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ghostkennedy · 1 year

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I Would Never Let You F**k Me

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 1196

This is my writing for @myrarenee ‘s ask that I have copied below:

This isn’t really a question but I think a Leon Kennedy smut where he hacks his best friends camera system and watches her fuck herself with his names on her lips. And one day she get snippy and says “id never let you fuck me” or something of the sort. He just grips her jaw and says “Sweetheart, I’ve been watching you fuck yourself while moaning my name.” “Why don’t we make it real this time”

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

“But our babies would be so cute. It’s theoretical, you can agree to a stupid deal that probably won’t come to fruition,” Leon teased you. The both of you lazily sat on the couch, watching some shitty rerun on TV that you weren’t really paying attention to. You’d be lying to yourself if you claimed this whole conversation between the two of you didn’t make your heart flutter in your chest. He’s your best friend, the only guarantee in your life. Everything could go to shit and Leon would still show up and show out for you. You’d been crushing on him since the two of you met so many years ago.

He could so easily jokingly flirt with you, because unlike you, he wasn’t repressing feelings in order to preserve your friendship. You’ve fucked up so many things in your lifetime and you refused to let Leon be another one. All you could do was shake your head, “We are full ass adults, Leon. You don’t need some agreement with someone to marry and have kids if you don’t have it figured out in ten years. You’ll find somebody and will breed your spawn, you will be just fine.”

You stared at Leon as he pouted at you. Once this man had his mind set to something, it was impossible to persuade him another way. You sighed before speaking, “You do realize babies don’t magically appear right? Like we’d have to have sex to make one. Me, you, fucking. That thought alone should be enough to get your mind off your ridiculous deal.” He gasped and acted horrified at the mere thought, clutching his chest causing you to laugh hysterically.

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings? I don’t think I’m that bad in bed, good god. I think we’d figure it out just fine,” he continued to insist on his idea. All you could do was roll your eyes at him. “Hey don’t roll your eyes at me! I haven’t had any complaints from the ladies who have taken a ride on the Leon-” you couldn’t bare to let him finish his sentence.

You snapped, “Just drop it okay? I would never let you fuck me.” Your tone was so much harsher than you intended, but you were desperate to drop this conversation. You didn’t want to go there with him right now. It’d be putting too much at stake and you couldn’t allow anything to ruin your friendship. A hurt look washed over Leon’s face and you felt so guilty. You were getting ready to apologize, to back track, maybe even just agree to his little idea, but then a smirk slowly grew on his face. He can be so confusing at times.

“Liar,” he suddenly proclaimed and you cocked an eyebrow up at him. You were ready to ask him what he meant by that before he continued on, “What do you think about when you touch yourself, hmm? And don’t fucking lie to me.”

You blinked at him, trying to comprehend if he really just said that. “Excuse me-” you started, ready to give him an earful about how inappropriate his behavior was. How none of that is any of his business.

He wasn’t having any of it though. He reached out for you, gripping your jaw tightly, making you stare right into his eyes. “I’ve been watching you, watching how you fuck yourself while moaning out for me. Moaning my name and holding back all those little noises you make. Watching your face as you cum while begging me to fuck you. So yes, you are a liar. How about you be honest with me and tell me exactly what you think about while touching yourself and maybe, just fucking maybe, I’ll give you what you’ve been wanting,” he said in a low, husky voice. Between his firm grip on your jaw and the way he was speaking to you, your traitorous pussy was becoming wet extremely fast.

“How?” you questioned him in an embarrassingly shaky voice. Your throat had run dry, your body slightly trembling as your nerves grew and your anxiousness peaked.

He snickered at you, “Yeah, the government training didn’t teach me anything. Surely, I wouldn’t be able to hack into some pesky little cameras. I gotta be honest sweetheart, the security system you installed is a joke. Someone could so easily access them and watch all the dirty little things you do when you think no one is watching.” With the grip he had on your jaw, he slowly pulled you closer to him until your faces were just inches apart. “Now, you still haven’t answered my question. Cmon, it’s just me, you can tell me,” he told you in a condescending tone.

“I-I,” you struggled to speak between your dry mouth and jumbled thoughts. He gripped your jaw tighter, raising his eyebrows as if he was daring you to test him. “I think about what it’d be like if you tied me up and did whatever you wanted with me,” you tried to turn your head away to avoid his gaze, but his grip on your jaw only got tighter. He gently nodded his head, encouraging you to continue. “I think about you forcing your cock down my throat and telling me how I’m such a good girl for you. About how pretty your cock must be. How you’d spank me if I disobeyed you,” you spoke softly and he hummed in response.

“Sometimes I fantasize about you bending me over and fucking me roughly in front of others. Showing them how well I take your cock. How hard I let you fuck me,” you confessed as you both slowly leaned in closer and closer to each other. “You’d mark me up so everyone knows I belong to you. You’d make sure every step I take for the next week reminds me of you and your cock,” you told him as he closed the gap between your mouths.

His hand slipped from your jaw to your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer. The kiss started slow and sensual, but quickly turned messy and desperate. Leon didn’t leave a single millimeter of your mouth untouched by his tongue.

Without breaking the kiss, he pulled you on top of him to straddle him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands traveled down your sides until they landed on your ass, giving your cheeks a tight squeeze in his big, strong hands. You couldn’t help but whimper beneath his touch.

He pulled away from the kiss, a line of saliva still connecting your mouths together as you both greedily sucked in breaths. Leon reached his hand up, breaking the line of saliva and running his thumb across your bottom lip. He slowly pushed his thumb past your lips and you instantly wrapped your mouth around the digit, sucking it as you stared into his eyes. A moan slipped past his lips at the sight of you like this.

“What do you say sweetheart? Why don’t we make it real this time? You can show me just how much you’d never let me fuck you.”

~masterlist~

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil 6 #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil smut #leon smut #ghostkennedy #resident evil

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grimreaperschild · 10 months

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guitar practice

summary: wednesday always seems to put someone or something above you, luckily her roommate is always there to pick up the pieces

warnings: angst

a/n: i might make this into a series i’ve got some good ideas, thank you for all the support on my last post !

“wednesdays child is full of woe” you supposed that should be her mantra as you lock eyes over the top of your guitar, your not sure when your gothic girlfriend started pulling away but recently she’d been spending more and more time investigating with tyler galpin you haven’t spent time in your studio together in months her usually ditching your practice time in favour of gallivanting around the woods but not today.

today she sits dutifully at your side as you tune your beloved instrument, eyes never leaving the side of your face it’s starting to get difficult to hide the blush creeping up your neck so before you’ve even thought about what your doing you turn “do i have something on my face?” inwardly cringing as it comes out harsher than intended, she hums ignoring your last statement “would you accompany me to the weathervane after practice? i’d like to” she sucks air in through her teeth narrowing her eyes “i’d like to take you on, a date.” she nods her head seeming satisfied with herself.

you freeze a lopsided grin stretching across your face “id love to nes” she hums in response again stretching out her fingers to meet yours, still on the tuning pegs she ghosts her fingers up your arm and bumps your cheek with her knuckles affectionately “my investigation has hit a wall and i suppose it has been a while since we had some time together” you freeze again, but this time not in a good way heat and anger flush through you at the statement “ah so you only want to spend time with me when you’ve got nothing else to do?” she removes her hand quickly “y/n we have spoken about how important my investigation is, must you spend the time i give you acting like a spoilt child” you sit stunned at her words

anger.

betrayal?

hurt ?

they all blend together as you stand your guitar falling out of your lap and onto the floor with a painfully loud clatter, tears blur your vision as you look at her passive face unblinking, no, uncaring “really wednesday im a spoilt child for wanting you to spend time with your girlfriend? you think i enjoy you running off with tyler all the time? no. but i try to trust you no matter what my head tells me” your voice breaks and you take a sharp breath in refusing to let her see you break.

you take a step back not breaking eye contact with her

“must you be so dramatic y/n?”

you don’t dignify her with an answer taking another step, she still hasn’t moved you let out a dry chuckle “let me know when i move up your list of priorities” with that you turn on your heel and all but sprint from the room tears rolling down your cheeks.

your not sure where your legs are bringing you until your in front of a familiar dorm wednesday and enid’s room, enid. you knock quickly hearing the pop music pause the door swings open revealing the bubbly werwolf you watch her face brighten then fall at the sight of you, throwing yourself into her arms you choke out a sob her arms instantly coming around you rubbing soothing circles in your back “y/n what happened, talk to me comon let’s get you inside” walking backwards not breaking the hug she flings the door shut.

you rush though the explanation as she picks out one of her biggest hoodies for you to change into, your sat on her bed by the time she finally decides what clothes to give you “she doesn’t deserve you n/n” enid sighs as she pads over to you wiping at your tear stained cheeks with her thumbs “your staying with me tonight i don’t want you feeling like this alone get changed and get into bed” you comply happily and when you come out of the bathroom sporting the pink fluffy sweatshirt and pink mini shorts she cheers and opens her arms wide for you, you settle against her tucking your head under her chin and for a second you think maybe tyler can have wednesday if this is how it’s going to stay.

#wednesday addams #enid sinclair x reader #jenna ortega x reader #lgbtqia #hurt/comfort #wednesday addams x reader

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qvrcll · 10 months

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Hi! So I love your blog and I have a request if you're up for it!

So imagine Vendetta!Leon or ID!Leon with a younger, Rookie D.S.O agent. So the reader is learning about what it takes to be an agent and they are skilled but a little reckless. The reader and Leon end up going on a mission together and something happens to where the reader does something risky/reckless to save Leon and afterwards while Leon is patching them up he's also scolding them for putting themselves into a dangerous situation...

I just thought it was a cute idea and I adore your blog so obviously no pressure and thank you regardless! :)

change

summary: training to be a d.s.o agent has its perks and its fair share of dangers, and who would know that best other than the acclaimed leon s. kennedy? former rookie cop turned myth, you’re troubled as you try to not question your worth to your duty — to him.

warnings: intense violent imagery, d.s.o. agent reader, talk of death / loss, talk of wounds / stabbing, weapons mentioned, angst (comfort i swear!!!!!!!), written with infinite darkness ! leon in mind

a/n: bam stop using deftones songs as titles FAILED. and hello??? ur mind??? revolutionary. but thank u so much for the request!! i did make it more angsty than intended 😭 but happy ending i swear !! this is just a general disclaimer, but i’m trying my best to get as many requests done as possible, but finding myself easily burnt out, so please bare with me if i take some time to get these pieces out!! enjoy :-)

word count: 3.5k+ (help)

You’re well put together — inundated at the seams and bursting in the areas that made you an excelling recruit, something of a common place practice when one gets appointed to a station as alpine as the D.S.O.

It’s gruelling at first. The training, not the people — the people here offer you awkward but veritable grins, cloying pats on the head when you’d surpassed a notable fix in your inculcation, maybe even conversation in places you’d expect hard worn expressions, bumps of the shoulders, a lack of acquiescence for a new comer such as you.

“Turns out, there’s a new donut place opening in the city” someone speaks through a mouthful of food, grinning when admonished by their peer. They look at you with tired yet cordial won eyes, something like a respite in comparison to the gruelling training and pains you endure in staple hours.

You laugh, craning backwards, replying “Really? Wanna go sometime?”

And they teem, sheen with surety as you set a date. The date passes and you’ve got your fridge brimmed with donuts — pastel, sugar coated and chockfull of profuse fillings.

You’re home. You’re staring at your laptop. The device whirrs with effort, the screen fulgent with simulated light as block words stare back at you — MULTIPLE KILLED IN GOVERNMENT ORDAINED PROJECT. SEVERAL INJURED.

The next day, you press your lips together and wait for the space ahead to be filled with a familiar face, some day old blistering talk about donut shops and parties and mandated leaves.

No one comes. You chew your bread in wanton silence.

And your days blur as usual — your attitude is unparalleled. You give yourself the credit for coarsening against such losses, of confidants who offered you their time and remaining nuance of sentience. You don’t, however, congeal like they do. You do not die or recoup.

You move senselessly and so do the days.

It’s several months later, when you’ve gathered yourself in the training room, greased with sweat and vigour, when you meet him.

Leon S. Kennedy, in the flesh.

There’s talk of him in the corridors, rumours of his barely capricious resolve and even more so of his loyalty to the D.S.O. Of his habitual reclusiveness, ordained leaves and near blank appearances.

He’s almost a myth.

Still, you’re real and working and need to cavort around your training till your muscles bleed and chalk up with pain that marks enough effort for the night — you do not want to stay a rookie forever. There’s a insecurity underscored in your brain somewhere, in bright red lines and despite the sweat of your skill in your hands, but you decide to delineate it for tonight. Try to focus on the knotty feel of the compress against your knuckles as you strengthen your feet, begin to get into a stance most up to par, a gracing thought of ‘please don’t break my bones’ pressed into the bean bag before—

“Hello?”

The addition of another voice, besides the earsplitting one in your mind, makes you falter. Makes you lose your footing and touch the target in front of you, rather than skirting it with a hard worn touch — the sight would’ve made you chuckle on a normal day. But today was not normal, it was marked with a accent of irresolutions. So you swivel on your feet, baring your teeth like the caitiff the D.S.O had disillusioned everyone into being. The pretence doesn’t fool anyone, not even yourself, but you give it a try.

And maybe you give yourself some credit, for stoking it up to the myth, the caricature of duty himself, Leon Kennedy. In the flesh, complexion enervated in his well earned stack of muscle, that seemed to be garbed with a leather jacket. Jeans.

How… normal.

You lose tension in your muscles. Ditch the shout in your brows. Abandon the faux, heavy lined bellicosity in your belly for curiosity. Some guilt and embarrassment, too.

“Leon S. Kennedy?” you gasp, feel the air hit your tongue. The room grows a faltering few degrees hotter, and some part of you is convinced you’ll sink into the floor in a matter of minutes.

But Leon offers you one of his complimentary smiles that scream business. His hands are discarded in the wide sinews of his jeans, where they are distracted and nonplussed with the goal of hurting the material with diverted fingers. Yet you linger ahead of him, visibly sweaty and awkward, and it blunders his heart with some peace that you’re biding that same level of awkwardness.

“In the flesh,” he jokes, but the room is too small, too dark to determine tone. To determine the weight of his words or his presence. You still find sentience in you to laugh, snort even, and it makes the air between a lot more genuine, “I’ve come to discuss something here with you.”

“With me?” you croak, not wanting to sound delirious but inevitably falling for the trap — what did the Leon Kennedy want to do with a single recruit that is you? Skilled, yes, but sharing the innumerable roster of missions as him? Not a chance. Still, you grab a towel and a bottle of water, finding rhythm in your step as you talk alongside him to the exit.

Slogging be damned.

He offers a small nod, resigned in a way that made sense to the both of you, “We’re to be assigned in a collaborative project. A mission, if you will,” he opens the door, allows you to step past the threshold first and doesn’t miss the way you flesh out with a terrible blush as you skitter ahead, “Nothing too out of the ordinary for agents like you and me. Just a simple clear up.”

But we are nothing alike, you want to ink the air with the words. And some part of you stiffens as you hear the intractable comparison. Still, you’re curious above all things else and hear him out — not that I can refuse, you add mentally. Scribble out with imaginable red ink.

“When will it be?” you ask, feet jittery and muscles still sheening.

“A month from now” he confirmes. You work to notice the exigent lines of wear and tear on his face, the follow of a stubble beginning to thread against his chin and jaw. The sharpness giving way to kindness in his eyes as he looks at you.

Oh god, he’s looking at you.

“I see,” you say, gaze falling to the gravel and spit of stone as you corner the exit. As the wind hits your skin, you’re pathetically assuming a shiver. You hope Leon isn’t as perceptive as the rumours pin him to be, but you never truly get anywhere with that wish — he places a warm, kind hand on your shoulder, “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah I should probably—“

“Get back?”

“Home, yeah.”

And an awkward, painfully annoying silence courses the space between you two — between you and this acclaimed proxy you barely knew prior to these graceless seconds. The better part of you ushers the thought away and the worse part of you is antsy to prove something — anything.

“Get home safe…” he offers some semblance of a tight lipped smile, again as reclusive as he can get. His back is turned to you, departing, and you’re pulled in the other direction by your feet, when you suddenly turn around.

He’s gone already.

The month beneath his guidance is as you expect it — resilient and tough on the flesh. He manoeuvres you in ways you’d never have begun to correct yourself (“Lift the end of your arms here, instead of down here.”)

He presses feeling and rigour to his praise (“That’s it — you got it. Good job — now give me 20 more.”)

He holds you back from splintering push forwards, from the bridge between you and your apex. Holds a hand against your wet shoulder to shoulder your eagerness (“Woah, woah — don’t get too ahead of yourself.”)

You make it known of your gratefulness. You buy takeout and share it on the stairs. You communicate your worries and walk out free of them.

You also hate him for rubbing raw of your potential. You hate him for the wounded look in his eyes when you falter. You hate him for the itch in his fingers when you push yourself some more.

But you keep that one for the shadows. Don’t make it known. Hide it behind falsity.

You share takeout on the stairs again.

The night before the assignment couldn’t be more gruelling.

You’re welcome by the sheets, yet find no recluse in them, as you twist and turn as the hours come. Your feet are stretched and throbbing with hurt from the range of pushing exercises from the day before, your fingers curling with effort only.

And your head is plagued. Swimming, bathed, with those reticent thoughts. Those same block letters that spoke back to you, flagged the death of thousands you knew from passing glances to remembered conversations.

You turn on your side, try to flush the thought away. But they come back with vigour, with spit.

You knew them.

You’d eaten with them.

You’ll die just the same.

Fuck this.

Your feet find the cold, hard-wood floors immediately. They’re a ridged comparison to the heat of the sheets, but a blistering reminder of what’s to come tomorrow. You pace your apartment, crowd your brain with tasks, busy your hands, till the sun flits past the clouds like routine.

And with your heart in your throat, you ready yourself to the chin, gripping yourself with the promise of doing what you must to euchre death on its own doorstep — both for you and Leon.

The day arrives with a quick start. You’re deployed in a vehicular that is smaller than anticipated, holding your fears in your hands with cupped palms. Leon sits beside you, eyes vacant of anything palpable. You’d talked once, but that’s all of what either of you offered each other up till now — now, it’s you and your fears, cut-throat and fusty, ahead of you.

A thought of your friend passes your mind.

A thought of the donut shop.

A thought of the bottom of your coffee cup.

A thought of the post-mortem images. Of the flesh. The blood. The time. The place.

“Remember,” Leon cards you out of your worst, thoughts crumbling against themselves as you swivel to glance at him, “on me at all times. No sudden moves. Got it?”

He is far more profound here, the spitting image of the rumours materialised into the skin of a battle worn agent — his tone is pebbly, no semblance of that night’s patience in it anymore.

He’s in it for good. And you should be too.

“Got it,” you reply when the seconds flow too far. He nods back, curt and sharp and you want to talk him up. Want to offer your share of strategies. Want to card through the wounds on your arm and how to avoid the bloody things. Want to loop your fingers through half of his experience and not want to set him back.

But it was never that simple. And the ride is just as silent.

Two hours in and you’re stationed against crumbling brick, jagged stone, MK-45 gripped tightly in your hands. The smell of rot, mycelium, abused your lungs. Makes you stagger forward and hold yourself by the seams like flesh on plying bone.

But when you look at Leon, he’s everything but as discomposed as you — his eyebrows are tightly drawn, a shadow to his eyes that wasn’t there prior. There’s a bite in his step, in the way he holds his weapon, in the way he surveys the area.

Get yourself together, you think.

Within minutes, you force yourself to straighten your back, swallow back the burdensome bile stretching against your mouth and prime yourself to the futile smell of the dead at every carrefour you cross.

“Ahead,” Leon speaks and clings to your attention.

You look ahead, noticing an array of groaning zombies clawing at a car that seemed to have initiated its alarm. The smell is amplified by the rub of petrol curdling out of the car (from the repeated clash of the zombies, you’re sure) and you frustrate yourself into not gagging — think ‘fucking hell, I really hate these things.’

“You go to the left, I’ll take the right,” Leon whispers and you realise his motive.

Mutual accomplishment built on the precipice of trust.

Still, he looks at you like he’ll splinter without a response.

Like he relies on this circulation, no matter how damning, how short. His eyes scream ‘don’t you dare do anything stupid’ and you choose to blur it into something nonsensical, a thought of ‘it’s common procedure, a set of instructions he needs to hand feed me’, choosing to ignore the obvious side of things, the bleeding flush of his words, the trepidation nailing every withering seam of his body.

He’d grown to interpret you as more than just a rookie, someone capable of vigour and strength of the winning.

He needed you alive.

You needed him to look at you other than a wounded animal.

You offer him some little nod, feet hurrying up to the fluster of zombies against the few cars gathered there — as you get close, you can see the vegetation cram against the side walk, the stink of flesh against the windshield.

But you’re skilled, not stupid.

Your weapon purrs with warmth in your hand as you pin down the first vier, working your second round of bullets with the other five you’ve attracted— their fractured groans are animalistic, orotund where human capability shouldn’t be.

But you’re twice the work than they ever are.

“Fuck,” you whisper, realising close proximity doesn’t hold up with your choice of weapon — so, working against better judgement, you retrieve your knife by the hilt, scoring it against the reeking flesh of the first two. You quickly gain footing and stab the other two point black in the skull, feeling the vibrating collusion fill the blade.

And you’re close — you feel it. With another plow, the last of them falters to the floor with a wet thump. Blood pools at your feet, curdles against the material of your boot as you curl a hand against your hip in weariness.

And yet, you have half the nerve to concern yourself with Leon.

As you turn, you quickly see that he is struggling. He’s cornered, stuck between a stretch of the building that allows a swift gateway of those creatures to buckle within arm’s reach. And there’s little solace as you learn the fact, as you ready your weapon — you’re aiming before you can think, firing before you can feel.

Leon spots you, as his jaw goes slack.

His voice is swollen with disbelief and you’re sure you catch the words “get out of here!” but you’re moving on the pure pump of your blood, of the stretch of muscle and skill in your body. Two, three, four enemies crumble at the bite of your bullet and your fingers sink against the sting of gunmetal.

Memorise the step of their movements.

Formulate an opening.

Ignore Leon’s snare and his warnings and the way his arms curl around his weapon and the look in his eye and the fickle hope in them and the way they look at you like you’re something wounded.

Ignore the way a grunt sounds in your ear, a pale and cleft palm clinching your shoulder like an orifice — and finally, you realise, Leon had been right.

The zombie is quick to remind you of your mortality — it swings you to the side with it’s astounding asperity, frightens you with the dexterity of its bones as it makes quick work of the distance between you. It’s teeth stitch against cold bone, blood and meat between the gaps.

You gasp out a hoarse cry — your weapon is out of reach and your arm stings with a burn, a swelter. Your leg feels numb and you’re sure you’ve caught it on something, and you’re convinced you’ll be half mauled to death, when suddenly,

“Shit!”

Leon rattles through the zombie towering you, sears it with a knife — it falls atop you like meat and you shove it off with awfully numb hands. You’re barely catching respite as Leon hauls you above his shoulder as he runs to some place else, and the world quickly melts beneath your eyelids.

The next time you’re conscious, it’s much quieter.

There’s a dripping noise from your right — you try to play with that recurring sound till you’ve figured your bearings, but the throb in your head is searing. Your leg jumps with a pain so awful you choke a cry when you’re all opened eyed and slack jaw, and you catch sight of Leon in front of you, balancing your leg atop his lap for inspection.

“L-Leon?” you gasp, feel the burn of your throat. You’ve said nothing but he quickly hands you a water bottle, and you allow yourself the contents almost immediately — “Where are we…?”

“A few ways off the target location. Recuperating,” he answers, too quick, too harsh. You wince, both from his demeanour and the growing image of your maimed leg — the skin is dented with much blood, the flesh peeling apart with ease and the pain hits you like a train. His fingers are trembling and spat with your blood, moseying around the quiver of the wound.

And you can’t figure out where your pain ends and where his anger begins.

For one, there’s some grip to his movement, in the way he bandages the broken flesh of your leg. The way he swats your hand away when you go to dictate the amount of hurt it would bring.

Only then does he look up and your breath hitches — his eyes are red rimmed, mouth set like hard stone in a frown and his jaw sharp, blistering to a furious degree.

“I’m sorry—“

“Are you? Because you would’ve been dead without me having been there” he spits out, lashing against your apologetic words. You press your lips together, a bitter feeling fermenting in every space your framework can produce.

“I said I’m sorry Leon.”

“Will that fix your wound?” He grates and his voice sounds like a threat. It worries you. It angers you. Its rends you like glass, cuts you like a skiver.

“Maybe if you didn’t look at me like a fucking wounded animal, I would quit taking my chances at dying” you force out, tone through clattering teeth when his fingers pause over that delicate and awfully repulsive spot on your leg.

“What?”

“Oh, please don’t play pretend with me Leon,” it’s your turn to hit the brakes, “It’s that look you give me — like I’m some backwater D.S.O rookie here to drag you through glass. Like—Like I’m here to get myself killed.”

You pause, breath cut short with an unsatisfactory cry as you throw your head back from the gushing pain from the wound. You crack open a weary eye to spot his movements have resumed, but his jaw is quivering, jagged, his eyes unfocused and his hair in his face.

Shit, shit, shit — I’ve really done it now.

“Wait, Leon—“

“Is that what you think this is?”

You blink — his fingers are on the ground beside your hips, his eyes flooded with disbelief. Much like earlier, only this time, it’s counterpart being woe instead of anger of disappointment. He lifts his head, cradles the anguish in his eyes with a tattered sigh and you realise, oh. You had it all wrong.

“That you’re just some agent I don’t care about?” he’s close, somehow, “that—that I care for you out of duty?” closer, now, with his breath on your neck, on your face, in your ear, “That I don’t want you gone so soon because I only tolerate you? Not because—I like you?”

Your anger drops its futile act.

“What?” you whisper, because you’re so beguiled that it’s a trick. A trick from the pump of adrenaline in you, from the fear. The sweat. But he’s looking into you, at you, and his stare is not sympathetic. It stinks of love and admiration and truth and some close call of fear.

“I’m saying that I like you.”

There’s a few moments of clouded breath. You’ve never done this before — never held this song and dance of emotion between another and certainly not at a time like this, but god, Leon looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, not admonished like the wounded thing that you are.

He looks at you like hope.

Like love and love and love.

And you’ve never appreciated the stench of rot on you or another, and you’ve never appreciated distractions. But the burn of his lips against yours is delicious and swirling with something addictive when you meet him with nothing but rigour — he kisses you back like he’s meant to, like he’s going to run out of you if he doesn’t.

And when you pull away, groaning as your leg spasms with hurt, you smile at him gently, curve a laugh from your overworked lungs.

“Buy me dinner first, Kennedy.”

“Kennedy?”

“Would you prefer Scott?”

“God, you’re awful.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy fic

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i-luvsang · 11 months

Text

candy bars and candied hearts — park seonghwa

gn!reader , grumpy!seonghwa x sunshine!shy!reader , college!au , fluff , cw: food mentions, disgustingly cute , wc: 1.7K , 🎧anon YOUR IDEA IS SO CUTE i hope you enjoy <33 oh also everyone take note that the vision here is devaju!hwa you know the ponytail hkjKJFHSK

✧ seonghwa isn’t exactly known to be mean, in fact he can be polite to people he doesn’t know well

✧ but that’s about the extent. he’s polite and when he decides he doesn’t want to keep talking to you, that’s when he gets grumpy

✧ again, he’s not mean per se but his reputation is convincing enough that most people know not to push it

✧ so as someone who’s quiet and conflict-avoidant, you’ve never been eager to talk to this handsome boy you’ve had in a few of your gen-ed classes

✧ (despite thinking that he is, indeed, quite handsome)

✧ and until one fateful (and very cold) winter day, you don’t ever speak with him, considering a reason to do so never arose

✧ but, just your luck, you left your student id in your room and are now locked out of your dorm

✧ this wouldn’t normally be the end of the world, but your roommate is in class and no other friends in your dorm are answering their phones

✧ you’re about to give up waiting around for someone to walk out of the building or even past it and instead make your way to the student help center

✧ but the once softly falling snow quickly picks up to near blizzard-like conditions just steps away from the dorm’s overhang and you immediately turn back, not wanting to brave that without your winter coat on

✧ you decide to sit down right beside the door to avoid the blowing snow and hope desperately for someone to come and save you from your shivering state

✧ and it seems your prayers are answered when you catch sight of a bundled up figure making their way through the snow, seemingly headed to the next dorm complex

✧ “excuse me!” you call out, hoping you’re loud enough to be heard

✧ thankfully the figure turns towards you, still unrecognizable through the thick snow

✧ catching sight of your pitiful state, the mystery student makes their way out of the snow and under the overhang

✧ you stand, and recognize him immediately; his features are hard to forget, along with his reputation

✧ “uh– sorry to bother you, but could you please just swipe your student id for me? i left mine in my room and i’ve been out here forever. i swear i’m a student here, i’m in your–”

✧ “sustainablility gen-ed class.”

✧ you look at him in surprise when he finishes your sentence, not having expected seonghwa to recognize you

✧ “r-right.” you stare at him, seemingly caught under his intense gaze

✧ then he shocks you further, leaning in close to you and utterly confusing you until you hear the sound of the door opening

✧ “thank you!” you quickly turn and open the door before it can close again as he moves away from you

✧ he just nods and hums lightly in acknowledgement

✧ just as he turns away from you, you speak again

✧ “can i buy you lunch or something sometime?” he turns to see your shy smile

✧ he quirks an eyebrow and you suddenly realize what your suggestion must have sounded like

✧ “uh, that’s not what i meant,” you mumble a bit. “just as a thank you!”

✧ you don’t see the way that he fights a smile, finding himself recognizing that you’re genuine in your words, not just another person trying to take him out for his pretty face

✧ but he just gives a light shrug. “it’s no big deal. see you thursday.”

✧ and with that he disappears back into the snow, barely giving you a chance to say goodbye

✧ despite him brushing off his good deed, you intend to make it up one way or another, so you make sure to arrive to your shared class early

✧ you drop off a candy bar and note at his normal spot, then rush up to your own to hopefully get a peek of his reaction

✧ when seonghwa walks in, he immediately notices something at his usual seat and strides over to check it out

✧ his favorite candy bar and a note: thanks again! hope you like this candy alright.

✧ he looks around, bewildered at first until he catches your eye

✧ you send him a little wave along with a sweet smile and he curses at his heart for skipping a beat

✧ it’s a tiny bit unnatural for him, but he forces a small smile back before sitting down and turning his attention to the professor who’s just started the lesson

✧ yet, your unnecessarily sweet gesture sticks in his mind, following him around like some sort of soft kitten who just wants to play, and who seems to be completely undeniable

✧ and undeniable you are, because he finds himself walking up to you the next week after class waving your note around just a bit

✧ “so? how’d you know my favorite candy bar?”

✧ “just a lucky guess,” you shrug, but fail to hide your smile

✧ annoyingly enough, he seems to find your smile contagious and has to fight off one of his own

✧ he instead quirks that eyebrow at you again, “no, really. how’d you know? did you ask hongjoong or something?”

✧ you let out a small laugh. “no, i didn’t ask hongjoong. that’s your best friend, right?”

✧ he nods at your question, so you continue

✧ “i saw you eating that kind during class once. i only noticed because it’s my favorite too, and seeing you eat it made me go to the nearest store and buy one right afterward. so i didn’t know it’s your favorite, but i figured you’d like it well enough. good to know it is your favorite though”

✧ “why? so you can buy me another one in case i save you from being locked outside of your dorm again?”

✧ you laugh a bit, “you never know!”

✧ “are you saying you’ll forget your id in your room again?” he teases

✧ “i said you never know! which means i may or may not. or maybe there’ll a different reason,” you shrug playfully

✧ you’re surprised at how easy, comfortable even, it is to converse with him, but not opposed to it in any way

✧ in fact, you’re quite pleased by the way he’s continued to approach you after class making up new things to talk about

✧ and you begin making up reasons to buy him candy bars and sending his heart fluttering with your silly and sweet notes

✧ i was picking one up for myself, so i grabbed one for you too :))

✧ thanks for sending me the notes for class i missed!

✧ thanks for walking me home last night!

✧ hongjoong told me you were sick a few days ago. feel better!

✧ just because! <3

✧ and more and more until he can’t deny the very, very soft spot for you he has, the one that his friends won’t stop teasing him about

✧ until he leaves a candy bar of his own for you

✧ there’s no note, but you’ll never know that’s because he spent an hour writing and re-writing notes until he completely gave up

✧ the grin on your face when you see his gift is something beyond precious to him, something he’d love to bottle up and wear on a chain around his neck

✧ of course, you run up to him after class with that same heart-melting grin

✧ “so what’s this all about?” you show off the candy bar

✧ “thanks for getting me so many candy bars,” he teases, trying to keep a straight face

✧ “right, of course. how could i forget?” you roll your eyes, playfully shoving him. “seriously though. why?”

✧ “just cause.”

✧ you repeat the phrase in a deep voice, mocking him. “yeah, i believe you.”

✧ “does there have to be a reason?” he argues

✧ you shrug, “not always. but this time, yes.”

✧ “why?”

✧ “because it’s you. you wouldn’t do this without a reason.”

✧ seonghwa tries to ignore the fact that you’re absolutely right, intent on pretending not to know what reason you’re talking about

✧ “what do you mean? i’m a very generous person.”

✧ at that you scoff. “don’t kid yourself! you’re known to be just about the grumpiest person on campus. you know your friend wooyoung came up to me the other day begging to know how i ‘seduced’ you.”

✧ seonghwa groans in embarrassment “god, wooyoung came up to you? never listen to anything he says, please.”

✧ you shrug. “he was funny! don’t be so mean,” you scold jokingly

✧ he lets out an internal sigh of relief, thinking you’ll drop the subject when you don’t push it immediately

✧ and yet, he curses himself internally as well, ready to be a bit of a coward and not say anything to you about why he impulsively bought and placed that candy bar on your desk

✧ but you, in all your curiosity and innocence, have to understand why he gifted you a candy bar back

✧ “tell me why? please, hwa?”

✧ that really gets him; your soft, begging voice and the sweet name you call him has him in a puddle at your feet

✧ he lets out a frustrated groan, similar to the one he let out at the news of wooyoung approaching you, and for a moment, you’re afraid you’ve pushed it too hard and have started to annoy him

✧ but then he stops short in his steps, causing you to you the same

✧ you look at him in confusion, taken aback slightly by the look in his eyes, and even more so by his gentle hands that make their way to softly cup your cheeks

✧ “because you are the most adorable thing on the face of this earth and i want to kiss you so bad”

✧ with your breath snatched away, you really, really have to fight for words

✧ “oh,” you squeak out, too surprised to be embarrassed

✧ “can i do that? please?”

✧ now you’re the one that’s melted into a puddle on the floor, quick to nod and whisper out a breathless “yes, please”

✧ the way he presses his lips to yours is softer than anything you’ve felt before, a stark contrast to his normal smirk, taught eyebrows, and cold expression

✧ when you part, he sends a sweet look into your eyes before pulling away, suddenly back to his serious demeanor

✧ really he’s just shy, and you know it

✧ so you take his hand in yours and smile wide for the both of you

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comfortless · 2 months

Note

AHH I was the anon from the Bear!Ko ask ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ I adore it so much like I’m kicking my feet and twirling my hair your ideas are CHEFS KISS AND IM GLAD YOU LIKED THE PROMPTT

Definitely not excited that you’re considering more hybrid stuff.. TEEHEE ʕ •́؈•̀ ₎

BUT YEAH JUST THOUGHT TO DROP SOMETHING NEW CUZ WHY NOT! Maybe Ko being deployed on a mission to some wild terrain, having to camp out on the grounds for a while by himself. Reader taking interest in the behemoth and toying with him until he finds out they’re a fae or nymph

Or a game of hide and seek.. in the dark.. with him.. maybe even a wolf!ko

ONCE AGAIN ID LOVE TO SEE YOU WORK UR MAGIC ON THESE IDEAS (｡♥‿♥｡)

hi, 🧸!! working on something with a lycanthrope Kö at the moment, but this is… well it is something! i adore the idea of König with a cute (insatiable) nymph!! definitely give @cookiepie111’s Drink From The Leche of Sirens a read if you haven’t already. <3

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. fae nonsense (reader is a tree nymph), vague smut.

It isn’t that he ever intended to be here, not really. Simple surveillance, Fender had told him. Any knowing soldier would recognize the equipment that did not even need hands to tend to it, the cameras that should be set and monitored, and yet there were none in place here— just König, a loaded gun, and the stillness of the forest that seemed to stretch ever onward.

There’s been a lapse for the past week, with Kortac’s most adept at retrieving information out seeking just that, off with their radios constantly abuzz and adrenaline running rampant through their veins.

There’s an envy harbored somewhere in the back of his skull, twittering and hissing when he thinks on it too much… shelved for an uncharacteristic mistake to be left here amongst plants and scattered animal sounds, a temporary solace that would be ripped away when something new came through the chain of command; an overabundance of the very things he would care to think less about.

König hasn’t seen another person in days, not out here, tracking a vehicle carrying supposed smuggled weapons. There are no tire tracks, not even air traffic passing above: only gloom, loneliness, and the chill of early spring.

Then the abandoned house, where he takes refuge. It’s dated: the furniture all in various states of disarray, shattered porcelain about the kitchen and vaulted ceilings so high he doesn’t even need to bother with ducking to cross from room to room. It’s old on the exterior, stately, with vines creeping up its walls to reach the warmest height to bloom. Though internally, it is clear the place has not been left to rot for long: no loose boards, no holes in the ceiling or floor, just seemingly preserved somehow, as though time itself had come to still.

He doesn’t mind the daily patrols through the forest, the pensive stalking and creeping to find any hint of what he was after. Even through the night, when sleep forgets to lure him in for warmth and comfort amidst the pollen and silence, the walking never seems to grate on him.

There are lights, often, amongst the trees, faint pulses of glowing white that dissipate the moment his gaze sweeps over them. He’s read the fairytales as a child, even witnessed Conor get so drunk once that he shared his own tales of the ‘wee folk’, but König would feel a fool to believe any of that at face value. Most of his own kind were not interested in him, shying away with laughter or pitying gazes the moment he approached, so why would anything else be drawn to a man who could never quite scrub the blood from his fingernails or keep a conversation from spinning out into silence and uneasy glances?

It’s during one of these nightly walks that he first sees her, a vision bathed beneath the milky glow of the moon, ethereal, yet still nothing short of a proper blessing from the earth. Despite the distance from his path to her own, her body looks soft, bare and gentle. The growing thorns and clusters of ivy do not scrape her, only gently pull aside as she walks, tender and swaying like the petals sprung up from the plants for little fingers ghost over.

He only thinks that, assuredly, he’s lost his mind. The vision fades away when she looks at him, curls her lips into a smile… and then it is all gone. She leaves not a trace, no footprints indented into the soil he knows he had only just watched her tread. The flowers he saw her pull into being have vanished, too. All that remains is a dulled aura of dread, a strange thing that he has not felt in years, if ever at all.

König does not think of the woman until she appears again, during the day amidst the leaves of a sprawling sycamore. She lies against the bark, body resting over a healthy branch where she sleeps in a position so demure it sets his heart ablaze. The breeze caresses her hair, something he wishes to feel beneath his own fingertips; it whistles over her bare skin while the sun bathes her in rays of gold, filtered out through pinprick partings in the leaves, begs, pleads for him to touch. Forbidden fruit, too lofty to touch, too dainty for ash and blood.

He only walks away, carries on with the focus of his mission, reminds himself of every time that he’s sought some semblance of companionship and how those escapades had all simmered down to nothing but taunting echoes for sleepless nights. There was no need for any more ghosts, not even the pretty ones.

With nothing else in sight, he returns to that house where time halts and loses himself to want; swallows dry when he frees himself of his buckle and pulls out his growing erection. A release and an expelling of memory all in one.

He thinks of her, of her graceful walk amidst the darkened woods, of the way she lay, perfectly unscathed and beautiful, unknowing of any thing that plagues him, scatters from his grim expression right down to his very marrow. The imaginings… he would never speak of them, perhaps would only have the information pried from him that he thought of her smile when he spilled himself into his palm, but only if she came to beg for it with a voice he imagines must be tree sticky and sweet like warmed honey. Only if she came for him.

There lies a meadow just past an abrupt opening in the tree line, small and subdued by outstretched branches that curl over the grass and wildflowers still yet to bloom. No chill lingers here, as though summer stretches over the little glade and settles atop it with its warmth, masks even the little pond that does not seem to carry the same frosted panes of ice that the others he had seen do. There is fruit, puny red berries and hefty pears causing their limbs to bend, gently set them down for the earth and all of the animals roaming about to eat.

And he knows he’s stumbled upon her home.

He finds his voice when she peeks at him from behind the trunk, wide-eyed and curious with the softest curl about her lips, playful but tentative.

“Hallo,” he whispers, raising his gloved hand as if to wave, but curling his fingers into his palm instead. He’s horribly uncertain, caught between the alarming thought that he’s dealing with some perturbing nudist or something… else entirely.

“Hello,” she says, almost shy as she unveils herself from behind the tree, takes a step toward him with a tender look in her eyes and a long draw of breath. Sets his nerves at ease with her silent admittance that she, too, at least seemed wary.

König immediately tells her why he’s here, not in full detail, sparing the poor doe the tedium and the confidential bits that would likely only make her head spin, and then… he mentions how he had seen her, how the forest seemed to yield to her whims, her dancing beneath the moon that appeared to shine only for her. He gives her a curious look, undetectable beneath the darkened hood, pleads for her to explain in his own silent sort of way.

“I have seen you too,” she says instead, curling her arms behind her back, pushing out her chest, and… he doesn’t think to ask any further.

She’s the loveliest thing that he has ever seen or felt: places herself right into his lap when she guides him down to the grass. There’s sap on her fingertips when she presses them to his lips, curiously grazing them over his mouth as he speaks to her about the forest, a forest he’s already deemed to be her own, obscure princess that she was. She giggles when he dares to lick over each intruding digit, even gives a shaky, soft sigh when he suckles at one.

The nymph whispers things into his ear that he’s never heard before: things about each sprouting plant, of other things that hide away in the shade beneath branches and how they had all seen him too, about the earth and life and softer secrets about her beloved tree. Home and love without ever daring to speak words so simple. She does not ask about the dreadful things he does not think about, only lies back in the grass when he praises her beauty and the lovely notes of her voice.

He thinks for a moment that he should not touch her, should not have her grace wasted on something like him, but she rises up only enough to kiss him through the hood and he finds himself tugged down to tickling blades of grass and his mind finally does quiet.

She cradles him close as he claims her love for his own, steals sap from her lips and follows her sighs to a comforting oblivion. Her hands find his neck, his shoulders to offer gentle touches, tracing patterns like the intricate twisting of vines against his flesh all while he praises their union, her sweetness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s spent with her, the day seems to to stretch on for an eternity with the sun high above, but when he wakes… he is back inside of the old, quiet house, lying in the bed he knows with a certainty that he’s never even touched. Fender’s voice is calling to him over the radio, clipped and demanding for a report, one that proves nothing at all, a barrage of words filled with wonder and bliss with no intel on the mission.

And König isn’t shocked by the leave he’s given once he does return to base the following day. Three weeks time would be just enough to clear his head, regain his focus, pull money from his account to purchase that lonesome old house in the forest. He couldn’t bare the thought of never seeing such an angel again, never hearing the soft chittering of her voice or being blessed with the feeling of her beneath him, intertwined like the vines she so loved.

#könig x reader

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 16 days

Note

Could you talk about the designs Viv makes? I don't see many posts talking about this and I wanted some design tips, I intend to post my own cartoon designs (I just don't know when) and I wanted some tips <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

Hey hey!! Id love to talk about designs!

I actually answered this entire question and then uh…. Tumblr deleted my draft so let me try to redo all this lmao

Vivzie has a problem with bodytypes I’ve noticed. Almost all of her cast is insanely skinny and the only two “plus-size” characters I can think of are Millie and Mimzy. Meanwhile, Angel Dust, Vox, Stolas, & Alastor are a few very skinny characters I can think of off the top of my head.

For the best example, I’m going to be using Vox for now. Here is my Vox design next to his canon appearance

They don’t look too different right? This is still easily identifiable as Vox because his main characteristics are there; stupid little hat, tv head, thats about it.

My design also keeps elements of his suit with the stripes and shoulder pads, though in my design his body is a bit wider and his shoulders + waist make him look more commanding and intimidating while still maintaining a sense of professionalism. As for his canon design, he definitely looks sketchy, but he doesn’t really give me that commanding sense of popularity or authority that I feel an overlord should have, especially one with such a wide range of influence as Vox. His canon design looks top heavy and a little pathetic in that “he was born in a wet cardboard box all alone” way. Don’t get me wrong, a small waist can do wonders for a design, but when your designs start to look like… this

I think you might have a problem.

Now, I know I am nowhere near the best character designer in the world, but I have designed my fair share and I think I have enough experience to flatter myself a little.

This is a very simple design choice to make. Body types are probably some of the most intricate and interesting parts of a person in my opinion, and with a lineup like this where everyone looks more or lest the same from the torso down, it’s kind of a dead and sad looking cast, and not in the intended way.

I’m aware my designs are very detailed and wouldn’t be easy to animate with my style, but it’s very easy to draw extra body types with a style fit for TV.

Gravity Falls is a great example of stylised bodies and also using them to build personality. By looking at these characters you can generally tell what their base personality is probably like right? You can do the same thing to an extent with the Hazbin Cast, but all of their designs get muddled into the other. Can you even tell where half of these people are positioned in this screenshot

It’s so pink and red im going to start seeing green when I look away. There are so many colours, use them!!!! You can still slap a red overlay over it and make it “look like hell” or whatever, but you’re still gonna have more variety.

Here’s my body/fur references for Angel and Husk. They are almost entirely opposite to eachother but you can probably get an idea for how they are based on colour and shape. I recommend studying other TV shows and things like anime or movies to see how body types and colours impact character design, but general things I always think of are, like I’ve said, body type, personality, colour, and silhouette. Silhouette is a bit harder to pin since a character can have a very recognizable silhouette and still not be a good design, but honestly to me as long as you can tell which character is which from silhouette you’re good to go on that front.

- Generally just don’t reuse the same colour palette over and over (heres some of my hazbin colours)

- Give diversity in shapes when you can and when it benefits the design

- Try to show their personality through their clothes and pose

- Don’t be afraid to add little physical or personality details that other people might not notice, a good design should keep you interested in tiny details like that or surprise you later on

- Pay attention to what would and wouldn’t make sense (ex. A character that doesn’t like modern fashion wearing modern fashion)

Im not the best at explaining all of this but I hope you could grasp even just a tiny bit of an idea from this! At the end of the day as long as you’re having fun and not actively harming people with the designs then you should be good to go

#raimble #hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel rework #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin redesign #my art

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yeaimsafiya · 28 days

Text

CHAPTER ONE back from rehab

SYNOPSIS the beginning of a teenage girl named y/n who is fresh out of rehab but doesn't intend to stay clean.

FROM THE WRITER AHH IM SORRY IM LATE GUYS!! This is the first chapter I'm ever writing, I took some inspo from episode 1 but I'm going to have to cut each episode into fourths because I really don't want to spend a whole week trying to finish a whole episode and school work. But I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter as much as I did - Love you guys, Sapiyah <3

WARNINGS Lots of unnecessary writing, female! reader, mentions of drugs and drinking, strong sexual content, nudity, violence, adult content, adult language, scenes might be uncomfortable for some, some scenes might include mentions of mental illness'

SERIES EUPHORIA

CHARACTERS INCLUDED members of the bakusquad & dekusquad, big three(?), some characters of class 1A

NOTES MDNI! Ageless blogs will be blocked or removed.

Readers discretion is advised

Suddenly, the whole world goes dark and nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You were once happy. Content.

Sloshing and swimming around your own private, primordial pool; Then one day, for reasons beyond your control, you were continuously and repeatedly crushed...

Over..and over.. again by the cervix of your mother, M/n.

You put up a good fight, but eventually lost, for the first time, but not the last.

You were born 3 days after 9/11, your mother and father spent two days in the hospital, holding you under the soft glow of the television, watching those towers fall over and over again, until the feeling of grief gave away to numbness.

And then, without warning, a middle-class childhood in the American suburbs.

You were sitting at the dinner table with your mother, M/n, and Father, F/n. But it appeared something else had gotten your attention, a set of numerous lights above the dinner table, in which you wanted to count.

"Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen.."

" What are you looking at y/n?"

"..."

"What are you doing? ..Y-y/n look at me."

"One, two, three, .."

"What are you doing Y/n?"

*cries*

"Id say she's suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder..."

Its not like you were physically abused..

"...attention deficit disorder..."

..Or had some type of clean water storage..

"..general anxiety disorder.."

..Or was molested by a family member.

"..and possibly bipolar disorder. But she's a little bit too young to tell."

So, explain this shit to me.

"Honey, it's just the way your brain was hardwired; Plenty of great, intelligent, funny, interesting and creative people have struggled with the same things you struggle with."

"Like who?"

"Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, and even Brittney Spears, your favorite!"

You haven't remembered much from the ages of eight to twelve. Just that the world moved fast, and your mind moved slow.

"Does anyone have an idea of what a perception might be?"

And every now and then, if you focused on the way you breathed...

You'd die.

"Slow down, just breathe"

Until every second of the day, you'd find yourself trying to outrun your anxiety.

"What's wrong Y/n?"

..And quite frankly..

"I'm just fucking exhausted"

Coming down to the kitchen, you could hear the small talk between your mother and younger sister, S/N.

"You said the doctor was in our network. How can he suddenly be out of network?"

"I can't afford it."

"Did you see that video of the girl who got acid thrown at her face?"

"What? No.."

"It's pretty fucked up.."

"Mom do you know where the tampons are?"

"In my bathroom, right under the sink."

And at one point, you'd make a choice of who you are and what you want.

"Alright Gia, let's go"

"Why do the co-payments cost $300?"

"Y/n did you eat breakfast?"

".."

"What's with the glasses?"

"What glasses?"

You just happened to show up one day, without a map or a compass..

"Attention students, we need to lockdown."

..Or to be honest, anyone capable of giving on iota of good fucking advice.

And I know it all seems sad but guess what? You did not build this system up, nor fuck it up yourself.

But then it happens. That moment where your breath starts to slow. And every time you breathe, you breathe out all the oxygen you have.

Then everything stops: Your heart, your lungs, then finally, your brain. And everything you feel, you wish, and want to forget, it all just sinks.

And then suddenly... you give it air again, give it life again.

You remember the first time it happened, where you were so scared you wanted to call 911. Go to the hospital and be kept alive by machines and apple juice. But you didn't want to look like an idiot, and you didn't want to fuck up everyone else's night.

And now overtime, that's all you've wanted.. those two seconds of nothingness.

You spent a good portion of summer before junior year in rehab. God granted you the serenity to accept things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

"Y/N," your sister yelled from afar, greeting you after your long leave. You smiled, and whilst running up to her, tried to continue the conversation with your younger sibling.

"Hey, Come here!"

"How are you?"

"Good, I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Look at you, are you growing?"

"No."

Looking over, you see your mother standing by your family car.

"Hey," you yelled out to her, only to receive a small smile from her.

And with that. you knew it was your time to go.

"I'm very happy for you Y/n. You're about to start a brand-new chapter," Your mother says while driving you and your sister to school. You looked at her with a smile, then turned your attention back to the car window.

You had no intentions of staying clean. And yet, Jirou just moved into town.

"There's some new girl in town that I think you'll be friends with," Shoto said, with you standing beside him in his store.

"Who?"

"Shit, I don't know. She came in looking all punk rock and shit; So I'm thinking to myself, like, 'look like somebody Y/n would be friends with'."

Which was sort of a dead-on observation for Shoto, who's not normally revolving in the same direction as planet earth.

"So how long have you been back?" He asked.

"About five days."

"And how are you feeling?"

"I mean, ever since I gave my life over to my lord and savior Jesus Christ, things have been, like, really good."

"Word? That's what's up," You chuckled at his snarky remark, giving him a small smile.

"I'm fucking with you," you said whilst laughing, "It was a joke."

"Shit, hey, I don't judge," he defended, hands raising to just above his chest.

"But for real, is Deku in the back?"

"Are you serious?" Shoto questioned, seeming very disappointed in you.

"What, you think cause' I went to rehab I stayed clean?"

"I mean, ain't that the point?" he asks.

"Yeah, well, the world is coming to an end, and I haven't even graduated high school yet."

You gave Shoto one more smile before going to Deku, whilst Shoto stared at you the entire way there; There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but since you were too busy looking for Deku, you didn't see.

You opened one of the doors of the refrigerators, leading you right to him with a bowl of fruit loops,"I thought your ass was dead," he said one he saw your appearance.

"And I thought you had Asperger's till I realized your just a prick," you barked back.

"This a fickle industry, y'all come and go. I'm just trying to stack my cash, pay off our mortgage," he said while pulling out a bunch of plastic bags out of a microwave.

"So what the fuck do you want?" You gave him a knowing look before he handed you needed.

"You sure you don't want to try something new?" He asks you.

"Like what?"

"2C-T-2, 2C-T-7, and 5-MeO-DIPT."

"I'm sorry I have no fucking idea of what you just said."

"It doesn't matter," he stated, "but this shit, is fucking lit."

"What is it?"

"N-diisopropyl-5-methoxytryptamine. It's a fast-acting psychedelic."

Got some similarities to LSD, but with, like, key differences. Not as visual as shit, but definitely a sense distorter.

"What's wrong?" That same dark purple hair girl questioned.

"I'm just so happy," you responded back.

"I don't know, this shits been going off in Tampa, and mad people like to fuck with this," Deku continued on with his descriptions with the drug.

"Okay. Yeah, why not."

"That'll be 120."

"Oh uh, Shoto said he'd spot me."

"Shoto doesn't spot nobody."

"Yeah, well, it's a post-rehab discount, so you should ask him."

"I will go ask him, cause' I know your full of shit."

Those were the last words he said before you walked out. Those were the last words you heard before you saw the same two boys in freshman year.

Bakugo and Kirishima.

TAGLIST: (send an ask or reply to add or remove) @urinejaeger, @saturxnn, @lv9su, @minnipe, @flamgosstuff, @lilrockzstar, @actfsgxcv, @lovebuggyboo, @russochild19, @iits-lexie, @mendez5657, @animatronicrat, @thirstygorl, @scrittynotfound, @pleaseleavemebelol, @thymebread, @cocojellie, @vxnanaaa-blog, @tn-johnson, @knotatwink, @hpttstears, @blackcatluna, @queennb-123, @nndntahg

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bigmilkagenda · 2 months

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Of the many, many plates of pancakes* that were offered to the listener in magp 1-07, this one may be my favourite

[ID: A screenshot of an unofficial transcript to The Magnus Protocol. CELIA is saying "Yeah. I mean, it's an old system, but it could have been worse. It's not like we're wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders." /end ID]

When we meet TMA-Celia for the second time, she's lost her name. She was Lynne Hammond, and now she's not. She doesn't seem to remember Martin, either, but it's not clear how much of herself and her life from before the change she does remember. She's freaked out by the tape recorders that start showing up, and there's no indication that she associates them with the Institute specifically.

If Celia Ripley is, as we are clearly intended to believe or consider, the same Celia as in TMA, why is she making knowing comments about manila folders and tape recorders? Tape recorders in particular are hardly standard equipment at what seems to be mostly a text data-entry and cataloguing job. She could have said typewriters, or carbon paper. Fax machines, if we're dunking on Freddy specifically.

She says "tape recorders and manila folders." Celia Ripley is referencing The Magnus Institute, particularly the outdated technologies in use in the Archives.

Maybe she learned more from Melanie about what the recorders were and did at the Institute, sometime after MAG 190. Maybe she has those specific memories of giving her statement in MAG 100, and little else. Maybe Martin grew an apocalypse beard and she remembers everything, but just didn't recognise him out of context and in a tunnel and during A Pretty Weird Time Overall.

Maybe she stuck around with Melanie-Georgie-Basira for a while after things returned, and that's how she learned about the particular significance of tape recorders.

Maybe she found some tapes and listened to a couple hundred of them.

Or maybe she's simply an AU Celia, with a knack for oddly specific and kind of clunky comparisons, drawn into this through the powers of metafiction and string theory.

Or maybe someone filled her with spiders and sent her to finish the job of spreading Fear to this particular world.

And the reason this particular plate of textual pancakes** (short stack, butter and nightmare syrup) is one of my favourites from "Give and Take" is because I genuinely have no idea! None of these are theories because there isn't enough evidence to point me in any particular direction. It's a mystery!, Jon voice, etcetera.

If you cornered me and paid me to have an opinion about it I could say which options I thought were more likely, I guess. But the odds are high that I'd be wrong, and I think the boat for me getting paid to interpret texts probably sailed fifteen years ago, besides. I'm in this for the love of the game.***

November is the true spooky season in the northern hemisphere.**** Yeah, October ends with Halloween, but you know what month starts with Halloween? Mmhmm. By November of 2019 TMA had been on my list for a few years, and someone I was getting to know and really liked recommended it to me specifically in the days after 159 aired. The conditions were correct for me to get into something new, is what I'm saying. I still remember listening to "Anglerfish" for the first time, walking home from my office job in the blustery November dark. I got home starry-eyed and red-cheeked and thrilled by the story I'd just heard.

It took a couple of months for me to catch up, and though I loved having so much to listen to there were times when I wished I'd started earlier, to have the experience of seeing things unfold.

And now we're back at a beginning, and get to experience the horrible joys of finding out.

[ID: A screenshot of an unofficial transcript to The Magnus Protocol. LENA is saying "Of a sort. I hope you're as ready for it as you think you are. Consider yourself "in." /end ID]

*Sabrina pancake meme

** the best kind, especially if it's a contest between textual and fluffy pancakes. Keep those spongy bastards away from me, I'll take the kind with a typeface instead

***Being a huge nerd

**** For more of my opinions on November, see https://www.tumblr.com/almostmolly/188799234276

#tmagp #tma #the magnus protocol #celia ripley #celia tmagp #lynne hammond #tmagp meta #loosely. this is neither litcrit not analysis nor speculation in the sense that i don't subscribe to any of the possible paths as true #and also realise there could be a dozen other things i haven't talked about here #i know I've said spiders celia twice but I'm kind of like a person who makes red string boards for the aesthetics #it's part of the decor y'know?#sorry for the link to my tumblr poetry blog but also: I'm not bad at it so. not that sorry #pancakes (derogatory)

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jackdaw-kraai · 9 months

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Setting aside the fact that you should never critique someone's work without permission and expect them to listen, or feel like you're entitled to criticize someone's work regardless of context or even if a person knows you or not. Setting aside the fact that certain people seem to think they're the divine's gift to mankind and that everything they don't like about someone's creative labor is an affront to them, personally, and the rest of the world too. Setting aside the weirdly combative and confrontational attitude some people get if you decline their criticism, politely or otherwise, and say you do not trust or know them enough to believe they have your best interests at heart or that they understand the pathos of your work. Setting aside all of that...

Too many people don't seem to understand the first thing about what constructive criticism—or even just criticism, period—is and what it has the authority to talk about, and it irks me to no end. Saying you're giving someone critique or are criticizing something isn't just a "I can do whatever I want" permit to say whatever the heck that crosses your mind and tickles your id. You're thinking of an opinion piece, not an actual critique.

The core of critiquing a piece of creative labor, any creative labor, is always, always, to criticize it only on what it is, never on what it isn't. One cannot criticize a story or artwork for something it didn't do and call themselves a good, or even competent critic. It is categorically off-limits to talk about what the results of a creative labor doesn't do and isn't, and likely never intended to do or be if someone's intending to call their writing or talk a critique instead of an opinion piece. It's disrespectful to the artist, it's disrespectful to their own intelligence, it shows a childishly immature understanding, or rather, lack thereof, in what they think criticism is and what role it plays in the ecosystem of creative labor, and it shows a complete ignorance to the distinction between what critics have an authority to talk about and what are the matters of someone's own personal taste.

Criticism, at its core, is an evaluation and commentary on what a piece of creative labor is and attempted to do with the techniques the artist applied or attempted to apply. It looks at whether or not the artist had a thorough understanding of their craft and the history of it when they created their artwork, story, song, or other creative labor, and it looks at—if an artist did have such an understanding, but decided to push the boundaries of the limits of their medium or capabilities—their experiment succeeded or fell short, and if it fell short in any way, what the likely pitfalls were. It does not look at whether or not the results were popular, whether or not they were to the critic's personal taste, and whether or not it did or didn't include what the critic thought it should have.

You can criticize a slow-paced story for poorly utilizing its slower pace and being jarringly incomprehensive when the pace picks up, and you can criticize the author for either failing to understand what makes a slower-paced story work or for neglecting to investigate and experiment with the techniques that create a slow pace. You cannot criticize it for not being a fast-paced story. That is your personal taste, not a failure of the story or an author's technique.

You can criticize a painting for poorly utilizing color theory and composition to the point that its difficult for an audience to understand what's being depicted, and you can criticize a painter for failing to demonstrate why those two skills are important for a painter to develop and use. You cannot criticize a painting for being modern art. That's your personal taste, not a failure of the painting or an artist's technique.

You can criticize a work for dismissing the consequences systemic bigotry have on the oppressed and perpetuating harmful stereotypes and ideas, and you can criticize an artist for not handling such subjects with the necessary care or denying their existence outright. You can criticize art for contributing to the alienation of minorities and furthering their oppression. You cannot criticize art for including those elements in the first place, and for portraying depictions of oppression that you, personally, don't resonate with. Not only is that an incredibly immature stance to take, it demonstrates a fundamental failure of understanding how people experience the world as individuals.

Critique and criticism are intended to examine a work of creative labor for what it is and does, evaluate if it succeeds as such, provide the artist with an outside opinion to asses as objectively as possible the strengths and weaknesses of the results of their creative labor, and furnish an audience with the information necessary to make an informed decision on a work and improve their own techniques if they so choose.

Critique and criticism aren't a cudgel to beat artists into producing works that fit your personal tastes and to shame them if they don't comply with such demands. Shame on you if you've ever used it as such.

Works of creative labor don't need to be popular to be good, and they don't need to be good to be popular. Popularity is a matter of taste, and taste, fundamentally, is immaterial to the critiquing of a creative work.

Critics, good, competent critics, don't concern themselves with taste outside of acknowledging it exists in every person and only an individual is the absolute authority on if a creative work fits within it or not. They critique a work for what it is and does do, not what it isn't and doesn't do. If a work doesn't include a specific element or theme you think it should have, and you say as such in your criticism, you are no longer giving critique on that work, you are stating an opinion. And the artist is fully within their rights to ignore you or call you out on it.

Critiques are the tool by which artists analyze and advance what they do create, not by which they are shamed or pressured into including what they don't.

Whether or not it's popular. Whether or not it fits personal taste. Whether or not it resonates or is alien to the person experiencing it.

Because in the end none of that matters in assessing if a work of creative labor is good at what it is and does. And that, always, is what critics evaluate.

Artists don't serve to please critics. Critics serve to further artists. If your critiques don't do that, or only pretend to do that, you've failed as a critic. And you probably should look into writing an opinion column instead of trying to pass yourself off as a legitimate critic.

#writing #writeblr #artists #art #creations

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hellfiremunsonn · 11 months

Text

Honesty. Steddie x Reader.

Honesty.

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: You lash out at your two boyfriends instead of being honest, they let you know you're always safe with them, and don’t need to feel afraid or embarrassed to use your safe word.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: fem!reader, steddiexreader, throuple relationship, dom!Steve, dom!Eddie, submissive!reader, babygirl!reader, allusions to subspace/littlespace, daddy kink, established sub and dom relationship, use of safe word, talk of safe word/rules. (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

Wordcount: 1775

AN: This is my first steddie fic so please be kind! Suggestions are welcome but don’t be a dick about it please... I left the ending kind of open, to give space for a part two of this situation/scenario so if you have any ideas for a part two or what you’d like to see Id be more than happy to discuss it! So feel free to send an ask my way about it if you’d like :)

You're laying on the couch with your head in Eddies lap. Your forehead is resting against his stomach, one hand wrapped around him behind his back, smooshed between him and the couch while he plays with your hair, absentmindedly watching whatever movie had been left in the VHS. You had one of your feet lounging across Steves lap from where he sits at the other end of the couch, one of his hands touching your ankle while the other held a worn paperback.

Steve had made this a household rule that Sundays were for the three of you to spend time together, even if you all did separate things in the same room. Steve wanted you all to make the effort for each other, and for most of your relationship it really worked. Sometimes you all would go out to dinner, or have a movie night, and sometimes you all would just be in each others presence and it made you all that more fond of each other.

Today you were clingy, in a bit of a mood, but it didn't start to really affect you until later in the day. The boys had edged you for the past three days, and usually it was something you liked, and they never really made you wait too long until you could cum. They'd give you everything else to make you feel good in the meantime, but for some reason today it really bothered you. You felt gross, almost sick, and the ache between your legs made you restless, squirmy, and a bit bitter, but you tried to be good and keep it all together because you wanted to be good for your boys.

Eddie shifts under you. "Babes I gotta pee" he says leaning forward, assuming you're going to let him up, but you only hold onto him tighter.

"Baby c'mon" he laughs lightly.

"No" You whine, words muffled over your thumb that in your mouth, and in an instant Eddie then realized what kind of 'you' they'd be dealing with today when he noticed. It was something you didn't do often, but enough for Steve and Eddie to know how you were feeling when it happened.

Eddie looks up at Steve, giving him a look of confusion which Steve returns, sliding his thumb between the pages of his book to keep his place while he watches the interaction between the two of you.

"You wanna lay on daddy's lap while I get up?" he offers.

"No" Your voice is sad, laced with emotions you haven't let out yet and Eddie is a little unsure what he should do, especially because he really does need to pee.

"Baby, I love you, but you gotta get up" Eddie says sweetly, pulling you up from his lap with more strength than he anticipated needing.

"NO" You say loudly, holding on to him greedily. Cheeks already wet with tears, lips glossy with spit from where you held your thumb. You cling to him for as long as you can until he peels your limbs from him which only makes you more upset.

So you push his lingering hands away from you angrily once he's stood up in front of you, smacking at his chest in frustration before turning to face the couch, tucking yourself up into the corner where Eddie just was with your knees up to your chin.

Eddie looks at Steve again who just nods his head towards the direction of the bathroom.

Eddie mouths a "thank you" before kissing the top of Steves head and rushing towards the bathroom.

"Look at me princess" Steve says, and although his voice is quiet, you can still hear how domineering it is.

"No" you mumble deeper into the cushion. The couch shifts next to you and you know Steve has moved closer. "I don't remember asking you a question" His hand grabs at your chin, pulling it away from the couch, but you still fight back. Pulling your chin out of his grasp roughly.

"What's your issue?" he asks, his tone a little bitter and it only fuels the fire inside of you.

You huff, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks and when Steve leans forward to swipe at them you turn away from him.

"Look at me" he says again, and his voice this time makes you shiver. You turn your head slightly, peaking at him with one eye through your hair.

"On your knees" He says shifting back into the couch, man spreading widely and chucking his book onto the floor next to him.

You know better now than to ignore his instruction so you reluctantly slide off of the couch and onto your knees between his legs, hands on your thighs and your head down. You can hear Eddie return to the living room, stopping in the doorway to watch whatever is about to happen unfold.

"Do good girls hit their daddies?" Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest. If it weren't for your sour mood your mouth would have watered at the sight of his biceps bulging in that stupid tight polo shirt he was always so partial with. You peek up at him through your lashes.

"You can talk" he confirms with a nod.

"No" you said quietly.

"What was that?" Steve said leaning forward, one hand cupping behind his ear.

"No, good girls don't hit-" you take a shaky breath. "Don't hit their daddies"

"No they don't- Eds come over" he said with the wave of his hand.

Eddie sat down next to Steve, arm instinctively going around the back of the couch behind Steves shoulders.

"Apologize" Steve orders.

"M'sorry for hitting you Eds" your voice has gone small. Smaller than before, it's high pitch and quiet while it wobbles with emotion.

"Thank you for apologizing baby" Eddie says with a soft smile.

"Now are you going to tell us what's going on in that little head of yours? Because I really don't think its a punishment you're after, but if you keep acting out like this it's exactly what you'll be getting"

You pout and look down, playing with your hands. "idontfeelgood" you say in a rush, lips barely moving to allow the words to slip past them.

"No mumbling baby" Eddie says.

You whine, rubbing your cheek against your shoulder. "I don't feel good" you finally say, eyes quickly shifting between the two boys before looking away from them again.

Steve leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. "What kind of not good baby?" He's gone into full parental mode now, all fun and games out the window now that he knows his baby girl isn't feeling well.

You shrug and look down.

"Is it your tummy?" Eddie asks, sitting up so hes closer to you and Steve.

"A little bit" you say with a nod.

"Okay that's good" he encourages "What else baby?"

You're embarrassed, feeling overly shy, the words somehow unable to come out, so instead you just point between your legs before shoving your hands between the plush of your thighs, trapping them there.

"Oh" Steve says, and you can hear the slight smile in his tone but don't look up. "You usually like when we play like that right? What's different about it this time?" he asks, genuinely curious, no teasing or taunting behind his words.

"Made me feel yucky"

"Made you feel yucky" Steve repeats with a nod. He slides off the couch and onto the floor in front of you, tilting your chin up so he can see your face. "Baby you know you can always safe word, or tell us when something isn't fun anymore"

Your eyes well up with tears and you try your hardest not to let the sob out that's bubbled in your chest, but fail, bottom lip wobbling and a small whimper slipping through.

"Baby" Eddie coos, sliding down onto the floor with the two of you.

"I'm sorrrrryyyy" you cry. "I j-just want-ted to be good" you shudder when you inhale and Steve can't stand to not be touching you any longer so he pulls you forward and into his lap. You immediately bury your face into the middle of his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you.

"Baby you've been so good" Steve he says reassuringly. "Would cumming make you feel better?" he asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back while Eddie pushes away your hair from your face, so he can catch a glimpse at you from where your cheek is pressed against Steves middle.

"I d-don't know" you whine, more tears falling down your cheeks. "Everything feels wr-oonnngg"

"Shhhh it's okay baby, you're okay" He pulls you up a little closer to him, rocking side to side while rubbing your back. "Do you want to call red on this?" he asks and you whine into him. You really don't want to disappoint them, but you also really don't like the way it's been making you feel.

"But what about you and daddy?" you say quietly, just barely leaning back from him to look between the two of them.

"It's only fun if we're all having fun princess" he reassures, peeling away pieces of hair that cling to your wet face. "S'always okay to safe word baby"

You look at him for a moment longer, glancing at Eddie who's hand rubs soothing circles on your thigh with his thumb.

"O-okay" you say with a nod.

"Yeah?" Eddie says, voice light and full with adoration. "You gotta say the word though baby"

You pout and whine, fresh tears forming but you still take a deep stuttering breath. "Red" you finally say while a new wave of sobs hit you.

"Good job baby" Eddie coos, hand coming up to rub your back while you shove your face back into Steves chest.

"Did so good baby, were so proud of you" Steve says while kissing your hairline. "What can we do to make you feel better?" he asks softly, watching Eddie with curious eyes as he gets up and runs up stairs.

You shrug, shamelessly wiping your nose against the fabric of his shirt, trying to steady your own breathing.

"You wiping your boogers on me sweet girl?" Steve teases, and it makes you giggle.

"Little bit" you admit, rubbing your nose into him more aggressively to tease him back.

"Dirty little girl, what are we going to do with you!" he squeezes at your waist and you squeal, finally feeling some sense of normality come back to you. The two of you jump at the sound of the tub turning on upstairs .

"I guess Eddie has an idea" you say with a smile, knowing already that the bath will be filled with bubbles, and your favourite scented candle will be lit on the countertop.

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championlvrs · 1 year

Text

“ i love you ”

ethan landry x fem!reader

summary - ethan saying “i love you” for the first time in the 2 year relationship

warning(s) - kissing

genre - fluff / sfw

a/n - hey y’all, so like this is my first ever story written on tumblr so bare w me 💀 ive never really been good at writing stories but its entertaining so yeah ! don’t make fun of me if its shit please 😞 and thank u ! enjoy ?? 🤞 and this is before the ghostface attacks + lowercase is intended !!

—

i decided to skip econ because i didn’t feel up to it. i’m watching my favorite show when suddenly i hear the door swing open, “ethan” i think to myself.

ethan and i were dorm mates and we have been dating for about 2 years now. i’ve never been happier. he’s so intelligent, funny, and his personality makes everything 100x better. i’ve been meaning to tell him that i love him but i don’t wanna move too fast.

i jump out of my bed and make my way to ethan, who i can tell was having a horrible day just by the look on his face and how he was just sitting on the sofa staring into outer space. “hi baby” i say while sitting down next to him, startling him, also attempting to hug him. he hugs me back tiredly and says, “hey” with a stiff and tired tone. “what’s wrong babe?” i ask him. “no nothings wrong, don’t worry about anything pumpkin.” “babe, i know you and i know something’s wrong, please just talk to me.”

he looks at me with teary eyes and starts to sob. i pull him into a hug and he puts his face into the crook of my neck. i start to play with his curls and say, “its okay, let it out, let it out.”

after a couple minutes of comforting, ethan starts to calm down. once he looks up at me, i take his face in my hands and ask him, “wanna talk about it?” he slightly shakes his head, “not really, just had a really bad day at econ.” “that’s okay my love, for the rest of the night, we can watch your favorite movies and order take out? how does that sound?”

he smiles at me and hugs me tight. “thank you so much y/n. you have no idea how much i care for you and id do anything for you. i love you.”

i love you. those three words kept repeating in my head. ethan landry just told me he loves me. my everything just told me he loves me. my love just told me he loves me. my was spinning.

ethan sees the look on my face and then says, “sorry if im moving too fast, i hope this doesn’t change anyth-“ i cut him off by kissing him. it was a soft, passionate kiss. we both pull away to breath, and then i say, “i love you too ethan landry.” he smiles and kisses me again.

after about 5 minutes, we both decide to organize, change into our matching pjs, order ethans favorite take out, and watch some of his favorite movies. once we both got tired, we went to ethans room and got into bed. we got comfortable in our positions, my head laying on ethans chest while his hand is in my hair. im about to fall asleep until i hear ethan start talking,

“thank you for this night y/n. i love you so much and just.. thank you for everything. you mean the world to me.”

i blush from that. “you don’t have to thank me for anything ethan, im your girlfriend, that’s what im here for my love. and i love you too ethan.” i say while quickly going to give him a peck on the lips. he smiles as i go back into my position and we doze off listening to each others soft breaths.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry fluff #scream 6 #jack champion #jack champion x reader #hes so fine #this is so cringe ughh

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 6 days

Note

More sillies because Adamsapple is <333

16. “…I didn’t drunk call you. It wasn’t a drunk call. I called you, perfectly sober.” 32. “You make me want to be a better version of myself.” 50. “I kinda wanna give myself a concussion so I can forget about you and not think about you twenty-four-seven.”

Thoughts/ideas: Adam and Angel are hanging out, maybe even playing truth or dare? Angel convinces Adam to call Lucifer and tell him how he feels. Adam agrees, but gets way more sappy than he ever intended, rambling about his favourite things about Luci (32 & 50). Adam gets embarrassed when he realises how long he's been talking and Lucifer hasn't responded to anything he said, so he hangs up. Since it was late and Luci knew he was hanging out with Angel, he assumed it was a drunk call (but he absolutely loved listening to it, it plays on repeat in his brain and is basically all he can think about, so he's disappointed that it probably isn't real). He brings up the call at some point during a conversation with Adam, and Adam admits that he wasn't drunk. Happy ending!!! Maybe they kiss??

Thriving off the casual holydust friendship so much, ever fic with them being sillies together is so good. They kind of match each other's energy, and are absolutely each other's wingman.

Indigo (*egg boy voice* hope you like it, boss!)

(*Sir Pentious voice* Fire the ship ray!)

Thank you you!! 😊

I had this half written and tumblr deleted it 😭😭 Sorry if it's not as good.

Adam clinked his shot glass with Angels, they downed their tequila. He grimaced at the taste. "Ahh, that shit fucking burns all the way down."

"That's liquor baby. Another round my good man." Angel called over the bartender who refilled their glasses. "Wanna play a game to pass the time? Truth or Dare?"

Adam made a face. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! It can be a fun way to get to know each other better. I'll even let you go first." Angel knocked back another shot.

Eh, why the hell not? This place was more of a bar than a club so dancing was out of the question. "Alright, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Adam smirked. "Is your chest fluff real or is it just stuffing?"

Angel gasped dramatically in mock offense. "How dare you, this is all me baby. Ou natural." He adjusted it to make his point. "Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

Angel smirked. "Are you in love with Lucifer?"

Adam choked on his drink, coughing as he looked at Angel. "What the fuck!?"

"Answer the question."

Adam felt his face grow warm. "Dare."

"You can't just change your answer like that! Haven't you ever played this with friends before?"

Adam frowned. "No." His only friends before Angel had been Lucifer back in Eden and Lute in heaven. You do the math.

Angel sighed. "Fine, I dare you to call him up, right now and tell him how you really feel."

Adams eyes went wide. "Jesus Angel!"

"Pick one."

Adam mulled it over. If he called Lucifer he would likely think he was just drunk. "If I'm going to do that, I'm gonna need another drink."

Angel smirked and called the bartender back over.

Lucifer was laying in bed, half asleep when his phone rang. He grumbled, who the fuck would be calling him at two in the morning!?

The caller ID read: ADAM <3 With a picture of the sinner, one where he had a genuine smile on his face and not flipping the bird.

Was he okay? Did he need help? Lucifer answered the phone. "Adam, you okay?"

"H-hey Luci, I'm fine. But not as fine as you are." Adam wanted to throw himself off a bridge. "Do you have any idea how h-handsome you are?"

What the fuck? "Are you drunk?"

Adam didn't answer the question, afraid he'd lose his nerve. "You make me want to be a better version of myself. Your kindness is infectious like your smile." Adam was sure his face was bright red. He was so in love with the short King it wasn't funny. "Hell, you're stuck in my head all the time. I kinda want to give myself a concussion so I can forget about you and not think about you 24/7. You plague my every waking thought."

Lucifer couldn't keep the smile off his face at Adams words. His heart thrumming with happiness. "Oh yeah? What do you like best about me?" He wanted to see where this would go.

Adam's heart was beating hard in his chest. "There's nothing I don't like about you, Luci. Your blonde hair, your mesmerizing eyes, your laugh, even all those ducks you make are endearing." Adam slapped Angel who was trying not to laugh.

Lucifer was quiet for a while just listening. Feeling bold he answered. "You have quite the captivating gaze yourself there, your eyes shine like gold." Adam had beautiful golden eyes, Lucifer hoped that Adam was drunk enough he wouldn't remember this.

Adam was sure he was going to burst into flames. "Oh, well, these eyes of gold only look at you, your majesty." Adam cringed, he never called Lucifer that.

Lucifer felt warm himself, he shifted in bed trying to ignore the stiffy he was getting. "Good to know. The feeling is mutual."

Adam's eyes went wide, his heart leaped.

He should stop before he makes a complete ass of himself. "Angel wants to do more shots, I'll see you tomorrow right?"

Oh Luci <3

"I wish we could have been together since the beginning." Adam was shocked at his own honesty. Fuck, that was way too far, Lucifer's silence told him that he had crossed a line.

Too real.

"Yeah, get home safe and have fun."

"Will do, Luci." Adam hung up, he hid his face in his hands. How fucking humiliating. He looked at Angel. "Are you fucking happy now?"

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd really do it. Proud of you buddy. Wanna keep playing?"

"I want to get drunk."

Lucifer stared at the phone, a bitter feeling in him. He knew Adam and Angel were out getting wasted. That was nothing more than a drink dial.

But oh, that didn't mean he didn't enjoy every moment. Adam singing his praises did things to him, drunk or not. The conversation replayed in his mind. He opened his phone to that beautiful picture of Adam, his other hand found it's way to the inside of his pajama pants.

He could pretend just for a night.

Adam groaned as he came down to breakfast the next morning. He had a wicked hangover, too much tequila in one night. Lucky he didn't puke.

When he walked into the kitchen he froze when he saw Lucifer making pancakes. Play it cool Adam, play it cool. He told himself. With a deep breath, he entered all the way and grabbed orange juice from the fridge. "Morning." He greeted, not looking at the king.

"Good morning, Adam. Pancake?"

"Sure." Adam sat down with his juice as he waited for his breakfast. This felt awkward.

When Lucifer handed him his plate, he dug in. They were both soft and crispy. "So, uh, how was your time out last night?"

"Good. Until Angel started a fight at the pool table." God they got so drunk last night.

"He okay?"

"Oh yeah, that prick fucked around and found out." Adam laughed at the memory. Stupid asshole, should have kept his hands to himself.

Lucifer was gonna risk it. "Do you remember calling me last night?"

Adam froze, okay bringing this up already. "Yeah...." No point in denying it.

"Okay, cause I think you drunk dialed me."

Adam blinked. This could be an easy way out. Pretend he only remembers calling Lucifer but not what he said. But.... "....I didn't drunk call you. I called you perfectly sober." He admitted, face flaring before he added. "I had only had three shots by then, I wasn't drunk."

"You weren't?" Hope filled Lucifer's insides.

Adam looked away. "No."

"Why'd you call saying all those things? Did you mean them?"

Damn you Angel. "Angel and I were playing truth or dare..... He dared me to call you about how I feel." Adam wished the ground would swallow him whole. He braces himself for the rejection that was sure to come.

Adam felt a hand on his chin turn his face to the side. "Wha-" He was silenced by soft lips on his, his golden wide as he saw Lucifer's half lidded and soft. Adam let his eyes slip shut and returned the kiss, his heart fluttered.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do that." Lucifer said with a smile. "Maybe, we can go to dinner tonight and you can tell more about what you like about me?~" He flirted, enjoying Adams flustered face.

"Oh very fun-, Luci your pancakes!"

"Shit!"

#adamsapple #lucifer x adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #ask

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dededaio · 9 months

Text

the reason a lot of people largely unfamiliar with modern kirby go "forgotten land did X thing for the first time in kirby, it's so cool", even if it's often not the case, is not only because they probably barely played kirby, but also because forgotten land puts most of the series best qualities at the forefront the way no other game did.

big post follows where i ramble with comparisons to other games while highlighting what i think forgotten land did right.

first of all, it's very upfront about it's theming. and it's very important in how it stands out.

i ADORE kirby triple deluxe, don't get me wrong. and I LOVE the fairy tale theming of the game, but if you weren't *aware* that this is what the game goes for, it can easily fly over your head.

kirby is inherently whimsical series, so a lot of fairy tale-isms in that game don't stand out nearly as much as it was probably intended. it could've been easily remedied if the game framed itself as a "fairy tale" more rather than them keeping this subtle. similar to how classic paper mario games had storybook intros, for example.

star allies similarly has a big theme about friendship but due to various factors, it feels superficial at best or unnoticeable at worst. because a lot of aspects that theoretically could make it work are not highlighted enough.

if you don't have prior context of other games, it doesn't come across as this game celebrates friendships kirby acquired over the past 25 years of the franchise's existence and more like he's casually brainwashing them for his own cause.

i understand that with big amount of playable characters you can't possibly make unique animations for every single one of them to sell you on this idea, but if you can't handle the scope, then don't go for said scope.

jambandra cult's dark parallels to the franchise's main cast are likewise not highlighted enough because most of it is not shown via gameplay or cutscenes but through easy to miss pause screen text.

robobot and now forgotten land are partially so loved because it's very clear what's the overall theming of the game and it's stages is. in robobot it's funny robots, capitalism, industrialism, colonization. in forgotten land it's memories, responsibilities, nature, abandoned civilizations. it's not me just reaching, game is called "forgotten land" and part of leon's motivation (albeit when he was under id-f86's influence) is his frustration with being left behind by the former leading civilization of the planet, aka them up and leaving their responsibilities behind.

forgotten land stands so much to people because it gives it damn ALL to stand out by making every facet of itself being connected to underlying themes the game presents.

second, game goes out of it's way to SHOW the player what kirby is all about. it's not shying away from exposing the casual player to lore or the importance of post-game content. instead of only hinting that all of this stuff might be important, game demonstratively nudges you into the right direction, whether you were initially interested or not.

"the lore" is tied to the main secondary collectible. a gameplay element. if person playing the game is invested to 100% it, they will most likely try to collect them all and read all of the flavor text in the process. likewise, even if player is not interested in 100%-ing the game, they might be hooked by the flavor text itself and be interested what it has to say about other copy abilities, characters, objects.

previous modern kirby games didn't try to make you feel engaged with the lore the same way. sure, there were some benefits of the pause screens that FL can't replicate (we lost the classic type of flavor text where the final boss directly addresses Kirby and we hear their thoughts), but it's a small loss in grand scheme of things.

simply pausing the game to read the flavor text is not stimulating the same way as directly working to get it. it becomes more intriguing this way, RNG element ironically making it even more special when a figurine with especially juicy lore pops up.

similarly, post-game content was made explicitly all "canon" in FL. not entirely new concept, we had similar cases in "revenge of the king" in super star ultra and "heroes in another dimension" in star allies, but FL is the first game that actively encourages you to do more stuff after you did the main story. it literally baits you with the "to be continued" screen after the credits.

not only it helps the game to beat "it's short!" allegations by making it clear that even besides main story there's plenty of stuff to sink your teeth into, it also simplifies the importance of post-game modes too. there is no "what if scenario" or "parallel story" bullcrap. it's straightforward. "isolated isles" picks up where main story left off, "ultimate cup z" picks up where "isolated isles" left off.

and the last, but certainly not least, the characterization.

i will argue that forgotten land is the best kirby game since kirby 64 in terms of giving personality to the main cast. some people accused elfilin of being a little bland, and admittedly his personality is not as fun as, say, magolor or susie, but he's still likeable and fleshed out in his own way. we actually get a lot more dialogue from him than you might expect, he has a lot to say in the waddle dee town and he comments about various locales on the world map, even ones where he would be kidnapped during the main story.

likewise, bandana dee, meta knight and king dedede all got their moments to shine. this partially ties to flavor text being easily accessible, but due to said flavor text no longer being tied to SIMPLY boss fights, it means that their characterizations and side-plots can be expanded upon further. making their roles in the story feel more thought out than it might come across otherwise.

and even outside of that, each of them gets a shining moment that shows what are they all about. meta knight casually challenges kirby on a training duel and gives his all. the first fight we have with meta knight where he's not under some sort of mind control since squeak squad. bandana dee constantly reminds us that he's very much willing to help us and canonically accompanies us through out entire adventure even if we don't take him with us. king dedede, while brainwashed for majority of the game, gets to do single coolest and selfless act through his entire history of existence, finally putting final nail in the coffin of "dedede is a villain" crap.

forgotten land might not be the first game to do any of the things i just mentioned, but the presentation means EVERYTHING. forgotten land impressed a lot of people, left a strong impact, precisely because it had way better presentation than any kirby game that came before it. this is precisely why it resonated so much with so many different people and will continue to do so.

#kirby and the forgotten land #kirby #long post

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