The Trope Variety Hour

Themed writing prompts for every month!

[tropevarietyhour]

Welcome to the Blog!

The goal of this blog is to create monthly writing prompts for everyone to enjoy! The prompts aim to be non-fandom-specific and inspire creativity. Please read the FAQ for additional information!

Current Prompt List: The Lies We Tell

Past Prompt Lists: Here

AO3 Collection: Here

Questions? Check out the FAQ!

[tropevarietyhour]

A Short Break

Hi friends ♥

I had mentioned to one person that I was hoping to get out August's prompt list by this week. I am unfortunately a bit overwhelmed and busy with life at the moment, so I have not had time to get to it. I don't think I've ever been this busy in my life 😅 I'm not even really writing myself.

In order to take care of myself as well as some other important commitments, I'm going to be mostly offline for about a month. Currently, I am planning on doing a September list, but if things don't slow down, I can only completely guarantee picking back up in October. I'm hoping for the first option.

I am, however, still open to taking ideas on this post for anything you may like to see in September/October, and please do continue to use past lists and post here or in the collections. I'll be able to answer any questions off and on as needed.

Sorry for this! Life just does what it wants to do sometimes.

Be back soon ♥

[softly-potter]

All the Times You’re Grateful

Summary: After his accident, Leon doesn’t remember you, his partner. But you remember everything, especially loving him.

Pairing/WC/Tags: re4!Leon x partner!reader /2,416/ memory loss, angst, hurt no comfort, partners to strangers, lovers to strangers, brief implied smut

A/N: for day 17 of @tropevarietyhour “tell me all this time meant something” ao3 link below

You can tell from the tick of his jaw alone that he doesn’t recognize you. You weren’t prepared for that, for the blankness in his features when he looks at you. You’d rehearsed everything else; the confusion, the suspicion, maybe even the anger. You’d braced for distance, or unknowing. You hadn’t been prepared for this though. Anything but this.

He stands before you weeks later, after his body has healed, and there is not a lick of recognition in his eyes. He raises a brow at you, and you realize you’re a question he doesn’t care to solve.

“You lost, rookie?”

You aren’t a rookie, you’re his partner. Or you were, until the accident, until his memory no longer kept space for you.

“I’m not a rookie.” You swallow, and brush past him. He doesn’t stop you, and your breathing comes faster.

You glance behind you, and he’s walking away, moving from you at a steady pace.

A piece inside your chest goes very, very still.

-

You decide that he remembers none of it. The late nights pouring over files or the early morning debriefs or the stolen kisses in safe houses.

You learn quickly that he’s still him, always controlled and borderlining exhaustion. He saves people without thinking, without a thought for his own safety. He still stares at doors when he enters a room to make sure it’s safe, and he still drinks Diet Coke in the afternoons.

But he never looks at you like he knows you.

It’s beginning to feel like a private punishment, and you’re relieved that you had been released from being his partner. You asked upper command to not tell him, because it didn’t really matter, and they didn’t fight you on it.

The universe was punishing you enough.

-

The first time you slip, you hadn’t even realized it. You’re patching up a wound on someone else, while Leon stands nearby, watching out of habit more than concern.

The officer groans, and you pat their shoulder as you help them to their feet. Leon uncrosses his arms, directing his words to the other person. “At ease.”

“At easier.” You snicker, the inside joke lame but making you chuckle nonetheless. Leon pauses, and the officer all but ignores you, shuffling away as you try to remember to breathe right.

The room shifts and you can feel it in the air, the crack of electricity. A feeling you hadn’t had since his accident.

“…what was that?” Leon asks, and you shake your head so fast your hair swishes around you.

“Nothing,” you look away. “I heard it somewhere.”

“From where?”

Adjusting the straps on your holsiter, you shrug a shoulder, trying to look indifferent, trying to push down the memories of when he’d laugh at that. “I don’t know.”

“You do,” he corrects. “So do I.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His jaw tightens and you realize, with a slow kind of dread, that he’s sharper than you gave him credit for.

-

He starts watching you after that. Not in an obvious way, but because you know him, and remember how he had been, you notice it.

It all breaks after almost a year. You’re both on watch in a quiet corridor, flickering emergency lights casting everything in half-life shadows. He’s leaning against the wall, eyes half-lowered, exhaustion catching up in a way that you recognize but you don’t comment.

“You’re always looking at me like that.” he says suddenly.

You glance up. “Like what?”

“Like I’m supposed to know you.”

Your eyes drop immediately to your lap, to the weapon you’re holding. The quiet stretches, and you can feel him watching you, trying to read you and you give up. You had been strong, had been alone, and you missed him so much some nights it was hard to sleep.

Glancing up, you give him a half-baked smile. “Would it matter if you did?”

Leon frowns, takes a slow breath in before he nods. “It would.”

You hate how much it still matters. You hate that he still sounds like him when he says things like that.

“I think you used to,” you say quietly. “Know me.”

It’s not completely the truth but it’s safe. For you or for him, you aren’t certain. He doesn’t need to know about the times he held you, or the way he would take off your clothes with artful movements that made your blood hum.

Those memories are now for you and you alone.

Leon is quiet, and then his boots are scuffing the floor as he walks forward before crouching infront of you. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Do I trust you?” He asks, and when your eyes meet his you wonder if he remembers any of those moments at all.

You roll your answer inside your mouth, deciding if you should say it out loud.

“…you did.”

His brows wrinkle. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You hadn’t considered that before, and you don’t know if you have an answer. You stand up, brushing off your jeans and so does he, his eyes still on your face.

“Because it’s irrelevant now,” you reply with a throat full of sandpaper. “And the job comes first.”

Needing space, you walk away, acting as if you need to check the perimeter for the third time, and he doesn’t follow you. You’re thankful for that as you release a breath.

-

He doesn’t remember you, but he does notice you. You dhow up when you aren’t assigned, lingering in places you don’t need to be. You know how to move through a space like it belongs to you, even when no one has given you permission.

It’s in the little things, the way you don’t hesitate around him when everyone else does, or how you never ask him about his past, like you already know it would hurt him to explain.

He watches you more than he means to, stands straighter when you enter a room. A year and a half after his accident, and he still can’t remember how it happened. Can’t remember if it was his fault, or someone else’s. He remembers a few things, glimpses of emotionally important moments. His parents funeral, the sound of the rain as they’d been lowered into the ground. The pressure of Ada’s mouth on his underneath Racoon City, and how somehow she had still smelled like cherry blossoms even while surrounded by all the death. The ache in his chest when she didn’t come back.

A report is handed to him and he recognizes your hand writing. He clenches the file, taking the steps two at a time until he’s at your desk and presses it onto the wood. You slowly look from the file to his face.

“…can I help you?”

“This your hand writing?” He asks, unsure why his heart is beating so fast.

You glance at it before you nod. “Um, yep. That’s mine.”

He smiles and it’s so unexpected you feel your blood heat. “I recognized it.”

“You recognized my chicken scratch?” You ask, and he laughs, a sound that is soothing to your ears.

“Yeah,” Leon replies with a grin. “I- yes. It’s yours. I saw it and I knew it was.”

You smile back, making the expression small. “That’s great, Leon.”

He thinks about the way his name sounds on your tongue the rest of the day.

-

After that, he starts seeking you out without meaning to. It’s not on purpose, but he keeps finding himself where you are. If you’re patching equipment, he shows up with a tool you didn’t ask for. You need to review files, and he’s suddenly there, offering them to you along with his opinion on their process.

You can’t say you mind, if anything you enjoy it. What you don’t like is the hope blooming in your chest. You know your time of being loved by Leon is over; your heart just needs to realize that too.

-

He gets hurt in the field again and it’s minor, a gash on the upper side of his forearm. You wrap the wound, focusing on the movement of your hands.

“Hold still.” You murmur, and to your surprise he does. He watches you work quietly as if it’s muscle memory he doesn’t remember learning.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move right away, just watches as you lean back, cleaning up the medical supplies.

“You’re always calm.” he says quietly.

You glance up. “Not always.”

“I think you are with me.”

You narrow your eyes, your mouth quirking. “Maybe I just don’t want you to be worse off than you already are.”

He makes a soft, laughing sound, and you stand up, moving away because you don’t need to enjoy hearing that so much.

-

He doesn’t recognize you, but his body does.

After too many hours and not enough sleep, he catches himself watching you again. You’re talking to someone across the room, animated in a way he hasn’t seen before, and something sharp twists in his chest. Not jealousy, but a close second. Something more like loss.

When you notice him watching, you tilt your head slightly. “Leon?”

His name on your mouth is electric, and he stands taller, nodding. “Yeah?”

“All good?” You ask, the other person long forgotten. Leon nods, deciding that he wants to keep hearing you say his name like that, like you already know him, even if he doesn’t know you.

-

He breaks before you do in the process of admission. You’re elbow deep in papers when he stalks towards your desk, his boots echoing in the emptiness of the office.

“It was you,” he says and you stare at him.

“It was me…?” You ask slowly, giving him a chance to catch up. He’s breathing hard, his nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You,” his voice cracks and he sits down in the chair across your desk, putting his face in his hands. “I’ve been wracking my head. What’s left of it. Trying to figure this out and I thought- I thought it was Ada. It couldn’t be though, because she’s been gone for a long time.”

“Five years isn’t too long.” You say quietly. Leon gives you an incredulous look, brows knotted and he presses his palms into his knees.

“But you know,” he mutters. “Don’t you?”

“I’m not tracking what you’re saying.”

He sighs as you close the file, letting your entire attention be on him. His fingers gesture between you both, his jaw working.

“It was you I loved,” he murmurs. “Not Ada. You.”

Your heart may as well have stopped beating.

You look away, at the wall and then at your hands. You aren’t sure what to say, and his silence stretches as he leans back, his eyes boring into you.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me,” his voice has dropped lower. “Why? Did I- was it not like that? Was it something simpler?”

You laugh without meaning to, eyes snapping up. “Something simpler?” You echo, and shake your head. “No, Leon. Not telling you that I loved you was anything but simple. You were healing, and you didn’t know me. I couldn’t just…” you pause, trying to gather your thoughts. “You needed time. Space. I didn’t want to be in the way.”

“I still don’t remember it,” he doesn’t look at you when he speaks, his chest rising and falling in slow intervals. “I just…i remember the feeling. The knowing that I-“

He pauses, and you lean forward, needing him to continue. You need to know, and your knees bump the edge of your desk. “Knowing what?”

His sea blue eyes meet yours like waves on a beach. “Knowing that I loved someone.”

Your throat burns, and you slowly shake your head. “Leon, I-“

He stands up and the chair screetches, effectively cutting you off. “Tell me then. Tell me all this time was worth it. All the time I spent healing, when I could’ve spent it remembering you.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. There’s too much in your chest, too many versions of this conversation you rehearsed and none of them prepared you for the way he looks at you now, like you’re both the answer and the problem he can’t solve.

“Leon,” you whisper. “I don’t…I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s it?” He asks quietly. “That’s all you got?”

You swallow. Your hands curl into your palms just to keep you steady.

“I can tell you what it felt like,” you reply in a small voice. “I can tell you every moment. I can tell you the nights you couldn’t sleep and how you used to count the ceiling tiles because it helped, or how you laughed when you didn’t think anyone was listening, how you always did that thing with your thumb when you were nervous.”

His jaw tightens, and you can nearly see his brain processing these confessions, analyzing them. You don’t know if this is helpful or harmful, and as you round the desk to stand in-front of him, you cross your arms to keep your hands from touching him.

“It still isn’t mine,” He murmurs. You shake your head in sad agreement. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I didn’t stay and keep quiet because I thought you owed me recognition,” you reply. “I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave someone I still loved.”

“I don’t know you,” he says again, but this time it sounds less like a fact and more like a defense he’s trying to rebuild around himself. “And I don’t know what I lost.”

You release a breath that trembles halfway out.

“That’s the worst part,” you whisper. “You don’t even get to miss me properly.”

He nods once, his blonde bangs shifting with the movement. Somewhere in one of his pockets, his phone buzzes, and he presses his fingers to it, silencing the device. He glances up at you, taking a step back, and you know then that the conversation is done.

“I wish I could give it back to you.” His voice has taken on a husky vibration.

You squeeze your arms around you tighter, hip pressing into the wood of the desk. “I know.”

Leon nods again, and then he turns. You watch as he walks away, boots scuffing once more, the pull to him so hard you nearly stumble.

He doesn’t look back when he leaves, and you’re grateful for that. Otherwise, he would’ve seen your tears.

x

Divider @chrisssiren

Ao3 Link

Leon Kennedy taglist: @yours-truly-andrea @xozoelivia @princesssugarplumm

Leon Kennedy ML

[tropevarietyhour]

Hello!! For July's prompts, what does "The Hardest Part Was Watching You Smile While I Did" mean? Sorry I may be a little illiterate 😭

Hey! All good. It can be however you interpret it. Since the overall theme is "lies," I interpreted it as Person A, who was being lied to, believed Person B, who was lying to them, so they would smile and be happy about it. Person A obviously cared about Person B, so it hurt them knowing that everything they were telling them was a lie and they were happy to believe it.

[acryinthewrite]

July 12, 2026

524 words of original work written for @thepromptfoundry's Jazzy July and @tropevarietyhour's July theme, The Lies We Tell.

Day 12 Prompts: Quartet and “Every Memory I Had With You…”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All Sid can think is, we were supposed to be a team.

The four of us, we were supposed to keep each other safe.

It hurts to look at the flames and know that her sister has caused this destruction. 

It hurts to think that maybe she could have done something to prevent this.

Part of the fire seems to reach out to her. She douses it with a wave of her hand, taking water from the buckets around her.

There isn’t enough water for her to put out all of the fire at once, especially considering that it has to be Sid’s water to counter her sister’s fire. Instead, she’s focusing on not letting the flames reach any further than they already have. 

Someone is walking up behind her. She can sense the water that they’re carrying, so it must be either August or Jack. One of her siblings, so there’s no need to turn around.

“You need rest.”

Oh, good. It’s Jack. She doesn’t have to be as strong, not like she would for August. 

“I need to keep the fire from spreading.”

Jack sets down the /yoke/ with the buckets of water on each end. “We can keep watch. And it’s dying down anyway.”

Sid shakes her head. “No. It isn’t getting any smaller. I’m only able to keep it the same size.”

“Hey.” Jack puts their hand on her shoulder. “You need to rest. It won’t get much larger in a few minutes. Me and August can take care of it.”

She almost falls into their hold. She wants to rest. She wants to lie down and sleep and never have to think again. She wants to forget that their sister is capable of burning down people’s homes with no remorse. She wants to rewrite every memory and make everything better. 

But she can’t. She has to put out this fire. 

She shakes Jack’s hand off her shoulder. 

“No. Only the water I control can put out her fire. You know that, Jack.”

Jack looks tired, with dark circles around their eyes that they would usually will away. “Yes, I know that. I also know that everything this fire can consume in the few minutes you will allow yourself to rest is already beyond saving.”

She shakes her head. There is nothing beyond saving.

“Sid.” Jack puts their hands on her shoulders and turns her to face them. “You need to rest. The only thing the fire can burn right now is grass. You lie down, and me or August will wake you if it gets too close to something else.”

Sid stares into Jack’s eyes. They look so tired. And sad. Sid wonders if they’ve allowed their tears to fall yet. She certainly hasn’t.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jack asks.

“Yes, okay,” she replies. “I’ll go lie down. And one of you will wake me up if I’m needed.”

“Yes, we will.” There’s a sense of relief on Jack’s face. Not a smile, exactly, but something close.

Sid finds a soft patch of ground and lies down and tries not to think of her sister as she used to know her. 

[softly-potter]

All the Times You’re Grateful

Summary: After his accident, Leon doesn’t remember you, his partner. But you remember everything, especially loving him.

Pairing/WC/Tags: re4!Leon x partner!reader /2,416/ memory loss, angst, hurt no comfort, partners to strangers, lovers to strangers, brief implied smut

A/N: for day 17 of @tropevarietyhour “tell me all this time meant something” ao3 link below

You can tell from the tick of his jaw alone that he doesn’t recognize you. You weren’t prepared for that, for the blankness in his features when he looks at you. You’d rehearsed everything else; the confusion, the suspicion, maybe even the anger. You’d braced for distance, or unknowing. You hadn’t been prepared for this though. Anything but this.

He stands before you weeks later, after his body has healed, and there is not a lick of recognition in his eyes. He raises a brow at you, and you realize you’re a question he doesn’t care to solve.

“You lost, rookie?”

You aren’t a rookie, you’re his partner. Or you were, until the accident, until his memory no longer kept space for you.

“I’m not a rookie.” You swallow, and brush past him. He doesn’t stop you, and your breathing comes faster.

You glance behind you, and he’s walking away, moving from you at a steady pace.

A piece inside your chest goes very, very still.

-

You decide that he remembers none of it. The late nights pouring over files or the early morning debriefs or the stolen kisses in safe houses.

You learn quickly that he’s still him, always controlled and borderlining exhaustion. He saves people without thinking, without a thought for his own safety. He still stares at doors when he enters a room to make sure it’s safe, and he still drinks Diet Coke in the afternoons.

But he never looks at you like he knows you.

It’s beginning to feel like a private punishment, and you’re relieved that you had been released from being his partner. You asked upper command to not tell him, because it didn’t really matter, and they didn’t fight you on it.

The universe was punishing you enough.

-

The first time you slip, you hadn’t even realized it. You’re patching up a wound on someone else, while Leon stands nearby, watching out of habit more than concern.

The officer groans, and you pat their shoulder as you help them to their feet. Leon uncrosses his arms, directing his words to the other person. “At ease.”

“At easier.” You snicker, the inside joke lame but making you chuckle nonetheless. Leon pauses, and the officer all but ignores you, shuffling away as you try to remember to breathe right.

The room shifts and you can feel it in the air, the crack of electricity. A feeling you hadn’t had since his accident.

“…what was that?” Leon asks, and you shake your head so fast your hair swishes around you.

“Nothing,” you look away. “I heard it somewhere.”

“From where?”

Adjusting the straps on your holsiter, you shrug a shoulder, trying to look indifferent, trying to push down the memories of when he’d laugh at that. “I don’t know.”

“You do,” he corrects. “So do I.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His jaw tightens and you realize, with a slow kind of dread, that he’s sharper than you gave him credit for.

-

He starts watching you after that. Not in an obvious way, but because you know him, and remember how he had been, you notice it.

It all breaks after almost a year. You’re both on watch in a quiet corridor, flickering emergency lights casting everything in half-life shadows. He’s leaning against the wall, eyes half-lowered, exhaustion catching up in a way that you recognize but you don’t comment.

“You’re always looking at me like that.” he says suddenly.

You glance up. “Like what?”

“Like I’m supposed to know you.”

Your eyes drop immediately to your lap, to the weapon you’re holding. The quiet stretches, and you can feel him watching you, trying to read you and you give up. You had been strong, had been alone, and you missed him so much some nights it was hard to sleep.

Glancing up, you give him a half-baked smile. “Would it matter if you did?”

Leon frowns, takes a slow breath in before he nods. “It would.”

You hate how much it still matters. You hate that he still sounds like him when he says things like that.

“I think you used to,” you say quietly. “Know me.”

It’s not completely the truth but it’s safe. For you or for him, you aren’t certain. He doesn’t need to know about the times he held you, or the way he would take off your clothes with artful movements that made your blood hum.

Those memories are now for you and you alone.

Leon is quiet, and then his boots are scuffing the floor as he walks forward before crouching infront of you. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Do I trust you?” He asks, and when your eyes meet his you wonder if he remembers any of those moments at all.

You roll your answer inside your mouth, deciding if you should say it out loud.

“…you did.”

His brows wrinkle. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You hadn’t considered that before, and you don’t know if you have an answer. You stand up, brushing off your jeans and so does he, his eyes still on your face.

“Because it’s irrelevant now,” you reply with a throat full of sandpaper. “And the job comes first.”

Needing space, you walk away, acting as if you need to check the perimeter for the third time, and he doesn’t follow you. You’re thankful for that as you release a breath.

-

He doesn’t remember you, but he does notice you. You dhow up when you aren’t assigned, lingering in places you don’t need to be. You know how to move through a space like it belongs to you, even when no one has given you permission.

It’s in the little things, the way you don’t hesitate around him when everyone else does, or how you never ask him about his past, like you already know it would hurt him to explain.

He watches you more than he means to, stands straighter when you enter a room. A year and a half after his accident, and he still can’t remember how it happened. Can’t remember if it was his fault, or someone else’s. He remembers a few things, glimpses of emotionally important moments. His parents funeral, the sound of the rain as they’d been lowered into the ground. The pressure of Ada’s mouth on his underneath Racoon City, and how somehow she had still smelled like cherry blossoms even while surrounded by all the death. The ache in his chest when she didn’t come back.

A report is handed to him and he recognizes your hand writing. He clenches the file, taking the steps two at a time until he’s at your desk and presses it onto the wood. You slowly look from the file to his face.

“…can I help you?”

“This your hand writing?” He asks, unsure why his heart is beating so fast.

You glance at it before you nod. “Um, yep. That’s mine.”

He smiles and it’s so unexpected you feel your blood heat. “I recognized it.”

“You recognized my chicken scratch?” You ask, and he laughs, a sound that is soothing to your ears.

“Yeah,” Leon replies with a grin. “I- yes. It’s yours. I saw it and I knew it was.”

You smile back, making the expression small. “That’s great, Leon.”

He thinks about the way his name sounds on your tongue the rest of the day.

-

After that, he starts seeking you out without meaning to. It’s not on purpose, but he keeps finding himself where you are. If you’re patching equipment, he shows up with a tool you didn’t ask for. You need to review files, and he’s suddenly there, offering them to you along with his opinion on their process.

You can’t say you mind, if anything you enjoy it. What you don’t like is the hope blooming in your chest. You know your time of being loved by Leon is over; your heart just needs to realize that too.

-

He gets hurt in the field again and it’s minor, a gash on the upper side of his forearm. You wrap the wound, focusing on the movement of your hands.

“Hold still.” You murmur, and to your surprise he does. He watches you work quietly as if it’s muscle memory he doesn’t remember learning.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move right away, just watches as you lean back, cleaning up the medical supplies.

“You’re always calm.” he says quietly.

You glance up. “Not always.”

“I think you are with me.”

You narrow your eyes, your mouth quirking. “Maybe I just don’t want you to be worse off than you already are.”

He makes a soft, laughing sound, and you stand up, moving away because you don’t need to enjoy hearing that so much.

-

He doesn’t recognize you, but his body does.

After too many hours and not enough sleep, he catches himself watching you again. You’re talking to someone across the room, animated in a way he hasn’t seen before, and something sharp twists in his chest. Not jealousy, but a close second. Something more like loss.

When you notice him watching, you tilt your head slightly. “Leon?”

His name on your mouth is electric, and he stands taller, nodding. “Yeah?”

“All good?” You ask, the other person long forgotten. Leon nods, deciding that he wants to keep hearing you say his name like that, like you already know him, even if he doesn’t know you.

-

He breaks before you do in the process of admission. You’re elbow deep in papers when he stalks towards your desk, his boots echoing in the emptiness of the office.

“It was you,” he says and you stare at him.

“It was me…?” You ask slowly, giving him a chance to catch up. He’s breathing hard, his nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You,” his voice cracks and he sits down in the chair across your desk, putting his face in his hands. “I’ve been wracking my head. What’s left of it. Trying to figure this out and I thought- I thought it was Ada. It couldn’t be though, because she’s been gone for a long time.”

“Five years isn’t too long.” You say quietly. Leon gives you an incredulous look, brows knotted and he presses his palms into his knees.

“But you know,” he mutters. “Don’t you?”

“I’m not tracking what you’re saying.”

He sighs as you close the file, letting your entire attention be on him. His fingers gesture between you both, his jaw working.

“It was you I loved,” he murmurs. “Not Ada. You.”

Your heart may as well have stopped beating.

You look away, at the wall and then at your hands. You aren’t sure what to say, and his silence stretches as he leans back, his eyes boring into you.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me,” his voice has dropped lower. “Why? Did I- was it not like that? Was it something simpler?”

You laugh without meaning to, eyes snapping up. “Something simpler?” You echo, and shake your head. “No, Leon. Not telling you that I loved you was anything but simple. You were healing, and you didn’t know me. I couldn’t just…” you pause, trying to gather your thoughts. “You needed time. Space. I didn’t want to be in the way.”

“I still don’t remember it,” he doesn’t look at you when he speaks, his chest rising and falling in slow intervals. “I just…i remember the feeling. The knowing that I-“

He pauses, and you lean forward, needing him to continue. You need to know, and your knees bump the edge of your desk. “Knowing what?”

His sea blue eyes meet yours like waves on a beach. “Knowing that I loved someone.”

Your throat burns, and you slowly shake your head. “Leon, I-“

He stands up and the chair screetches, effectively cutting you off. “Tell me then. Tell me all this time was worth it. All the time I spent healing, when I could’ve spent it remembering you.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. There’s too much in your chest, too many versions of this conversation you rehearsed and none of them prepared you for the way he looks at you now, like you’re both the answer and the problem he can’t solve.

“Leon,” you whisper. “I don’t…I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s it?” He asks quietly. “That’s all you got?”

You swallow. Your hands curl into your palms just to keep you steady.

“I can tell you what it felt like,” you reply in a small voice. “I can tell you every moment. I can tell you the nights you couldn’t sleep and how you used to count the ceiling tiles because it helped, or how you laughed when you didn’t think anyone was listening, how you always did that thing with your thumb when you were nervous.”

His jaw tightens, and you can nearly see his brain processing these confessions, analyzing them. You don’t know if this is helpful or harmful, and as you round the desk to stand in-front of him, you cross your arms to keep your hands from touching him.

“It still isn’t mine,” He murmurs. You shake your head in sad agreement. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I didn’t stay and keep quiet because I thought you owed me recognition,” you reply. “I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave someone I still loved.”

“I don’t know you,” he says again, but this time it sounds less like a fact and more like a defense he’s trying to rebuild around himself. “And I don’t know what I lost.”

You release a breath that trembles halfway out.

“That’s the worst part,” you whisper. “You don’t even get to miss me properly.”

He nods once, his blonde bangs shifting with the movement. Somewhere in one of his pockets, his phone buzzes, and he presses his fingers to it, silencing the device. He glances up at you, taking a step back, and you know then that the conversation is done.

“I wish I could give it back to you.” His voice has taken on a husky vibration.

You squeeze your arms around you tighter, hip pressing into the wood of the desk. “I know.”

Leon nods again, and then he turns. You watch as he walks away, boots scuffing once more, the pull to him so hard you nearly stumble.

He doesn’t look back when he leaves, and you’re grateful for that. Otherwise, he would’ve seen your tears.

x

Divider @chrisssiren

Ao3 Link

Leon Kennedy taglist: @yours-truly-andrea @xozoelivia @princesssugarplumm

Leon Kennedy ML

[acryinthewrite]

July 19, 2026

(85 words of poetry written for @tropevarietyhour’s July theme, The Lies We Tell. 

Day 19 Prompt: “I Promise.”)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You said, I promise

and i believed.

i believed all those words you spoon fed to me

i believed the way you smiled at me

i believed all of your lies to me.

i should have run 

i should have fled

i should have never let you see

me bleed.

but i showed you my vulnerability,

and that was my mistake. 

my mistake was wanting you to know me,

my mistake was wanting you.

my mistake to think we could be 

something good, something healing. 

[oneshot-twoshot-redshot-blueshot]

The Choice You Made Hurts Him

*Eddie Munson-centric

Tagging: @tropevarietyhour

Prompt: You made your choice

High school was a hierarchy. Everyone knew it. They knew where they belonged; or, even if they couldn’t name the group they were a part of, they knew which groups they weren’t included in. 

There were some who, if lucky enough, could move up the ranks. This could happen a few different ways: their parents getting raises, lifting their family into a new tax bracket. A sudden burst of puberty, revealing shinier hair, glossier skin, a trimmer body. In rare cases, a student could move up the social ladder simply by badmouthing the lower rungs within earshot of the right person (though this was the riskiest of all– if it backfired, one would find themselves floating in the abyss between rungs, the higher castes not impressed enough to welcome them in, with the lower castes shunning them for their insolence).

The final option relied on dating. But the rules here were strict: the person in the higher position had to be the one to reach out to the one in the lower section. It had to appear that the more popular person was magnanimously dating the other, despite the social barriers. It made the relationship that much more palatable for everyone else. 

Unfortunately for Eddie, that’s what was happening with you. You, his best friend since seventh grade, had somehow caught the eye of the king of douches himself, Steve Harrington. 

It started easily enough, innocently enough. The two of you were sitting at one of the tables near the back of the library during your free period. You were diligently trying to work on a science paper; your brow was creased in the middle as your eyes scanned the ancient textbook in front of you; your teeth were digging into your bottom lip, an absent-minded habit that happened whenever you were concentrating, something Eddie had noticed a few years back but never mentioned. He, on the other hand, was diligently working on anything but schoolwork. His notebook was spread open before him, the lined pages covered in doodles of dragons and knights and one pathetic little stick figure who had suspiciously good hair bleeding out, oversized Xs as eyes. 

A shadow fell over the table. The two of you looked up.

“Hey,” Steve said, the corner of his mouth lifted in what Eddie suspected he thought was ‘charming’ but was really just… annoying. “Y/N. We got paired together for Gruber’s history project, right?”

“Yeah,” you said slowly.

Steve’s grin widened. “Cool. You got any ideas for it yet?”

“Can’t think of your own, Harrington?” Eddie mumbled. Steve’s eyes flicked to him, the grin faltering for just a moment, the typical scowl the jocks gave Eddie flashing over his features, before he turned back to you. 

“I… maybe,” you said, shrugging noncommittally. 

Steve nodded, his expression lightening once more. “Right,” he said. “You, uh… want to come over to my place tonight to get started?” That damn smile reappeared. “I’ve got basketball practice after school, but I’ll be done by five. Home by five thirty. Gives us plenty of time.”

“Harrington!” A sharp whisper sounded from a few tables over. All of your heads swung in the direction, finding Tommy and Carol beckoning Steve over to their table. Steve held up a hand, turning back towards you. 

“Five thirty,” he repeated before heading back towards his friends.

You watched him go for a moment before turning back to your textbook. 

“What a tool,” Eddie said. “You know he’s gonna make you do like, all the work, right? And then he’ll take the credit.”

“And that’s different from you how?” You glanced up, the corner of your mouth twitching, your tone light.

“Ouch,” Eddie said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, Y/N. Truly. I turn to you for answers because I know you’re much smarter than me. I bow before your wisdom.” He cocked his head towards the other table. “King Steve, on the other hand, is just lazy and doesn’t want to put forth any effort into maintaining his mid-range GPA.”

“It’s fine, Eds,” you said, turning once more to your homework. “I just want to… get it over with. No need to rock the boat.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Much to Eddie’s dismay, the appearance of Steve Harrington in the outskirts of his life did not end after your project was turned in. First, it was little things: glances shared between the two of you across the English classroom. Extra peacocking on Steve’s behalf as he jogged around the gym while you and Eddie took it at a more leisurely stroll. A wave in your direction as you climbed into Eddie’s beat up van, Steve’s BMW peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. 

Then, there was the appearance at the lunch table. Eddie swore the decibel level in the cafeteria dropped, all eyes pinned to your corner table, wondering why Steve Harrington was standing next to it, instead of making his way to the table in the center of the room, the center of attention. Was he lost? Did he get hit with a rogue basketball during gym and was suffering amnesia? 

“Hey,” he said, all charm and seemingly unaware of the ripples pushing through the lunch room. He held out a familiar orange package. “I, uh… remembered you said these were your favorite.”

Eddie watched as you reached out, taking the candy. “Thanks.”

Steve nodded, easy. “There’s, uh… room at my table,” he said, cocking his head in the direction his friends were sitting. “If you ever want a… change of scenery.”

You and Eddie watched as he turned and headed for his table, glancing at you once over his shoulder.

“What a douche,” Eddie said. “‘A change of scenery’. As if his table isn’t in the same disgusting lunch room as this one.”

You tore open the cellophane and held a Reese’s cup out to Eddie, the motion familiar– he’d lost count of how many times the two of you had shared this candy over the years. You always offered him the first one out of the package without thinking about it. 

He took it, letting the chocolate and peanut butter melt on his tongue. “He likes you, you know,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on the scratched tabletop.

You shrugged. “Maybe he’s just being nice.”

“Nice,” Eddie repeated. “People like Harrington don’t do ‘nice’, not for people like…” Normally, he’d finish that thought with ‘us’. But as he studied you, he began to wonder if you and he were really so similar anymore.

____________________________________________________________________________

A few weeks passed, the buzzing around of Steve’s growing more frequent. One day, Eddie dropped into his seat at the lunch table, finding the spot across from him empty. Strange– you usually beat him here. He looked around, wondering where you’d disappeared to. You’d been here this morning.

He spotted you standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, talking to the hairsprayed weirdo. You were too far away for Eddie to even attempt to read your lips, but there was a small smile on your face. Steve’s head was cocked to the side, lowered slightly towards you, as if asking a question. You paused, considering, before giving a small nod. 

Eddie watched as you made your way towards him, sinking into the seat across from him. “What was that all about?”

“Steve asked if I’d go to his game tonight.”

Eddie’s brows rose. “What’d you say?”

“I said maybe.” You looked over at him. “You wanna go with me?”

“To a basketball game?” Eddie let out a scoffing laugh. “Not really my scene, sweetheart.”

‘Didn’t used to be yours, either,’ he thought, but kept his mouth shut.

____________________________________________________________________________

That was the beginning of the end, at least as far as Eddie was concerned. You started changing, spending more time with Steve, actually daring to sit at his lunch table at least once a week. There was even one really awkward time when you had Steve come sit at your table with you and Eddie, the silence sitting on all of you like a ton of lead. You started going to basketball games and parties thrown at the Harrington abode. 

Sometime around February, it became official– you were dating Steve Harrington. You spent more and more time with him, less and less time with Eddie. 

Eddie told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself that sooner or later, Harrington would realize his mistake and dump you, that you’d come crawling back to him. (The longer this took, however, the more he went back and forth as to whether or not he’d graciously accept you back into his fold.)

He was sitting out on the picnic table, the one hidden away in the grove behind the school, ditching sixth period. Already on his second cigarette, nearly to the filter. His fingers were reaching for the cardboard package when he heard the step behind him. He turned, finding you standing at the edge of the treeline.

“Hey,” you said quietly. “Can I join you?”

Eddie shrugged, tried to ignore the increase in his heartrate. You crossed over to him, settling on the bench beside him. His knees brushed your shoulder as he shifted on the tabletop. He lit a new cigarette, handing it to you without a word. 

“So,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “You haven’t been out here in a while. What’s up?”

You shrugged. “Just… wanted a break.”

Eddie nodded, even though your back was to him. “How’s… things?”

You blew out a stream of smoke. “Fine.” You paused. “Prom’s coming up.”

“Uh… yeah. It is.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “Steve’s trying to convince me that my dress shouldn’t be black. Said black reminds him of funerals.”

“Christ,” Eddie muttered. “Here we go.”

You turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Y/N, I haven’t talked to you in weeks. You’ve been out here less than five minutes and you’ve already brought up the king of the douche brigade. You…” Eddie shook his head. “You’ve changed. The Y/N I knew would never be discussing prom dresses, especially not in relation to Steve Harrington.”

“Eddie,”

“No.” The word was harsh, sharp. “I never see you anymore. You never call. You spend all your time with him– he drives you to school, you almost always sit with him at lunch, you go to his stupid sports practices.” He squinted at you. “And are you wearing makeup? Like, actual makeup? And your hair, it’s…” He gestured towards you, a single handwave encompassing the streak of blush on your cheeks, the bouncy ponytail, the cheap gold necklace hanging from your throat that Steve had given you for Valentine’s Day. Eddie shook his head. “I don’t even fucking recognize you anymore.”

“That’s a shitty thing to say.”

Eddie shrugged. “Whatever. Go cry about it to your boyfriend. Tell him that the Freak of Hawkins High hurt your feelings.” He took another drag on his cigarette. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Eddie.”

“No, Y/N.” He glared at you, his mouth set in a hard line. “You made your choice. So go.”

The air was thick, filled with static, like the moment before a thunderstorm. You studied Eddie for a moment before slowly grinding your cigarette on the table, leaving the butt beside him. You stood and stomped out of the clearing, back towards the school.

____________________________________________________________________________

A month passed. Complete radio silence between you and Eddie. You no longer sat with him at lunch or let him copy your math homework. The two of you moved through the halls like ghosts, barely brushing past each other.

But Eddie saw. He saw the way you trailed after Steve, the way his arm looped around your shoulders, the smile on your face as you looked up at him.

And it hurt. But Eddie couldn't say anything. After all, he'd been right: you'd made your choice. And he had to witness that choice every goddamn day.

But he couldn't let go. Not completely.

So now, Eddie sat across the street from your house, working up the courage to go to the door. He saw the light on in your room upstairs; you hadn’t left for the prom yet. He took a few deep breaths and grabbed the plastic box from the seat beside him, opening the van door with a metallic groan before he could second-guess himself. His feet led him up the path towards your door, hands trembling slightly. He tried to think of what to say, but nothing felt right.

He stood in front of the door, looking down at the box in his hands. ‘This is stupid,’ he thought. He bent and placed the box on the doormat before turning and heading back towards the van. He’d only made it a few steps away before he heard the door creak open behind him.

“Eddie?”

He froze, standing stockstill for a few seconds before slowly turning.

You stood in the doorway, light spilling out behind you. The dress you were wearing was pink, overly fluffy, sequins glittering from the bodice. 

“Hey,” Eddie said, voice cracking slightly. The single word was lame but weighted. 

You looked down at the box on the doormat before crouching down, the skirt of your dress puffing up around you like a cloud. You picked up the box and stood, studying the corsage inside, a single black rose with a sprig of baby’s breath on a white band. “What’s this?”

“I, uh… I know you said that black reminds Harrington of funerals, but…” Eddie gripped the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

You looked at the corsage for another moment before holding the box out to Eddie. His heart stopped, his breath caught in his throat. This was it– you were officially cutting him from your life, this last-ditch effort being for naught.

“Put it on me?”

Eddie blinked, unsure if he’d heard your quiet question. “Yeah, okay,” he said, reaching out and taking the box from you. The plastic crinkled loudly as he flipped open the lid. His fingers were shaking as he picked up the delicate bloom. He slipped the elastic band over your extended wrist, straightening the blossom slightly. “There,” he said softly. “A bit of badassery to go with all the… cotton candy.”

You laughed, the sound loud and bright. “Oh, god, it does look like I’m wearing cotton candy, doesn’t it?” You grabbed the skirt, pulling it out and letting it drop, doing nothing to de-emphasize the poof. “It’s so ridiculous.”

Eddie felt his own laugh bubble in his throat. “Yeah. But… you look nice, Y/N.”

You smiled softly. “Thanks, Eddie.”

The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments, but this silence felt different than the last one you’d experienced: softer, friendlier. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Eddie finally said. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze dropping to his feet. “I was a real asshole. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was just…” He sighed. “You’re the one person in my life who makes me feel like I’m not a freak. And I didn’t want to lose you. But it felt like you were pulling away, that you were becoming one of the popular snobs, and I…” He shrugged. “I guess I wanted to try and save myself some of the hurt.”

A pause. Eddie scuffed the toe of one boot against the concrete path. “Ended up causing myself more, though.” The words were almost unintelligible.

You let his apology settle. “You were right,” you said. “I did change. I did stop making time for you. And I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, trying to wave it away.

“It’s not.” You took a step closer, the skirt of your dress swishing softly. “You’re my best friend, Eds. And that’s not going to change, no matter who I date. I’d rather have you in my life than a hundred Steve Harringtons.”

Eddie chuckled before he could stop himself. “God, can you imagine? I don’t think the world could handle that many.”

“There’d be so much hairspray,” you said with a giggle. 

Eddie finally looked up at you, a smile on his face. The two of you watched each other in the yellow porch light. “I should go,” Eddie finally said, the words coming out slowly, like pulling taffy. “Harrington will probably be here any minute to whisk you away.”

You nodded. “Tomorrow… breakfast at the 5th Street diner? My treat.”

Eddie paused. The 5th Street diner had been a classic haunt for the two of you, sharing baskets of fries and bemoaning the tragedies of high school. Eddie hadn’t been there in weeks… didn’t feel right going alone. “Yeah,” he said, a smile, a real smile, tugging at his mouth. “Sounds great.”

Before he could register what was happening, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck. Eddie froze for a moment before letting his own arms lift, his hands resting lightly on your back. The sequined bodice of your dress was rough beneath his palms, but your floral perfume that tickled his nose was familiar, a scent that used to fill the trailer.

Eddie forced himself to pull back after a few moments. “Have fun tonight, Y/N,” he said quietly, and he found that he meant it. “But not too much fun, you hear?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, a huff of a laugh escaping. “Okay, Mom.”

Eddie gave your shoulder a brief squeeze before turning and heading towards his van. Just as he reached the hulking metal figure, he turned and called over his shoulder. “Hey. Y/N. Bring Harrington to breakfast tomorrow.”

[cryingtulips]

@tropevarietyhour (The Lies We Tell) Day 4: Were You Ever Going to Tell Me? @fandombingo (The Blooming Hour): Choosing to Keep The Illness @julybreakbingo: Having feelings for someone but not telling them because they like that person being with another

Tim is not a coward. This is something Kon has always known, even back when they used to butt heads all the time. Tim has always been sure of himself: his purpose, his methods, his strengths and weaknesses. Kon never thought… well, he never pictured Tim, his Robin, as someone who doubted his place as a vigilante or questioned his place in his family and teams. To Kon, Tim has always been the reliable leader, someone to go to for answers and help; brave and fearless against all odds, a backup plan always in his pocket.

So to see Tim pale in the hospital bed, breathing weakly as the heart monitor beeped in the otherwise silent room, Kon still couldn’t believe it. Because why did Tim keep his condition a secret? Kon loves Tim, always has. And he thought Tim knew, the way Tim knows everything about everyone. 

But Tim didn’t know, because he thought Kon should be with Cassie — even though the Kryptonian has always had his eyes for Robin — and now here they are. And Kon can’t even shout at him for being stupid and clueless. Robin is not a coward, Kon wants to remind Tim, wants to shake his shoulders and demand an explanation.

Instead, he grips Tim’s limp hand, head lowering as he brings it to his lips. He can feel Tim’s pulse through the thin skin, hear the sluggish way the heart fights to keep Tim alive. “Were you ever going to tell me?” His eyes mist as tears trail down his cheeks, his breath hitching when Tim doesn’t respond.

He presses a kiss against a faint scar, right between Tim’s knuckles where he scraped it on a brick wall chasing after a rogue. There are many scars on Tim from over the years, but this takes the cake over everything Tim has explained. “Rao, Tim, why did you keep quiet about this?”

[cryingtulips]

@tropevarietyhour (The Lies We Tell) Day 5: Tell Me It Was a Lie @superbateveryweek Superbat For All Seasons: Pumpkin Spice

Clark breathed in the nostalgic smell of pumpkin spice and dust, holding his breath as the man across from him shifted in his seat, listening to the familiar ba-dump rhythm of his heart.

“Bruce,” he started, not glancing away from his mug of hot cocoa. “I don’t believe you.”

Bruce sighed, slumping in his seat. “Clark,” he said his name flatly. As if all those nights together meant nothing. As if Clark hadn’t met his family, learned their quirks and habits — as if they weren’t falling in love.

Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe it always meant nothing to Bruce, and Clark was simply a fool-hearted romantic hoping he had finally found the one.

Expect…expect Bruce didn’t let anyone get close to Dick. He said it himself: it’s one thing to have his name slandered in the papers for being a reckless playboy, but he would never risk Dick’s safety by bringing anyone into the manor. And he trusted Clark to look out for Dick, both as a civilian and as a hero.

So as much as Clark wants to protect his own heart and claim that Bruce played with him… He knows that isn’t the case. So why was Bruce doing this? Why now?

Clark interrupts him. “If—if you can look me in the eyes and tell me it was a lie, then fine. I’ll drop it.” Clark looks up, keeping eye contact with Bruce’s silver eyes. Those same eyes he’s seen soften in moments that Bruce thinks Clark isn’t looking. 

They shift to the side of Clark’s face, and he has to bite his tongue to cut off the instinctual scoff. “Bruce, why are you doing this?”

Bruce looks down. “I don’t know.”

Clark can only stare at him, because what is he supposed to say to that? 

Nothing, he realizes as Bruce gets up. Nothing, because the biggest enemy to Bruce Wayne is himself, and Clark was a fool to realize this too late.

“I’m truly sorry, Clark.” Bruce grabs his coat. “I hope you know this.”

[cryingtulips]

@tropevarietyhour (The Lies We Tell) Day 14: I Knew the Truth; I Just Wanted to Hold on @superbateveryweek Superbat For All Seasons: Black Mercy

YOOO WE'RE CLOSE TO CROSSING OUT A ROW

[acryinthewrite]

July 7, 2026

165 words of original work written for @thepromptfoundry's Jazzy July and @tropevarietyhour's July theme, The Lies We Tell.

Day 7 Prompts: Battle of the Bands and “Do You Want Me to Lie and Say I Love You?”

Once again I have no idea what is happening. And once again I am going less literal with ‘battle of the bands’. More like ‘battle of the words’. Which is kinda dumb but whatever.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you want me to lie and say I love you?”

“I want you to say it and mean it.”

“You should know better than to ask that of me now.”

“Fine.”

“It’s not fine, though.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, it’s not going to change. So.”

“But you want it to change.”

“Yes, I want it to change. I want you to love me the way that I love you. But that isn’t going to happen. So it’s fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“And that doesn’t matter. You’re the priority in this situation.”

“Just because I’m the one who can’t change my feelings doesn’t mean you can’t be affected by it.”

“My feelings don’t matter because I’m not the one who would be hurt.”

“But you are hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you to lie to me.”

“You can’t change your feelings, I’m fine, and it doesn’t matter.”

“I do love you.”

“I know.”

“Just not in the way you want.”

“I know.”

[tropevarietyhour]

When are you dropping August’s prompts?🫶🏼

Hi! So sorry I didn’t see this.

I have a pretty busy schedule, especially at the moment, so I tend to just get to them when I find the time. That being said, “time” seems to hit right around a week or two before the next month starts 😅, so likely closer to the end of July

Hope that helps at least a little

[tropevarietyhour]

Regarding the monthly prompts: is it okay to post creations to the AO3 collection after the month has already passed, or is it one of those 'only post during the month' kind of thing?? o.o

Hey!

You can post wherever and whenever you’d like. The collections always stay open no matter what month, it just takes a little time for the past ones to show up.

I debated not even labeling the days in the months anymore because I feel like it’s putting a lot of focus on that 👀 (break the mold! Be free!), but we’ll see 😂

[tropevarietyhour]

Hi, I wanted to do some of June's prompts, I know I can write them anyway but is the collection still open/should I put them there? Thx!

Hello there!

Yes! All of the collections are always open. I’ve seen a few people still posting to past ones, so definitely feel free to as well if you’d like!

[acryinthewrite]

July 6, 2026

260 words of original work written for @thepromptfoundry's Jazzy July and @tropevarietyhour's July theme, The Lies We Tell.

Day 6 Prompts: Warm Radio and “Look Me In the Eye and Say It Again.”

Don’t ask me what’s happening here because I don’t know either. Also I do not agree with the character’s views on jazz music.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Don’t ignore me.”

The radio’s song drifts between us in the silence.

“I’m not,” I say.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

I turn around. 

“There. I’m looking at you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I turned around and everything.”

“You’re not making eye contact.”

“And why is that so important?”

“It is important because that’s how I know that you’re paying attention to me.”

I sigh. “I promise that I’m paying attention to you. Good enough?”

“No.”

Their response is punctuated by a rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning from outside. I force my eyes to meet theirs.

“There you go. Happy now?”

“It’s an improvement.”

Their voice is still frosty. I sigh again and lean my head back against my chair.

“That is not an improvement.” 

“Thank you so much for your feedback.”

We sit in silence again, except for the storm outside and the radio. I try to place the song that its playing. It feels vaguely familiar. Then again, it’s jazz, and most jazz sounds very similar to me. 

They’re the one to break the silence again.

“Please look at me.”

I consider it. Their voice sounds warmer this time, more asking than demanding.

“Why?” I ask. 

“One more time.”

“Why?”

“Please.”

“Fine.”

I lift my head up from my chair and look at them.

They don’t react as far as I can tell. Then again, their complete non- reaction might mean something on its own.

“Happy now?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I lean back again and lose myself in the radio’s song.

[acryinthewrite]

July 2, 2026

194 words of original work written for @thepromptfoundry's Jazzy July and @tropevarietyhour's July theme, The Lies We Tell.

Day 2 Prompts: Speakeasy and "It's Good to See You."

Again, more vibes, and again. We move.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s strange, having to meet in secret places. In secret rooms, lit by candlelight. We used to meet under the sun.

They smile at me. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” I say. 

There’s a little sliver of sunset peeking through the gaps in the walls. It’s still brighter than the candles.

They hold out their open hand. I look, and there it is. My matchbox.

“You kept that?” I almost reach out for it, but who knows how they would respond to that. Not me, not anymore. 

They nod, and move their hand closer to me in offering. I pick the box up gently. 

“It’s been so long . . .”

“Yeah.” Their eyes look so bright in the candlelight. It’s been a long time since I saw them look like that. “I just figured . . . Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

I trace the details of the box with my finger. “Yeah.” Not much about us matters anymore.

They nod decisively. “I thought you would want it back. Memories, you know?”

I stare at their hand, still against the wood of the counter. “I know.”

I know about memories. 

I remember, too.