#redemptioninterlude

𝐉𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. She had spent her time writing letters and emails to 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐀 and catching him up on everything post-outbreak. She was still doing her detective work, figuring out who hired Nikolai to do everything he had done in Raccoon City, but she did remember to at least take a break. However, never did she think she'd end up in New York City. It was nice here; the coffee could have been better, but being able to be Jill instead of an S.T.A.R.S member or affiliated with the RPD was nice, and being able to fall asleep the sounds of the city was almost soothing. Of course, she detailed all her adventures in letters and emails, and was even able to get Chris Redfield to help her move in until they went their own ways. 

Chris was still hellbent on finding Wesker, and Jill mourned the man who was her captain. She admired him, even respected him, but ever since the Arklay mountains, she had her guard up. Hell, she even ripped a Carlos a new one until his actions proved that she could trust him. He did save her after all. 

Making her way to the rooftop, Jill was going to sit on the edge, enjoy a bottle of wine, take it to the head, and think about her next steps. However, upon seeing a woman in red, a woman she had never seen before, a faint crimson dusted her cheeks. She's pretty. Jill thought to herself before making her way closer and keeping a respectful distance. The two conversed, and Jill chuckled when the woman took the bottle to her lips and sipped. 

Being able to talk to someone about moving out to a new city was nice, refreshing, almost. Deciding to lean against the edge, Jill recieved the bottle from the woman in red and took a sip. When she asked if Jill smoked, she replied, ❝ Not normally, but if you don't mind me bumming one of yours, that'd be great. ❞

Truth be told, Jill used to be a smoker, mainly when she had twenty-four hour duty back in Active Duty service. Those nights staying up all hours, a cigarette was nice first thing in the morning before she recovered for the next twenty-four hours. 

Hara gets interrupted by her publicizer. She takes the call. The day runs away like water-drip in a shower. Down the drain.

Later that night, about an hour past her usual bedtime, she finds Rue outside. Hara lays down next to her in the grass, a hand laying over her sun-touched belly ... still warm from the day. The salt behind her lids is making her sleepy but she latches onto her thought. Birthing it into existence before she goes to sleep and it might die before she wakes up again.

❛ I've been thinking about what you said earlier. No, I never thought about it. What if I never met you. It seems meant to be. ❜

Once in every lifetime event.

❛ But sometimes I get real sad about wishing we met earlier. Like, we weren't given enough time. ❜

maddy's always been great at masquerading her nerves. being hbic in high school required it. now, hollywood practically demanded it. her boss certainly did of her. smile at the premiere, even though you aren't the ones they want photos of. smile at the afterparty. smile when reporters ask your client invasive questions and smile even harder when they ask the questions they aren't supposed to know. she's capable of doing all of that. has been since graduating high school and most likely could've done it even before graduating. she could hold together a schedule, a wardrobe, and a reputation. she's even managed to drag her newest client out of bed for a six a.m. call time after rue had spent the night in whatever hole in the wall she'd been at. [even if she's only managed to get her out of bed and not actually out of the hotel suite yet.]

the only thing maddy couldn't do was listen to that fucking sentence. not while rue's slumped halfway off the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused, looking more like a corpse than an actual living human being. that's the last sentence she needs to hear.

in a matter of seconds, she's crossing the living room and crouching in front of the actress, manicured digits gripping her jaw enough to force eye contact. 'rue, hey, no. look at me.' dark brown eyes flicker over her face, searching for any indication of what she may be dealing with. the fact rue's sweating and the suite's air conditioner is set to a temperature that makes maddy's bones chilled is enough for her to suspect potential drug usage. [what is she even thinking? this is rue she's thinking about, of course drugs are at play!]

with that thought in the back of her head, the reality of their predicament begins to set in. there might actually be something wrong with rue. she hates when something is actually wrong. she's had to start carrying narcan in her purse for when things go wrong.

It's kindness Ashley doesn't know how to parse. She knows all of these words, knows how they're placed, why -- but altogether directed at her? It's akin to a dream; heart racing and fuzzy, just out of palm's reach. She's wished for these words, but now that they're here, looking her in the face, she can't catch them. They slip through her fingers each time, thready and tangled. Part of it is who's saying it, but another emotion spills into the fray, and that's —

Ada feels like saying this. Isn't drawn by obligation, doesn't have money wavering over her head in promise. When she says this, her eyes are cryptic, but not cold. It's earnest, and that's what warps her so deeply; Ashley wrings her hands in her lap, not ... denying, but not accepting, either. Wanting to, but ... can't, every attempt bouncing off, each stumble landing her at the starting line instead of halfway to the finish.

Ashley manages a smile, underlaid by her own obscurity.

"I feel like you've needed someone to say that to you, too."

For longer, probably.

"Thanks. For saying that, I mean. In case my assumption's correct... you're the same. We're the same. I'm not quite a drop dead gorgeous agent, but... I think we're both caught in this feedback loop of good, bad, useful, useless. I know you're like Leon in this sense, but... you don't have to be useful, either. I- I mean you always are useful, but, in case there comes a time... "

Maybe that's what Leon likes so much. Covert and dangerous but cloaking an air of sincerity, one born of love, consideration.

She'll deny it, of course. That's what Leon likes too, because they're both the same in that regard.

"I hope... sorry, this is assuming a lot, but... I hope you get away from this."

Ashley doesn't know what this is, only that she's shoulder-deep.

Only that she's one step from...

yeah.

Please I just started making sense, you can't get even better </3 BUT THANK YOU MY LOVEEEE <: I remember before we started writing together, I wanted to write with you so so bad, and I was so so intimidated even after we started shipping yk, but I've grown (finally). I'm very glad we connected all those years ago. I could not be who I am on here without your friendship, your amazing writing, your fun as fuck characters, and your overall Miss Zness. All my love, for L!

It’d been solid couple hours since she’d collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Her legs had given out, nothing left in the tank to offer even with the punishing shockwaves coursing through her body, forcing her upright only to come crashing right back to the ground once more in a heap. Fortunately, it was one of those rare evenings where Wesker had actually allowed her to recuperate in her cell. She was of no good use to him in this sorry state if she could barely stand, let alone anything else— even his cruel self knew that.

Skin drenched in a cold sweat as she curled in on herself, Jill’s hands balled into fists over her chest.

She wasn’t an idiot. Jill knew better than to attempt to claw the device free from where it was burrowed into her skin, or try to escape. It’d no doubt shock her and bring her right back to her knees within an instant. She’d learned that the hard way. One of Wesker’s cruelest tricks. While there may not have been any physical shackles on her.. his little gadget was her own personal prison. And when it was fully activated— it was torture.

She was halfway to drifting off when the sound of heels tapping against the concrete flooring had her eyelids fluttering open. Jill knew exactly who her late night visiter was before she even came into view. Ada Wong. She was a complete mystery. Jill didn’t know much about her other than the fact she sometimes came to do the odd job for Wesker.. and that she was surprisingly kind to her whenever they got the liberty to speak.

unpopular rpc opinions conversation pit.

i feel like people have become obsessed with not seeming ship obsessed in a way that's honestly kind of weird. i get that it's largely an overcorrection of the tendency to sideline platonic and familial relationships in favor of romantic ships, and people online love to overcorrect, but it's reached a point where it feels genuinely strange. i've seen people get shamed just for having general ship tags because someone who writes the other half of that ship might assume they'll try to forceship with them. and while i understand wanting to avoid forceshipping, implying people can't be open about ship preferences for their muse is just excessive