks. “Ah. And did your brother happen to share our resident’s name?”

There it is.

“I know you’re holding Leon here,” Claire spits. “We went through hell together—he’s family, and for years STRATCOM told us he was dead. Now I find out from Chris that not only is he alive, he’s in Alaska?!”

Luis winces. “Well… ‘holding’ is such a loaded term. He came here of his own will. He misses the two of you. But you must understand he looks different from how you saw him last.”

“It’s been years,” Sherry says softly, “he’s older, but so are we.”

“Older, si, but also our dear Sancho has had a… growth spurt?” Luis tries. “You may not recognize him immediately. And he… can’t really speak. But he is the same man underneath.”

Sherry’s hand finds Claire’s, and squeezes it twice. She’s lost too many people to mutations beyond human. Claire wants to carry her away from here like she’s twelve again, but she can’t. Sherry’s an adult, and she’s got her brave face on.

“Take us to Leon,” Claire says.

—

“Sancho?” Luis calls out, peeking through a gap in the barely-opened door before pushing it wider. “Sancho, it’s rude to leave a lady waiting, let alone two!”

There’s a muffled chitter in the dimly lit room beyond, a cross between a cricket and the groaning pipes in Claire’s apartment, tweaking up at the end like it’s a question.

“I did not! You offend my honor,” Luis says in response, one hand on the light switch. “Light.”

Sherry’s blood goes cold in her body, her heart falling silent in her chest for one agonizingly long second.

Tall. Giant tall, head brushing up against the ceiling. Dark brown armored hands, feet, tail like a scorpion, complete with stinger. Claws. Enormous barrel chest and oddly bent legs. Mandibles? Huge neck ringed with armor.

Enough, Sherry tells herself. Focus on what’s the same.

Blue eyes, no pupil or white to them, jumping back and forth between Claire and herself. Sandy blond hair, in the same cut and style from the rookie cop on the tram ride out of hell. The same nervous side-to-side shuffle and duck of the head to avoid eye contact before dropping into a crouch.

A huge clawed gauntlet of a hand comes up and wiggles back and forth in the most awkward possible wave.

“Leon!”

He freezes solid under Sherry’s hug, not even seeming to breathe as she loops her arms around his neck and squeezes.

Finally, finally, there’s the faintest suggestion of pressure, a hand at her back, rubbing between the shoulder blades like he used to.

Sherry pulls back, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes, only to find Leon crying too, solid blue eyes overflowing as she leans against his shoulder.

“We missed you, stupid,” Claire says finally, sweeping in for her own hug as if her voice isn’t wobbly with unshed tears too. “Why’d you let us think you were dead? Asshole.”

Leon cocks his head and gestures at himself wryly.

“Still! We had a funeral and everything! It took a year for STRATCOM to even tell us you were gone!” Claire sobs. Leon puts an exceedingly gentle hand on her back as well, a low rumble emanating from his chest.

“You would have hated it. A lot of pomp and circumstance and people you didn’t like,” Sherry confesses. “So we had a separate wake later, just a few of us.”

“You would have liked that part a lot more,” Claire admits in a whisper. “Everybody did a shot of Malört in your name, and I’ve never seen so many soldiers go green in the face so fast before.”

Leon chirps, and it sounds like a laugh.

———

(Claire, distantly: YOU PUT LEON IN FUCKING WHAT?

Chris: I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS HIM!)

[technicolorartblog]

Hello again biblically accurate bug boy enjoyers. I have for you today a sequel to this post (which now has this adorable ART courtesy of @twirlytail-ts ). Once again inspired by @polarspaz Verdugo Leon au.

The trip to Alaska is… uncomfortable, to put it mildly. Without Ashley to vouch for them, the BSAA captain (a brick wall of a man with a rather severe scowl) that met them outside Madrid insisted on cuffing Luis and tossing Leon into a ‘BOW containment unit’ in the very back of the cargo plane. At least they let Luis sit with his back up against the plexiglass.

[Lot of syllables for a cage,] Leon chitters glumly. Luis huffs.

“It’s just for the flight, Sancho. You know our señorita won’t stand for it otherwise.”

[Claire would be so angry. Throws shoes when she’s angry.]

“You want me to tell him?”

[No!] Leon hisses, as scandalized as a ten foot bug man can be. [Tell no one.]

Luis sighs. “As you wish, Sancho.”

He falls asleep like that, back against plexiglass and legs going numb on the cold metal floor until a soft kick to his foot jolts him back to the world of the living. The BSAA captain is still scowling down at Luis, finger twitching on his firearm as Leon huffs in annoyance.

“We’re here. Get up.”

“Don’t suppose you’d give us a hand, señor?”

Luis only gets another crease between the captain’s eyebrows and a stony silence. He sighs and levers himself to his feet, rubbing life back into his knees with hands still cuffed in front of him.

There’s probably a dozen BSAA grunts with guns drawn and pointed at the box Leon’s been sitting patiently in as the door clicks open in time with the cargo hatch lowering.

There’s nothing around but wilderness (forest, mountains, a lake) and a mid-sized squat building of concrete and steel. The plane has landed on an airstrip that might be generously called ‘paved.’

“Home sweet home, Yanqui,” Luis says quietly.

“Luis!” Ashley shouts. She hurries up the ramp and yanks him into a hug, planting a lipgloss kiss squarely on his cheek.

“Hola, Dulcinea. I would hug you back, but,” Luis says once she’s released him, showing off his cuffed wrists. “The BSAA is not so much a fan of me, it seems.”

Her smile falls immediately, eyes flicking to the captain, who at least has the grace to look a little ashamed.

“Uncuff Luis,” Ashley tells him. “Now.”

“BSAA doesn’t take marching orders from the DSO,” one of the other soldiers says quietly. Ashley scowls at him.

She stands on tiptoes and stretches her arms to reach all the way around Leon’s neck, and he eventually escapes the embrace with a smudge of pink gloss on his forehead.

“You do when we stand on American soil,” an unfamiliar female voice says. Luis turns to see a woman with brown skin and dark hair, standing at the foot of the ramp in a pristine charcoal suit. “Now release Dr. Serra-Navarro.”

[Hunnigan!] Leon chirps, eyes wide. [Out of the office?]

Ashley muffles a snicker, having evidently caught at least of what Leon said.

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this once and assume that was something flattering,” Hunnigan says mildly, heels clicking up the cargo ramp in even beats. “Dr. Serra-Navarro, I’m DSO director—“

“Hunnigan,” Luis interrupts, extending his hand. “I have heard much, and been warned to mind my manners. Please, call me Luis.”

If the concept of being unamused took human form, it would look an awful lot like the DSO director. Ashley, the traitor, snickers into her hand. Leon chuffs a laugh.

“I’m not sure why you’re laughing, Leon, given how many reports you currently owe me,” Hunnigan says, one corner of her mouth twitching up but her expression otherwise unwavering. “I recommend settling in soon so you can get them submitted.”

Leon grins, mandibles raising out wide and eyes scrunching shut as he kneels in front of the director. [Missed you too, Ingrid.]

“Ah, he says he missed you as well, Ingrid.”

Hunnigan’s eyes go wider for half a second before she catches herself. She gives Leon a thorough once-over, then when she’s apparently satisfied with what she sees, she pats his shoulder once.

“What are you looking at?” Ashley demands. Luis turns to the forgotten BSAA captain, who looks like he’s just been slapped across the face with a dead fish. The submachine gun in his hand hangs limp in his grip.

“Leon Kennedy?”

Leon flinches. [Claire is going to throw a shoe at you.]

“Claire is going to throw a shoe at you,” Luis translates.

The captain flinches, jaw hanging open. “Leon, what happened to—“

[Short version: Spain sucks. Parasites in the water,] Leon interrupts.

“Short version, Spain sucks. Parasites in the water.”

“But how—“

“Captain Redfield, if you would like to be the one who speaks to your sister on this topic, I suggest we move this inside,” Hunnigan says. “And away from that… cell.”

[Not very comfortable,] Leon agrees.

Ashley turns slowly to the soldiers, her expression fiery. “You had Leon in that all the way here from SPAIN?!”

[Not that bad, Ashley—]

Ashley flaps a hand at Leon without looking away from the gobsmacked Captain, effectively shushing him. “You had MY AGENT locked in a CRATE for EIGHTEEN HOURS?!”

“It’s—“

“EIGHTEEN. HOURS?”

“We didn’t—“

“LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT BOX. Do you want to be locked in a broom closet you can’t even lay down in for EIGHTEEN HOURS? LOOK AT HOW TALL HE IS! HE COULDN’T EVEN STAND UP ALL THE WAY! DOES THE GENEVA CONVENTION MEAN NOTHING TO YOU PEOPLE?!”

“As entertaining as it is to watch Agent Graham yell at a man twice her size, this will go on for several minutes,” Hunnigan says quietly. “We may as well start the grand tour and have plausible deniability as she causes a diplomatic incident.”

[twirlytail-ts]

@technicolorartblog wrote this really cute two shot based on @polarspaz's verdugo Leon, and it was so fluffy that it spontaneously manifested the art from my hands. Trully, it was so so cute!

Thank you both for making such cool stuff!

[technicolorartblog]

You made this so adorable!! Luis’s little man bun, and Leon’s happy face when he hears Ashley??? Even poor lil Agent Crowe (who is contemplating a career shift)

I genuinely cannot get over how happy they all look, thank you SO MUCH for drawing this!! Always happy to provide the Fluff™️

[technicolorartblog]

Moooooore biblically accurate bug boy, continued from this

(Boy I hope that formats okay I’m on my phone at work)

@twirlytail-ts (sorry about the tag out of nowhere but technically your comment started this) @polarspaz

A week (and a number of too-knowing looks from Director Hunnigan) after the Germany Incident(tm), Ashley gets an unmarked envelope in her mailbox. Inside is nothing but a scrawled set of coordinates and a single lipstick kiss.

(It figures, really, that Ada was still looking after Leon. He’s the kind of guy you want to do good things for.)

So Ashley takes her accrued leave and a red-eye ticket as close as she can get to the coordinates, which turns out to be Madrid. A bus takes her to the closest town, and her feet and a satnav bring her to the coordinates themselves.

A rustle in the woods has her pulling the knife from her boot. A DSO badge has a few nice perks at the airport, like skipping the security check.

“Dulcinea!”

“Don Quixote?”

The tension leaves Ashley’s shoulders, though not entirely. She can’t tell where Luis’s voice is coming from.

She doesn’t need to, though, when she spots movement, drawing her eye to a familiar head of hair and inquisitive blue eyes peeking from over a fallen tree trunk.

“Leon!”

Leon chirps out her name, eyes scrunching up happily as Ashley runs towards him, dumping her backpack to the ground to have two free arms to fling into a hug.

He chitters a laugh and swings her around a few times, feet dangling off the ground until Leon (ever so delicately) releases her.

“I missed you, Leon,” Ashley says breathlessly. He’s got a taloned hand on her shoulder, looking her over at arm’s length.

“What, no love for your brave knight?”

She turns to Luis and wraps him in a bear hug too, a little less aggressively but no less warm. He’s carrying her bag over his good shoulder and grinning.

“I missed you too, sir knight.”

Leon makes a chattering hissing noise too complex for Ashley’s rusty skills to parse and raises an eyebrow at Luis.

Luis apparently gets it, and puts an offended hand to his chest. “A gentleman never corrects a lady’s pronunciation. That would be rude, Sancho.”

Ashley laughs and leans into Leon’s side. “Forgive me. My American tongue is trying its best.”

Leon looks her over again, and makes a sound deep in his chest that became very familiar over their time in Spain the first go round. [Ashley-hurt-question?]

“Just sleepy. Long flight from DC to Madrid,” she reassures him. “Promise.”

“Baby Eagle no more, eh? Our Princessa is all grown up, Leon,” Luis teases.

“Adult Eagle doesn’t have the same ring to it, though,” Ashley muses.

Leon’s side shakes under her shoulder with a chuckle.

“So, what are you doing here?” Luis asks finally. “Not that we aren’t very happy to see you.”

Ashley holds up the letter, blank save for the coordinates and red lipstick kiss.

Leon sighs, but the set of his mandibles is lifted out in a smile. [Ada.]

“Should have expected that,” Luis mutters.

“I can’t decide if I’m happy she’s looking out for you guys, or if I’m unsettled that she knows where I live,” Ashley says.

[Match-same,] Leon agrees.

“Ah, but too much talk! Sancho, we are rude hosts! We have not even invited you in,” Luis tuts, shaking his head.

[Ashley-close-follow,] Leon chitters, offering Ashley a taloned hand to hold as Luis forges ahead into the woods, her bag still over his good shoulder. [Home-safe-warm.]

“Well, lead the way, gentlemen.”

—

It’s a small house, almost more of a cottage, set beside a creek and practically swallowed by greenery.

It’s adorably domestic. Luis starts cooking what smells like breakfast while Leon drags around and rearranges furniture, making a space meant for two into one meant for three. All the while, a steady stream of conversation flows through the room.

Luis dances just short of sharing anything legally incriminating, and Ashley holds her tongue from sharing anything classified, but it’s great to catch up with them.

Finally, breakfast is served, and rather than the table, the three of them sit on the floor, plates on their laps to eat. It’s delicious and rustic and the first home-cooked meal Ashley’s had that someone else made in a long time.

“While I’m here, and before I forget, I have something to tell you two,” Ashley says, once breakfast is a memory and lunch is not yet a thought on the horizon. “It’s something that I’ve been working on with Director Hunnigan for a while now.”

[Hunnigan-boss-question?]

“Yeah, she’s the head of the DSO,” Ashley explains. “Er, right, DSO is what split off of STRATCOM. Specifically the bioterror fighting part of STRATCOM. Anyways, it’s a proposal that’s been in the works for a while, and just needed a push.”

She pulls a folded map from her bag and spreads it out on the floor. It’s Alaska, blown up across several sheets of printer paper taped together.

“A joint base, DSO and BSAA, because they want to have eyes on every possible thing,” Ashley says. “A safe location for researchers and any person who is infected but keeps their mind. Generally agents, but we can cross the civilian BOW bridge when we come to it.”

Leon’s eyes are wide, looking from the map to Ashley’s face.

“Are there… other infected agents?” Luis asks cautiously.

“None that I know of. But when I brought up the idea of someone keeping their mind but mutating physically, all the Director did was sigh and say, ‘I knew the story you had about Condor One was bullshit. He’s too stubborn to go out like that.’”

Luis crows a laugh while Leon’s eyes get glossy, like he’s trying real hard not to cry.

“She also said you owe her a report, but she did that thing with her mouth so I think she was kidding.”

Leon reaches over and gently pulls Ashley into his lap for a hug.

“Well, Sancho, sounds like we may be packing up before too long.”

[technicolorartblog]

Biblically accurate bug boy on the brain, but writers block on the hands

@polarspaz don’t mind me just riffing from my own comment on your post lol

Ashley may not have followed in Leon’s exact footsteps and become an agent, but FOS is just as important, and less likely to give her dad an aneurism thinking about her in active bio-terror outbreaks. Miss Hunnigan, Leon’s handler from way back when, had opened a few doors and taken Ashley under her wing.

“Roost!”

“Go for Roost.”

“I’m looking right at something, and there’s no way it’s T.”

Ashley sighs. The agent she was just assigned, Crowe or something, is young and skittish, and had the misfortune of being the closest one available to the outbreak currently trying to start in Germany. The details change but the broad strokes are usually the same; defunct umbrella lab, biohazard exposure in a small town near the area, BSAA scrambling for units while the DSO sends in a few stopgap agents.

“If it isn’t T-Virus, what is it?”

“Roost, if I knew what it was, I’d have said that already. But it’s crushing zombies bare-handed.”

Ashley presses two fingers to her temples. “Then describe it. What’s it look like? Use your crayon words, Crowe, give me a color, build, something.”

Crowe huffs. His voice is breathy, like he’s whispering, with an odd quality like he’s got his face hiding in the side of a car. “Giant fucking bug? Shaped like a guy, but tall as shit, like ten foot, easy. Armor plated, like some fucked up biped crab with a long ass pointy tail. BOW, for sure.”

Ashley’s breath catches in her chest. “What color is the hair?”

“What?!”

“The hair! What color is the BOW’s hair?”

“I don’t know, brown? How the hell did you know it has hair? Roost, what the hell is this thing?”

She fights off a grin. “If I’m right, you’re looking at a friendly.”

“A FRIENDLY?!” Crowe demands. “It’s a giant fucking scorpion, Roost, what the fuck do you mean F—“

His voice cuts off abruptly. No loss of signal, but all Ashley can hear is the faint sounds of fingers against the mic, and the soft scratch of hair against the receiver.

“Hola, señora. Your agent friend will be a little… tied up, for a bit. We can’t have him interfering, you see, but he will be unharmed.”

She can’t help but laugh at the new voice on the line, a familiar smooth tone from years ago.

“Luis?”

There’s a long silence, cut only by Ashley’s own breath.

“Who is this?”

“Come on, Don Quixote. I know it’s been a while, but surely you haven’t forgotten about Dulcinea.”

Luis barks a laugh, beaming grin audible in his voice. “Princessa! Always a pleasure to hear from you. Oye, Sancho, seems you left more of a mark than you thought!”

There’s an exuberant chittering over the line, hard to distinguish in the faint static, but she’s pretty sure she catches her own name.

“I can’t believe you two are there,” Ashley says. “You didn’t really hurt Crowe, did you? He’s new, but I’m kind of responsible for keeping him alive.”

“Si, si, your agent is fine. A little duct tape never hurt anyone, I would know,” Luis says. “We’ll leave him where BSAA will find him, don’t worry.”

“I appreciate it. Are you guys… what are you doing?”

Another noisy chitter, and a wordless noise of agreement. “You can take the man from the job, but not the job from the man, Princessa. Our dear Sancho is not a man who rests while people are in peril.”

Ashley chuckles and fights back a grin. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Just… be careful, okay? I’ll try to let dispatch know there’s friendlies on the ground, but I can’t make promises.”

“It will take more than a little friendly fire to bring down Don Quixote and his loyal squire,” Luis says. “Do not worry about us, Princessa.”

[technicolorartblog]

Hellooooo Rookiebug au enjoyers it’s me again with some boys acting silly

How would Chris meet Rookiebug?

@polarspaz

“The newly-established BSAA is sending one of their captains to this base to make sure everything is up to code,” Marvin says slowly. “Which means I need you two to behave.”

“I have no idea what you are implying, señor,” Luis says, as serious as someone can be while refusing to acknowledge being half-covered in magenta printer toner. “A knight is always on his finest behavior.”

Marvin stares blankly. Luis squirms. Leon bites his tongue to keep from giggling. Turns out, cigarette smoke makes him giggly now. Who would have known.

“We’ll play nicely with the other kids,” Leon says, lifting up his hand with three fingers extended. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Boy Scout?”

“No, we didn’t have them where I grew up.”

“What a coincidence! Neither did we!” Luis beams.

“Not surprising, given you also didn’t seem to have phones.”

“Guys,” Marvin strains. “Please.”

“I will not do anything to jeopardize my place here,” Luis swears finally. “And Sancho too will be on his best behavior.”

—

Marvin hurries to the helipad the second the BSAA bird makes radio contact. He squints around the kicked-up dust in the rotor wash, doing a double-take when a familiar (though significantly more muscled) form hops from the chopper and heads for him.

“Well I’ll be damned. Chris Redfield,” Marvin says with a grin, reaching out a hand to the other man. “I should’ve guessed you’d be all over this BSAA thing.”

Redfield skips the handshake and instead goes straight for a hug. “Branagh! What the hell are you doing here? I knew you got out, but this?”

“Somebody had to keep an eye on the rookie. Figured it was my job to begin with,” Marvin says, slapping Chris on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get inside, and you can tell me what you’re actually doing here.”

“I’m supposed to be meeting with a… ‘BOW asset handler’ about something the States reported as a ‘domesticated and cooperative humanoid BOW.’”

Marvin winces. “Not totally wrong, but don’t tell the kid that. He’s sensitive.”

Chris cocks his head. “Wait, so that’s true?”

Marvin sighs. “It’s gonna be easier to just introduce you. Just… play nice.”

—

He really would have an easier time herding cats than corralling these two. Luis, still half-pink, is standing on top of a lab table, gesturing aggressively at some diagram he’s drawn on the glass whiteboard in front of him. He’s speaking in rapid fire sentences, flipping back and forth between Spanish and English so fast Marvin’s Rosetta Stone skills can’t even hope to keep up. Leon, for reasons unknown, is hanging from the ceiling by his tail, staring at the diagram upside down, as if that’s going to help it make sense.

“Children,” Marvin groans.

“Oh shit,” Leon mutters, just before his tail slips off of the ceiling strut and he lands face first on the floor.

“Sancho?”

“I’m ok,” Leon groans as he peels himself off the tile. “Lost my grip. Sorry.”

“What the hell,” Chris whispers, his whole expression a mask of confusion and horror.

Leon winces.

“Serra, off the table. Chris, do you remember when we found out we were getting that rookie with the great marks?” Marvin asks. “Fresh out of the Academy? Right before STARS shipped out to that mansion up in the hills and everything went to shit.”

“Yes?”

“Well, meet Leon S. Kennedy, the RPD’s last rookie. Leon, this is Chris Redfield, former STARS member and current captain of the BSAA.”

“Wait, Redfield? You’re Claire’s brother, aren’t you? Did she find you?” Leon asks.

“Looming,” Luis says.

“Right, sorry,” Leon says, dropping down into a squat, still nearly head height with Redfield. “Did Claire find you?”

Redfield’s hand goes to his waist even as his eyes don’t leave the end of Leon’s tail.

“We got out of Raccoon City with your sister,” Marvin interjects.

“Oh, right. Right. Sorry,” Chris apologizes. “She told me she got out with you two. I’m assuming this happened after?”

“No, this happened during,” Leon says. “She didn’t tell you…?”

“That one of her trauma buddies was a giant bug? No, she neglected to mention that, believe it or not. How the hell did that happen in Raccoon City?”

“Kid came to the RPD to look into some weird disappearances in the area, turns out it was Irons,” Marvin says.

“I got too close to the truth and he did this,” Leon spits, “with a project he found in one of the ninety Umbrella labs under the city.”

Chris whistles. “Jesus. Irons? I mean, he was always kinda creepy with the girls, but… shit. I never would have thought.”

“None of us did,” Marvin says. “Not until the shit hit the fan.”

[technicolorartblog]

Give that bug boy a new fit!

@polarspaz

The times where Ashley comes to visit are some of the few bright spots in an overall pretty bad year. She practically skips off of the chopper and into the base, stopping to give Luis a hug and kiss on the cheek before she throws herself into Leon’s arms.

He straightens up and spins around a time or two as Ashley giggles, then puts her feet back on the floor. Her smile falls a little, eyebrows scrunching together.

“Leon, we joked about you wearing the same clothes the last two times I got to visit, but this is the third time I’ve shown up and found you wearing the same sweats and t-shirt, and I’m starting to think it’s not really a joke.”

Leon laughs hollowly. “I told you before, they’re comfortable.”

“Leon, do you not have other clothes?”

He waffles for a second.

“He doesn’t.”

“Luis!”

Ashley gasps. “What? Leon, how do you only have one set of clothes?”

“The clothes that fit him this way, they don’t fit that way,” Luis explains, gesturing horizontally then vertically. “And the clothes that fit lengthwise do not exist.”

“STRATCOM is just planning on sending you out on missions in pajamas?” Ashley demands. “Why haven’t they done anything? Alterations, tailoring, anything?”

“They’re supposed to have something tactical made before the next time they send me out on a mission,” Leon tries.

“The missions they haven’t cleared you to go on yet.”

“And won’t, for who knows how long,” Luis adds. “Face it, Sancho, they’re kind of leaving you out to dry here.”

“It’s not like you can just go to Walmart and pick up some jeans in size ‘bug monster,’ guys.”

Luis scowls. “Oye, what did I say about that word in this house, hm?”

Ashley frowns. “I need a tape measure and a step stool.”

“Why?” Leon asks.

Ashley’s face is set and determined. “I’m going to fix this.”

Eventually, they find what Ashley needs, and she flits around Leon taking measurements, market cap in her teeth as she scrawls measurements on her arm.

Between everything that happens on a daily basis, Leon actually kind of forgets the whole notion of clothes until Ashley comes back barely a month later lugging several more bags than normal.

“What’cha got there, Ash?”

There’s faint bags under her eyes as she shoves a duffel bag at his chest with a smile. “Clothes. Go, try them on. I also brought my sewing machine, in case I need to fix anything that would take too long to do by hand.”

Leon pulls the zip open just a few inches. The material is fleecy with stretch, soft to his fingertips and a nice navy blue. His throat closes up. “Ashley, I don’t know what to say, I—“

“Say you’ll go try them on!” Ashley demands. “Go! Shoo!”

Leon swallows the overwhelming feeling in his chest and darts to his room to do just that.

They fit almost perfectly. The sweater sleeves actually reach his wrists, and one shoulder is a little roomier to account for his carapace. The pants are fleece-lined, buttoned over his tail to keep it in place on his hips. There’s enough of a stretch in the fabric to allow for movement, but enough weight to the weave to retain heat.

When he peeks back into the common room, Ashley is nervously tapping a foot and fiddling with her painted nails as Luis sprawls on an armchair.

“Eh, Sancho, give us a spin! Put on a show!” Luis jeers. Lingering shoulder injury and Leon’s horrific appearance be damned, Luis Serra is not a man who balks from flirting. He flirts like it’s a full-combat sport.

Leon chuckles softly, but obligingly twirls in place.

“Do they fit? It looks like it but sometimes you can’t tell just from appearance. Do the sleeves need to be let out? Or taken in? What about the pants?” Ashley bursts out.

Leon puts a hand on her shoulder. “They fit perfect, Ashley. Thank you. You—you really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

Ashley’s eager nerves rush out in a sigh of relief, then she frowns gently. “Leon, you’re allowed to want things. You’re worth the trouble, you dolt.”

“Dulcinea is right, Sancho,” Luis adds. “You deserve nice things. Not just clothes that fit, though our little seamstress has done an excellent job. Those pants enhance your… assets~.”

Luis wiggles his eyebrows salaciously and Ashley rolls her eyes right back. She grabs Leon’s hands in hers and beams up at him.

“I’m glad those fit. Now try the rest on before Luis tries to tear them off of you, okay? And I’m serious, I’ll alter anything that doesn’t work.”

Leon pulls her into a hug. “How long did this all take? How much ‘rest’ is there?”

“I’m not sure. I just worked on stuff whenever I couldn’t sleep. Gave me something productive to do instead of stewing on nightmares. As for how much is stuffed in that bag?” She counts off on her fingers. “Tight sweater, loose sweater, t-shirt, tank top—I didn’t technically make the tank, I found it at the store and just shaped it up a little—two pants and a pair of shorts.”

Luis whistles, low and impressed. “All in a month? Princessa, when have you slept?”

Ashley laughs, which is the opposite of an answer, but neither man pushes it. Nightmares aren’t new ground for them, either.

“Movie night it is,” Leon decides.