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virgincels · 4 months

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BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it��s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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quietblueriver · 9 days

Text

**Update: now 1k longer, edited, and with two additional nights' worth of obsessive CR thoughts. Much like how to hit post/publish without going back to change a million things, I have yet to figure out the line between rb and "so different it deserves a new post" and maybe never will!

Also now on AO3.

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Three cheers for the surprisingly lengthy, emotionally complex conversation in Ep. 96. Still thinking about that devastating rooftop moment, and never not thinking about Imogen Temult, so here's this, in which Imogen visits her favorite place without her favorite person, gets a surprise visitor, and has some thoughts about Laudna and their future. Some light spoilers for Ep. 96.

There was a cool breeze ruffling the fabric of her skirt against the skin of her leg, and Imogen took a moment to bask, eyes closed, face turned up to the warmth of the sun. When she blinked open her eyes, she found exactly what she expected: the old oak that took up a corner of the sprawling yard, a faded-white bench swing hanging from one sturdy branch; the little shelter for firewood, empty at the moment, a green wheelbarrow parked just beside it; the raised garden beds bursting with color that framed a pathway to the porch steps where she sat. The most familiar place she had never been.

Home.

“Of course,” she breathed out. Her mind’s decision to bring her here was at once almost unbearably cruel and a kindness she was surprised she could grant herself, and tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her palms over the smooth, dark-stained wood of the step next to her hip.

The sound of her own voice made her realize exactly how quiet the world around her was–no birds chirping, empty hitching posts, bees gone from the thriving patch of wildflowers. The house behind her waited still and free of the whistle of the kettle and shuffle of stockinged feet, missing the absent-minded humming and chorus of mundane thoughts that made Imogen feel most at home.

“Of course,” she said again, a little louder and a lot more resigned.

It didn’t seem right, that the chasm in Imogen’s stomach, already bottomless, could somehow grow deeper, but that was what was happening, her mind returning to Laudna’s skin under her lips on that rooftop, Laudna’s body wrapped in blankets and shifting quietly away from Imogen.

She felt like a coward, letting her go again, flying back through that window, turning her own body into itself in bed. She could’ve stayed, should’ve stayed, should’ve pushed. But then, it was Laudna’s choice. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Giving Laudna the choice, the control, the autonomy she’d had taken from her for so long?

This wasn’t the first time she’d prepared herself to lose Laudna. She had watched FCG, well-intentioned, try to force her back to them at Whitestone. She had understood, even as she’d wanted to kill them a little. But when it was her turn, Imogen made sure Laudna knew it was her choice and that Imogen would never try to take that from her. It was still true. Imogen loved Laudna far too much to try to force her hand.

Now, though. Now there was the green ghost of Delilah Briarwood, sharp voice chasing Laudna’s like a wolf after its prey. Closer and closer and closer.

It felt less and less like giving Laudna a choice and more and more like leaving her to be eaten. Imogen worried, always, about what that bitch was saying to Laudna, what she was doing to Laudna. She worried about how much influence she had and about whether Laudna could see it.

But then Laudna had been the one to say that she didn’t know if there was much point in distinguishing between them anymore.

That was it for Imogen. It was one thing if Laudna couldn’t see Delilah, couldn’t understand that her choices might not be fully her own. But Laudna knew. Laudna knew she wasn’t alone, knew Delilah was more than just a passenger, and Imogen had done all she could to be clear about Delilah’s lies and Laudna’s own power, to offer Laudna perspective on who she was to Imogen without Delilah.

And with all of that, she had made her choice. Imogen didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how Laudna could see Delilah for what she was, for what she wanted, and still believe she could control her, still choose to try. Then again, of course she didn’t. It was so fucking messy and it had been for longer than Imogen had been alive, and anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice to understand; it was her choice to respect.

She could do that. It had broken her, was still breaking her, but she would always, always respect what Laudna chose for herself. She had nodded, cracked open on that rooftop. She had accepted what she heard and what it meant, for Laudna and for her and for the future she had thought they both wanted.

I’m going to miss our little cottage, though.

She hadn’t meant it as a shot. It was grief over something she thought, hoped, Laudna might be grieving, too. It’s not like Imogen thought Laudna’s decision had been easy.

Still, she hadn’t expected the look she received in return, the surprised, broken stare, the shaking sob and flood of ichor that Laudna tried to stem. It was like Laudna hadn’t realized that their future was there to lose. Maybe she hadn’t. Laudna never did seem to understand how much Imogen loved her, no matter how clear Imogen tried to make it. Maybe she’d heard Imogen’s very real dreams as passing thoughts. Maybe Imogen’s concession of their future had been the first time Laudna had seen it clearly.

Or maybe things were right fucked up, and Laudna needed to cry about it.

Either way, Imogen wasn’t fool enough to expect that Laudna’s possible moment of comprehension would change anything. Sure, she’d sounded different with the Hells, less like she was expecting death, a dead end, and more like she wanted to take back control, but Laudna also knew the rest of the Hells were less likely to respect her choices than Imogen, that any hint of her willingness to let Delilah take control, even on a suicide mission, might lead them to push Laudna away. Imogen had no doubt that Laudna loved her, had no doubt, really, that if she was right about Laudna’s realization that it meant something, but Imogen wasn’t hanging her hope on that.

Laudna had made her choice.

“So,” she said aloud, voice soft as she took in the green grass stretched before her, the fence line separating their cottage from the forest, Laudna’s thriving tomatoes and okra, supported in their little cages. “Just me then.”

And wasn’t that a dangerous realization.

Because Imogen’s whole life was about control. Her mind, her body, her emotions, she knew all of them needed to be held tightly, that letting go meant danger for anyone around her. But here, now, all alone? The small, steady voice of reason inside of her lost to the reality of her isolation. “Just me,” she whispered, and in a snap, her scars burned, light flashing under and around her skin, tears falling hot down her cheeks. A storm of fear and anger and desperation and hurt let loose. The bursts of lightning that crackled around her did not set the house on fire. She might be alone, but she could never, would never, hurt what was theirs.

Instead, she stood, still burning, and walked to the top of the stairs, staring at the post that ran from the tin roof through the floor of the porch. She considered, watched little bolts strike out harmlessly at the porch and the railing.

She’d been six years old the first time she wrecked the cleaning station in the barn, tiny, furious body pushing buckets and tack and brushes, flipping the table in a show of strength that followed her for years through drunken stories from the other stable hands. At her daddy’s hard order, she had stomped her way to her room, slamming the door with tears streaming down her face.

Imogen’s daddy hadn’t understood a lot of things about her, but he’d understood her that night. Relvin, who had all of her anger and none of her magic, had come to get her from her room and taken her to the back of the old storage barn, where he’d used a rafter to hang a densely packed sack of hay at her height. He’d taken her hand, still small enough to fit fully in his, and shown her how to make a fist.

Now, just like he’d taught her, she curled her scarred fingers and folded her thumb across the outside, squared up to a cut of wood that was absolutely going to win this fight, and swung as hard as she could. Sure enough, with a grunt and a flash of pain, Imogen pulled back to find her knuckles bloodied and the wood smeared with dark red but as solid as ever. She contemplated her unblemished right hand, and it was only the sound of rustling grass that stopped her from another round.

Her head shot up and toward the corner of the house and the source of the noise. She was in her own mind, her own dream, but that didn’t mean shit, really. She wiped at her eyes, hissing at the pain and glad for it and for the blood now surely on her cheeks, and she let the heat crackle the air around her. She was ready and out of patience for any bullshit. No matter the evidence of her weakness now marring the wood next to her, this place was sacred, and she was going to be pissed if somebody had come here to fight.

Imogen relaxed, air cooling, as she took in the figure that loped toward her. He was horrifying, a mass of patchy dark hair and exposed bone, dripping ichor and torn flesh. His eyes glowed and his deadly teeth showed through his half-torn jaw. As Imogen walked down the steps to wait, she felt deep fondness at the wagging tail and lolling tongue that felt so incongruous to the rest of the hellbeast. Fun scary.

“Hey, baby boy,” she said affectionately as he got closer, and his tail wagged harder at her voice. She leaned forward when he made it to her, cupping his face to scratch behind his jaw, wincing at the pain in her hand. His fur was mostly intact under her fingers, although the jaw itself was a blend of bone and ichor and random thin patches of hair against Imogen’s palms. “What’re you doin’ here?”

As if in answer, he pulled back and whined, licked at her cuts and the forming bruise, the familiar sticky, black liquid cooling and covering the split skin.

“I’m okay,” she reassured, aware that even beyond the evidence of violence, the intermittent purple static around her body probably wasn’t particularly convincing. She was right, it seemed–the tilt of his head was skeptical, and he huffed at her loudly, but his eyes were fond. Imogen saw Laudna in him so clearly in that moment that she lost her breath for a second.

“Fuck.”

Another whine, another lick, and Imogen conceded the point. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’m not doin’ so good. You come all this way just to check up on me?”

He moved forward and pressed his head into her thighs, and she scratched at the parts of his back and ribs that she could, stopping when she noticed the pain in her hand was gone. Flexing, she pulled it back to look more closely, wiping the blood and ichor off carelessly on her shorts. Sure enough, the skin was healed, and Caviar was staring at her, tongue hanging from the open side of his mouth.

She could’ve healed it herself. This was her mind, after all, and it wasn’t one of those dreams where she felt like a passenger. She could’ve stopped the pain entirely, stopped it before it ever started. She hadn’t.

Not as herself, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. It only made sense that the kindest, gentlest parts of herself would manifest this way. It had been Laudna who taught her how to love herself, and it was Laudna she wanted with her now.

Big eyes blinked up at her, and just like the cottage, just like her knuckles, Caviar’s presence was a welcome wound, and one she’d inflicted on herself.

Imogen fought a sob, only half successfully, and Caviar whined again. “Kinda fucked up, sweet thing,” she rasped. A drop of ichor fell from his tongue to the packed dirt in front of the stairs. She wiped her eyes again and sighed, reaching down to smooth the hair between his eyes with her thumb. “How about a little walk in the garden, yeah? And then maybe a snack?”

It took a minute to pull off her boots, toss them a little carelessly on the uncharacteristically empty shelf inside the door. She had nothing to hang on the shiny, empty brass hooks that waited above it, and she didn’t dwell, following Caviar through the living room to the little kitchen in the back. The kettle rested on the stove, and she filled it and set it to boil before moving to the shelves on the opposite wall.

“Okay, Cavvy. Let’s see what we’ve got, hmm?”

There was a glass jar filled with cookies that Imogen knew were for Cav; they were fresh, and they smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon. He scarfed down two happily while she found the tea leaves. She turned to the shelves near the window where she knew her favorite mug was waiting for her next to Laudna’s. Her hand fell back to her side as she took them in, her mug and Laudna’s and the small collection of others, all in a neat and tidy line with their rims up. Imogen stared until the water boiled and the kettle whistled, stared until Caviar bumped her leg.

She put a hand absently on his head, felt bone under her ring and pinky fingers. “Your mama did that,” she said evenly, blinking and looking down at him. “This is our house.” He pressed up into her hand, and she scratched obligingly. “This is our house.”

She ignored her own mug and pulled Laudna’s down, setting it on the table and filling the strainer in the yellow ceramic teapot. She poured the water and waited for the leaves to steep and then sipped her tea in silence as Caviar settled by her feet. A blue tea towel embroidered with a small white oleander in the corner rested over the top of one chair, smudged with orange-tinted batter and smelling of cinnamon.

Imogen never had been a very good baker.

“I think Orym was lyin’ to her.”

Caviar’s head rested on Imogen’s thigh, just above her knee, as she lay with her arms spread wide on the worn blue and gray rug in their living room. He lifted it slightly at her words, and she brought a hand down to finger the tip of his good ear, the one without a chunk missing, the way that he liked.

“I know he loves her,” she assured, and Caviar pushed himself up on his massive paws and shifted so that his body was pressed into hers, Imogen’s arm resting on his surprisingly dry, largely exposed ribs. “I don’t mean that. I just,” she traced bone with her index finger, staring at the wicker basket full of yarn beside the chair that Laudna favored, a cousin to the one at Zhudanna’s, “I heard them talkin’ about her, about trust, and I think Orym…He knows Delilah won’t let him close if she doesn’t trust him. He knows she’s listnin’ whenever she can. It’s about Delilah. Always fuckin’ Delilah.”

She rolled onto her side, moving her arm so she could rest her head on her bicep and curling the other across Cav’s body. He huffed out a sigh, breath a harsher reminder of death than his mother’s, decomposition to her sweet decay. Imogen didn’t mind it.

“He doesn’t wanna hurt Laudna.” Goosebumps formed where his cold body made contact with the exposed skin of her legs. “But he will.”

A low growl started in Caviar’s chest and Imogen made a soothing noise, noticed a stray sock under Laudna’s chair. “I know, baby. You’re a good boy.”

He was a good boy. He’d come as Delilah gained a better foothold, Imogen knew, a manifestation of Laudna’s anger and fear and hurt and power, her desire to protect.

And maybe Laudna saw him as further evidence of Delilah’s power and usefulness but Imogen knew better. Delilah would protect them only as much as it benefitted her, and it was a complicated balance when weighed against the need for Laudna to give her as little trouble as possible, sure, but one that definitely would’ve left at least a few of the Hells dead and buried several times over.

There was no calculation for Laudna. Caviar sprang readily, her body literally tearing itself open to be of use, and he snarled and snapped for the people Laudna loved. He was Laudna’s beast.

His hackles now were built from Imogen, from love and a desire to protect that Laudna did not often extend to herself. She liked the look of it on him. The growl continued, a comforting rumble, as Imogen spelled Laudna’s name against his fur. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, but Caviar made the decision for her, interrupting her carpet brooding and disappearing around the corner to the staircase after a pointed look back at her. She followed, resigned, but stopped halfway there, eyes stuck on the pair of boots next to her own and the one now-occupied brass hook. She knew them, boots black and worn and scarf maroon and soft, big enough to use as a shawl if she wanted, Laudna’s frame so small it wrapped around her easily. She took a half-step toward them but at the impatient bark from upstairs, she tore herself away and started to climb.

He was waiting for her by Laudna’s bedside table, which was exactly as it should be–a paperback novel, spine bent so many times the title was hardly legible between the yellowed cracks, sat waiting next to another wicker basket, this one containing an embroidery hoop and some fabric. A small pin cushion peeked out of the top, clearly custom-made, the glinting metal protruding from the stuffed rat skull making Pate look even more disturbing than usual.

A white quilt with an intricate pattern of overlapping rings covered the bed, the green and gold and blue and purple striking but not garish. She sat on her side, smoothed a hand over the fabric, felt the dips and ridges of the stitches in the pattern. Caviar’s deadly claws clicked against the wood as he made his way to her, and she bit her lip for a minute before scooting over onto Laudna’s side, breathing in the smell of her on the pillow and patting the bed next to her. With menacing grace, Caviar joined her and spun once before settling, nose tucked under his tail, the curve of his spine just touching Imogen’s torso.

She watched the rise and fall of his body, eyes moving across the ragged realities of him. A hound of ill omen, and he looked like one. He was fierce and violent, a weapon, but Laudna, who knew what it was to be used and feared, who didn’t seem to be able to see him fully as herself, had given him a name, opened her chest for him and fussed over him and, at one point, asked Imogen whether putting him in a sweater would be ��undignified.”

“Your mama’s ridiculous,” she said quietly, gratified when he remained still and unbothered. “I’m very in love with her.” A beat, her palm scrunching the quilt at her side. “I thought she knew, y’know? I thought she heard me when I…”

She flattened the fabric again, traced one of the rings with two fingers and thought again of Laudna’s face on that rooftop. What had she thought Imogen meant all those times? What had she meant when she said Imogen could have this? That they could have this?

She turned her head, ear against Laudna’s pillow, and stared at her own bedside table. It didn’t have anything on it aside from a small lantern, but it wouldn’t, would it? Laudna would hand her the book, and Imogen would read aloud as she worked on whatever project or rested her head on Imogen’s stomach.

The chasm widened this time, maybe finally out of depth to reach, and its growth brought along the urge to reach over and shatter the lantern. Instead she turned her head to the other side, took in Laudna’s dresser pushed under the window, the pitcher and glasses, the glazed speckled bowl full of feathers and small bones, and a lonely sock waiting for its pair forgotten under Laudna’s wingback.

“Real subtle,” she said to herself, less quiet than she had been with the annoyance seeping in, because what the fuck was she supposed to do about it anyway? Caviar remained undisturbed.

Rolling her eyes, Imogen took a few deep breaths and took stock. She very well might wreck herself again, thinking about how she couldn’t have this, trying to understand why. On the other hand, she was laying in an imaginary bed in an imaginary cottage next to an imaginary version of the monster that sometimes jumped out of her girlfriend’s chest, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave this place or the little pieces of Laudna in it, so it seemed more likely than not that the wreck had never actually stopped.

She did not fight the turn from that thought back to Laudna on the roof.

I’m a dead end. Laudna had said that phrase several times in the last few weeks, and Imogen hated it, scoffed at it every time, but she should’ve understood sooner that nobody calling herself a dead end really believed she had choices. Not real ones, anyway.

The only thing that was certain for Laudna was Delilah, and at the root of it all, she believed her choice was Delilah or nothing.

And Imogen had been clear about how she felt about Delilah.

You told me once that you hate the idea of her watching you, watching us. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed?

She hadn’t heard that question for what it was: Can you really love me this way?

Imogen shifted on the bed, hot and anxious, and Caviar whined lowly, displeased at the movement. She ran a hand through the fur at his shoulder and then stood, pacing the space between the bed and dresser.

Laudna, shaking and unable to believe that Delilah had chosen her for a reason. Laudna, crying slow, black tears as Imogen told her she hated that Delilah was there, watching them, when just a few minutes before Laudna had admitted she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Delilah any longer.

Imogen had let this go because she thought Laudna had made her choice, had all the information and chose her own path, and Imogen didn’t want to try to take that, but she also should’ve known that for Laudna it hadn’t felt like a real choice.

“It’s not takin’ her choice to help her understand that she has one.” Her voice was an agitated murmur, and she heard the shift of Caviar’s body on the bed, saw that he had uncurled and was watching her, still mostly relaxed but attentive.

Fuck. Fuck. Of course Laudna couldn’t imagine their future, because she couldn’t imagine herself without Delilah, and Imogen hated her, openly and vocally and with all her heart. Delilah, who was there all the time, who had been there for thirty years, and for most of that had been Laudna’s only constant, her only company, her only protector. Delilah, who’d had all the time in the world to convince Laudna that she should be grateful to have her, that she was alive only because Delilah let her be, that she was walking around purely on the luck of the draw.

Of course she thought her value was Delilah, thought the best she could do would be to try to take as much of Delilah’s power in service to her friends, to Imogen, as she could, even if it meant she herself would disappear. Imogen knew Delilah must love that, must love Laudna’s thoughts about self-sacrifice. The bitch.

A growl issued from the bed, and Imogen turned again to the hound, whose eyes were on her, his body now in a rigid, ready line and his lip raised in a snarl. Sighing, Imogen sat, offering her hand for him to sniff.

“I know. I know. I hate it, too.” The growling slowed although he remained tense, ready, teeth glinting. “I don’t think this is somethin’ we can fix on our own, baby. We can’t scare her away from your mama.”

But she had to go. Or, they had to give Laudna the option, a real option, to live without her, so that she felt like the choices in front of her were more than just smoke and mirrors to Delilah’s stone.

“But we’ve got help, don’t we?” She kept her voice gentle and flipped her hand slowly until his cold nose was moving along her palm. “Lots of people who love your mama. And lots of people who hate that woman.”

No matter Orym’s fears, Imogen knew Fearne had spoken for all of them when she said they’d kill Delilah as many times as it took. They just had to figure out how.

Imogen could work on that.

Well.

There were some things they had to do first, but if they survived Predathos, surely the Tempest, surely all of those people at Whitestone who hated Delilah so much, would jump at the chance to help get rid of her for good. Lord Percival was kind of a dick, but Lady Vex’ahlia seemed to have him under control, and if they couldn't help, they had to know people. Someone could help, and Imogen would absolutely fucking leverage Ruidus and Predathos and everything the Bells had done and sacrificed to get what they needed.

They could make a plan, and Laudna could decide how she wanted to live her life. Yeah, it would hurt badly for Laudna to choose Delilah again, but at least then she and Laudna could both be sure it was a real choice. Laudna was worth the risk. Always.

In the meantime, Imogen could hold onto this for the both of them. She wanted this, and she was ready to fight for it if Laudna wanted it, too. The spark of hope she'd tried to snuff out earlier flared back to life, and she let herself start to believe that Laudna did want it, would want it, would fight right beside her if she believed it could be real. Maybe she just needed a little hope too. Imogen could share.

Caviar licked at her, and she let him, moving to lie back down as he moved away from the edge of the bed and relaxed a little.

She put a hand on one of his front paws, and he raised it up, laying it over her arm, the rough pads scraping her skin. “We’re gonna try this again, okay? I’m gonna try this again.” Hard bone and wet sinew pressed against the inside of her elbow as he lay his head and neck over her, a comforting weight. “For Laudna.”

A bird chirped happily outside their window, and Imogen closed her eyes.

She woke in their bed, still facing away, still curled into herself, and she turned immediately, reached out to Laudna as she stared at the sharp point of her shoulder and the plane of her back.

Laudna?

The response was immediate, concerned. Imogen? Are you alright?

I love you.

Laudna turned, and Imogen watched her eyes take her in, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that made Imogen itch to reach out and soothe her.

When their eyes met, Imogen put a hand between them.

I love you so much. No matter what. Even if she’s with you forever, with us forever, I don’t care. I want you, okay? If you want that, want me, I’m yours.

She was crying, dark stains moving down pale cheeks, and she was still bundled into herself, small and in her own blankets. Imogen eyed her hand between them and thought about choice.

I…I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s something you want.

Nearly immediately, Laudna’s hand was out of her blankets and on Imogen's, cold and perfect.

It is. It is. I…I thought you would want space. After…

Imogen shifted so that their fingers laced, traced her thumb over the skin at Laudna's wrist.

I don’t want space from you, darlin’. I want…

She stopped because it wasn’t the time for a full conversation, but she shifted closer, lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Laudna’s, did it again when she heard Laudna’s small sound of relief. She laced their fingers again, thumb over knuckles this time, and moved closer still, until their feet were nearly touching, sighed happily when a cold ankle moved to rest on hers.

Caviar came to visit in my dream.

Oh? Laudna lifted her eyes from where they’d been fixed on their joined hands. Tell me about it?

We went explorin’, she offered, and started with Laudna’s garden.

#imodna #imodna fic #imogen temult #southerngothic

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cityzenshark · 16 days

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Out of curiousity, what were your thoughts on Rescue Bots? I can’t speak for RBA, but I feel like Rescue Bots has been better written and more consistent in writing/characterisation than most TF shows. Earthspark seemed to he going in the right direction but fell flat comparison/tried to do much too quickly/zigzag between ‘made for kids’ and ‘dark and gritty’

I can't say much about Rescue Bots either because I don't watch it. However, judging from some snippets I've seen and this fanfic series (I highly recommend it if you want a Dreadwing lives!AU), RB handled itself much better than Earthspark because they know the limits of their premise. ES doesn't seem to properly explore their own premise, forces 'mature' themes into its story until it strays from its main theme.

Long elaborations ahead. I didn't expect to type this much...

Like most existing shows, the Rescue Bots are a group of Cybertronians who landed on Earth. What differentiates them from the usual premise is that they're a neutral party. The story is set on an isolated island and community, naturally sparing it from the grittiness of TF Prime. If 'fitting in' was a recurring theme at one point, I doubt they have much to worry about because locals of the island know Cybertronians as helpful aliens doing their service, not murder machines who hate humanity and Earth. The war was kept well hidden from humanity, too.

ES has a great premise already. A new subspecies of Transformers born on Earth and into a recently post-war era gets adopted by a human family.

However I hardly see anything about family bonding, let alone proper family dynamics. It's like the writers had this one dimensional view of how a good family works and tries to pass it of as relatable.

Sometimes it also had this odd feeling of "You must do [insert serious subject] like this and only like this. Shame on you if you do it other ways." It's as if they don't allow the audience to decide for themselves and it'll give off the wrong impression. Kids who do catch it will likely get annoyed.

Judging from ES's premise, I thought the main goal of the story was the Terrans finding their place on Earth as a new native race; the main obstacle being the aftereffects of war with Cybertronians disrupting the Terrans understandings about themselves meanwhile Mandroid represents humanity's scars caused by Cybertronians. It sounds mature enough for kids to understand, like "Avatar" cartoons and "His Dark Materials" books.

Except the show doesn't make an effort for their mature topics to feel serious. They plopped them out of the blue, resolved it in a weird way or forgotten about it, and called it a day. There's no eventuality or continuations. It's forgetful. "Power of Family" later changed to "Power of the Chosen Ones". Every member of the family agrees to everything each other does with no real trouble. So much for "finding what it means to be family", huh?

TLDR; Rescue Bots had better writing because the story explored the entirety of its limited premise meanwhile EarthSpark has potentials with its premise but their lack of logic, exploration and respect to their own lore and main cast messes up the story delivery and message, especially regarding topics that resonate in real life.

Edit: Most importantly, RB treats their main characters as main characters. A non-viewer like me can distinguish who's who. The police car, the helicopter, the firetruck who looks done with everything, the chief and his son. ES kept discarding the Terrans & Maltos that viewers care more about side characters who already had their limelight elsewhere. I'm neutral about the Terrans because of how they appear as arrogant and obnoxious newbies, not overconfident and naive youngsters.

#transformers #earthspark #transformers earthspark #tfes #transformers rescue bots #rescue bots #macaddam

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desudog · 4 months

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please dont start discourse on this post its just for data this is not the place to start anything please just make your own post

for once im gonna actually say please do rb this for a better data set, id like to get this outside of my general circle so i have more reliable data and diversity of data!

(also, please leave minimal tags or comments, please do not actively sway data that way! i want truthful answers.)

not even 10 mins later edit: the yes answers are fucked up i do notice. i dont want to remake this post bc people have already began voting. there should be another answer for "yes i do experence it, no i dont consider it akin to being trans, no i dont mind if someone else does call it that" and a reverse version as well.

akin =/= the exact same as- im asking if you would attack someone for saying, for example, comparing their transgender experience to any other form of identity incongruence experience

*i ran out of room but this option includes the standing that "it cant be helped that someone feels that way, but they should not under any circumstance attempt to alleviate that dysphoria" and it also includes the standpoint that "it cant be helped they feel that way, but they should feel ashamed / be aware theyre wrong for existing that way"

**this answer does not indicate action. just the way you internally process the feeling / describe it

this post is not affiliated with any communities or labels outside of the ones used. i know there's like 17 different label communities fighting massive wars about concepts connected to this- this is about a general concept, not the place to randomly blurt out which one you think is most righteous.

you do not have to be transgender or experience dysphoria or other forms of incongruence to vote on this

#i already made a poll like this one but i think i deleted that blog and it didnt have many options #transgender #polls #tumblr polls #lgbt polls

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bluejelly8 · 8 months

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so i am sobbing uncontrollably after finishing Midnight Mass and I'm really glad i didn't see it sooner. Its very good but i was not in the place to see it or process it then and im still not sure if i am now, but i am typing this in tears because god fucking dammit I have lived pieces of that show.

little pieces, tiny pieces, but those pieces changed and defined so much of my life and in many ways still do.

For starters, Riley and I share a name and an attitude with the church. I have had the same conversation he had with his father at the beginning of the show many, many, times. I have been made to sit through my own confirmation and see the entire congregation look over at me as i sat in the pew because my fucking name was still in the hand out listing the confirmation candidates. My best friend got confirmed to appease her parents, but i was stubborn and i wouldnt on principle. That doesnt really matter and i dont want to ramble, but needless to say, going into this show i knew it would be emotionally heavy for me for that reason.

I have met so many people like Bev in my life. I have sat in churches just like St. Patricks and I know that is the point but Flanagan makes it well. I watched Riley sit back for eucharist and i watched the camera zoom in on his face and the empty pews behind him. I know that feeling. I know that feeling of isolation and loneliness in a place where supposedly you are never alone. Because god is in all his churches.

And i was so scared watching this show that i would watch him find faith where i have failed to. I have been burned so, so, so many times by atheist characters converting and its a celebration and 'thank god they found god!' and the relief i felt as he burned away on that boat I cannot describe. I dont honestly think i can describe how this show has made me feel at all, but i am still crying.

Hearing Erin's speech at the end. Watching Hassan and Ali pray on the beach, one last time. Seeing everyone gather in the square to sing, one last time. To praise their god one last time, to pray for his mercy and forgiveness and to know that they would be granted it. To watch John and Mildred hold their baby. To see that bitch Bev try to dig a hole in the beach only to die screaming and in agony. She is the only one who screamed.

I dont really know where im going with this, sort of just train of consciousness-ing this i guess. But i think there was something really cathartic in this for me and nothing nothing has left me this shattered yet whole before.

im not one to usually post anything here and the first rb or message i get from someone saying 'not all christians' or 'jesus loves you' or fucking anything like that ill delete this post and block the fuck out of you. You can keep that shit to yourself. Yeah i didnt have to post this, but you dont have to say anything, either. And that seems hostile but i am sick and tired of being told shit i already know.

#midnight mass #mike flanagan #vent post #vent #at least i think this is a vent idk anymore #this show has done something for me that no priest or deacon has managed to do in entire life #tw catholicism #midnight mass spoilers #yeah mike fucked me up with this one #good on him #religious trauma #that tag also feels fair #i have to remind myself that thats what it is #tw religion #tw religious trauma #those only seem fair too for someone else

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bcacstuff · 10 months

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I do think he works hard for his brand, the issue here (I believe) may be AN. They don’t have the right support. They can’t always expect SH celebrity status to be the main support of the brand, he is not that know (sorry but true), still love him ❤️ There has to be a team that is dedicated solely to the brand and promote it. The “company” has the same people working on MPC, SS, accessories and film production, hence MIK but their website is not even running it’s a front, it’s a huge loss right there. For example, Maximum Effort is a Ryan Reynolds’s film production company, they concentrate on that he appears on some vids but runs by its self, aviation gin Ryan Reynolds’s too different team, you get my point.

They are stretched too thin and cannot manage everything themselves with the few people they have and it shows. Someone has to be out doing the deals, making the announcements ahead of time, publishing content constantly, and customer management. They don’t, it’s shows on the quality of content, quality of the places and primarily on the quality of consistency.

From your posts I am not surprised the majority of the sales is in the U.S. that’s where the largest fan base is and it did help launch, now they have concentrate how to pivot into a better quality market i.e. Fort Lauderdale is a “cheap” get wasted kind of place and you won’t find a good market for Gin nor quality whisky and forget about Tequila, it’s overcrowded. They need to focus better on where to take it and how to sell it. It’s winning competitions then take it where it will be valued.

Also, what’s happening to the EU market? Last known news was that they lost the trade name to an old German whisky name similar to the Sassenach.

In all better PR, better team, better leadership.

That’s my two cents.

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

Above submitted.

An is not alone the issue, it’s as much as himself as well. He just wants to keep control too much. Trusting AN for the daily business. I agree, having the same team for all his endeavors, and mostly people related to AN, is an issue. And for as far as I’ve seen for quite a long time is there’s not really a dedicated marketing team nor strategy plan for it. Beginning with the websites, the SS website is just a front as well, and so are all the websites for the books. It’s just how can we as fast as possible direct you to the purchase button. they forget that people (especially if we focus on people outside the OL fandom) need to be convinced, why is it that makes this product special, why would I want to buy it. Not because it is Sam Heughan who created it. It needs something else! And they do have a story to tell, but they just skip that whole part. Rely on the ‘related products’ on the ReserveBar site.

About the numbers, you must take into account that these numbers are the numbers of the ReserveBar sales pages. If you’re located in Europe, you will be redirected to Masters of Malt, and Canada you get directed to Willowpark and only see the tequila! So not that surprising the majority sales for RB are in the US. Though the largest part of his fanbase is in the US. That said, EU/Canada and other countries are not really on the priority list and how can you expect numbers to grow if it’s not? Growth strategy should be focussing on where there is room to grow, and it most certainly includes EU.

Germany is a lost case. I know there is this German fan constantly posting and asking people to sign a petition. They lost the case in Germany, and rightfully so, there is a company many years old, to which the SS name shows too much similarity(Theo Sasse) It’s not a German whisky though, but related to beverages and food if I recall right. Why would someone give up their rights they owned for many years, and have their brand compromised because some actor that didn’t do the best research when choosing the name? Do people understand how that is a family business that is on the market for a very long time and worked hard to have their brand established? Why do they think SH would have more rights for the name? Just because he is SH? Good thing the court doesn’t think so!

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space-blue · 9 months

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Ahsoka but the characters are better... The plot... everything is better.

I was talking/venting in RBs with @kanansdume on their post, and I started writing a reply that was just too long and in depth. So it's now its own post.

Offering you an alternative version of events for Ahsoka's first 4 episodes:

The cause of the break up between Hera, Ahsoka and Sabine, is Ezra.

Hera is more of a politician than a general these days, and if she sees action it's to police conflict and hunt down empire remnants. She's NOT under the impression that everyone who kept on living under the empire needs to be eradicated or whatever her deal is right now. She's busy splitting work with Jacen and not really able to help either of her friends as each would want to.

Sabine has never given up. She's still actively looking for Ezra.

Not Ahsoka. On her end, she's given up. She wrote off Ezra as a hero. She grew up watching Jedi sacrifice themselves to buy others some time or make doomed attempts to kill powerful enemies. She thinks Ezra is dead (gloriously so) and refused to indulge the fantasy that he may still be alive, driving a big wedge in her relationship with Sabine.

Until Ahsoka finds that Morgan seems to expect Thrawn to be alive… Which might mean Ezra is alive too… Just maybe.

We meet Sabine as she lands on Lothal. She isn't reckless, wasting time away in a tower like in the show. She's well dressed if rumpled and obviously drained. The moment she steps onto the space port, she's surrounded by local guards. The guy who chases her in the show is instead in full uniform waiting for her, and clearly distressed.

Did she forget what today was? That the governor asked her to attend the celebrations? She was meant to be here already, the event has even started.

Sabine brushes him off. She had no plan to come at all. She's been busy and never even opened the message requesting her presence. She's back from Coruscant, talking to the only scientist who seems to specialise in purgill, and does he have any idea how tedious it is to get useful fact out of someone who never steps out of academia? She's going home, thanks.

She gets upset when the "war hero" title is used to try and persuade her. She's trying to do war hero stuff by rescuing Ezra, thank you. Speeches and hand waving aren't for her, never were. Maybe the dialogue can hint that she used to play along, but has grown increasingly desperate in her search instead of the faff of her mostly ceremonial position.

But the guy drops a hint that convinces Sabine to get on the back of his speeder after all : her old "jedi friend" is there for the celebration. Ahsoka, who she hasn't heard from in ages!

Ahsoka would have trained Sabine for a while for saber, but they've since split and heir friendship frayed over the Ezra Lives situation. NOT because of padawan BS.

Ahsoka could also perceive Sabine's dedication to find Ezra as something worse with every year that passes. To her, it'd go from friendship to attachment, of the overly strong type. And even if Sabine isn't a Jedi, the way Anakin was, it doesn't mean that this attachment wouldn't bring some darkness.

Heck, Ahsoka could sort of wash her hands off Sabine by blaming the darkness brought by her Ezra fixation. Like this isn't her fault, no sir, it's the way Sabine is so consumed that she won't listen to reason.

Anyway, they're both here now, and though the "how have you been" is a tip toeing on eggshells exercise, Ahsoka eats some humble pie and admits she needs Sabine's help for something important.

She has tracked an artifact to a ruin, and although it's ancient, it clearly has a deep stratum. It's not just one culture that can be observed in it, but several stacked on top of each other. And one of the most recent traces of alteration are Mandalorian.

Ahsoka wouldn't solve that JFO puzzle on her own. She'd bring Sabine for her unique Mando insight. But trust would be an issue, so she'd remain super vague about what they're looking for and completely tight lip about why. Ahsoka doesn't want to kindle hopes about Ezra in Sabine of all people.

From Sabine's pov, she's doing Ahsoka a favour, and Hera asked her to please help as she's invested in this mcguffin hunt too. Sabine, by coming along, is doing that very adult thing of putting up with a shitty situation to accomodate people (the total opposite of her highway chase scene).

But even as Sabine finds the map and frees it from the old compartment it's in, they are attacked by the droids. A good old epic fight ensues, where Sabine is shown to be rusty with her saber, and rusty in general with droids, but also Ahsoka sucks at anticipating Sabine's actions, and keeps throwing orders that don't get obeyed (or can't realistically be obeyed).

In the past few years Sabine's been spending more time investigating, talking to people and reading books and buying intel, than fighting.

Not knowing what the map is for, she loses it. Does Shin come in then and wound her? Forcing Ahsoka to flee with her on the brink of death? I think it would be nice if the only reason Sabine lives is because Ahsoka was there to use a constant flow of Force healing. Not fixing her but keeping her alive as Huyang flies them away.

Because, you know, it's getting real tiresome to see people survive lightsabers to the centre of mass.

Then Sabine wakes up, she's sorry she lost the antique Ahsoka was looking for… But Hera calls in as a holo, upset with Ahsoka… And Sabine would slowly realise why. The thing she lost, nearly died over unknowingly, was a map! A map to Thrawn, and so to Ezra.

Nobody needs to be incompetent about that map thing, either, because it would be a very classic puzzle that Ahsoka could have solved. It's not old or mysterious, it was hidden in the old temple. In the show she never sees the map, and it needs to be inserted in the henge to make sense any way. Here Ahsoka didn't need Sabine's help to solve the mcguffin, but to get it. And she got it and lost it at the same time.

And now Sabine realises just WHAT it was. To Ahsoka it's a trail to Thrawn, or a clue in Morgan's plans. To Hera it's weeks of political favour wasted and hope for Thrawn and Ezra gone. Hera can't justify more spending on this without proof Morgan is up to no good.

Meanwhile Sabine sees the map as proof she's always been right. That Ezra is alive, and that Ahsoka used her and lied and kept her in the dark. Sabine would argue she'd never have engaged that rogue padawan if she knew what she was risking with the map. Ahsoka could argue back she only needed to follow her orders.

Huyang is the one who settles things between them by asking how exactly they think this argument is helping the situation? He could be the one to insist they have to stay and work together to get the map, when both Ahsoka and Sabine want nothing more than to split again.

Personality-wise Ahsoka can team work, but she needs to lead. She's used to being the most OP in the room, and grew up giving order to mostly unquestioning soldiers. Sabine has a different skillset, is pig headed, and won't take orders from Ahsoka, especially not now that she feels like she was used.

Hera and Huyang could both come in then to soothe things, and Hera would suggest they visit the other trail she's unearthed (dockyards) while the villains actively get their plan on the tracks.

At the dockyards, Hera would understand that people worked for the Empire because they didn't have a choice, and wouldn't expect people to 'get rid' of imperials after the fall of the empire. It's not exactly how that stuff happens in real life, right? It would also be interesting if Chopper FINALLY came to some use…

So I suggest that the smuggling was done by droids, and the main human mind behind this operation was the one maintening the droid fleet. Altering their codes and priorities. We could have Chop somehow help figure it out. He could also be the one who PWA PWAs at the very end that they shouldn't look so disappointed, since he managed to slap a tracker under the chest plate of that one droid he highjacked that fled on the ship.

They have their lead to that planet.

Now's a good time for Ahsoka to be able to report about Shin and Baylan's sabers instead, maybe spotting them at that place, whatever. They have no clear character or motivation and for all I care we could keep visuals of their sabers from early on when freeing Morgan.

But here's the cinch about Huyang :

He's completely out of place with Ahsoka. She doesn't have a padawan. Doesn't want one. Sabine isn't a real one and has no desire to even try to be. And any good droid could do Huyang's job, without her moaning about Jedi protocol so much.

So why does she keep him?

Huyang should be with Luke Skywalker. Wouldn't it be a little dark and sweet if it's revealed that Ahsoka has been planning to bring him over to Luke's budding school but hasn't because… (and let's forget all shit with them in Mando) well, because she doesn't believe in a New Order. She saw too many younglings killed or turned, and she doesn't trust Luke with rebuilding the Order. Doesn't really want him too.

Yet at the same time she misses it. Misses the protocols she broke with Anakin, and the life she had there as a padawan. Huyang feeds into this nostalgia. Sometimes he sounds like a master--but one she doesn't need to listen to.

She keeps pushing the time to bring him to Luke over and over.

But now Huyang could have his own motivation : Baylan has survived, and he's taken a padawan.

What was Baylan like? Why would he want to free Thrawn? Why team up with Morgan? Imo it'd be a lot more interesting if his saber was yellow or truly orange, and Shin's was blue or literally any colour but red. Make them apparently rogue Jedi and not weird darksiders larping as Taron Malicos and Merrin.

Maybe Huyang would try to push for them to be in touch. Maybe he'd want to approach Baylan himself. Because he wants to recreate the Order, right? And he's got an apprentice. And wouldn't it be a shame if they truly fell down a dark path?

So instead of Baylan being sentimental but actually not about Ahsoka staying alive, it could be Huyang who is ready to expend his kindness to even them, even after the interaction over the map. Afterall, Jedi aren't always shy about using violence to get what they want, and maybe Shin always arrives on the scene when her side is already in a fight. Maybe Huyang is on copium!

But Baylan could be seen as behaving one way, and Ahsoka could feel his vibes being rancid… VS. Huyang knowing him by reputation. Why not go on and fully rip Malicos, at this stage? You got his looks and his theories. You may as well also make Baylan a respected Jedi general. Someone Huyang remembers from his trips to make his first saber.

Now wouldn't it be neat if Chopper's tracker returns a system that Sabine recognises the name of? She was just talking to that scholar about Purgill after all, and he mentioned how this system was an important migration point, one poorly researched, because it's so remote, and at the fringes of Dathomir space, not a friendly locale.

Sadly I still don't understand WTF the map is. Why does Morgan need it? it seems ancient… And yet it points to Thrawn? HOW? Why does it go to a different henge style temple? Nothing makes sense in the show and we're meant to just accept it.

I propose something else.

The map is stored into a bog standard data storage puzzle thingy. Anyone who could handle a Japanese puzzle box could use it. But the map is just the tip of the iceberg. It's actually a nightsister spell underneath, and the entire goal is to hyper focus and pinpoint.

So Morgan 'feels Thrawn calling to her'. And yep, that's corny, but she does. And what she needed was that nightsister focus tool. She needs to wildly amplify the signal, and then use the map to pinpoint its origine totally.

She goes to that henge because it's a meditation space. It's within the Dathomir sphere of influence, but not Dathomir proper, which is why she hid the ring here. There's something about this world, the same quality that attracts the purgill, that really throws the Force into whack.

While it's good for Morgan, it'd be confusing and disturbing for any other Force user (how to nerf Ahsoka, Baylan and Shin).

Once she fully feels the location of Thrawn's call, the map zooms in and in and in. As she suspected (as she's prepared for), it's in another galaxy entirely.

Instead of having the badies split, Baylan would have to protect Morgan so she can remain in her trance as the droids help her refine the coordinates. Shin can go harry Sabine and split her and Ahsoka, who can't properly communicate due to the planet's interference.

When the women go to fight Morgan and co, perhaps Huyang would ask Ahsoka to convince Baylan to return to them. Maybe Huyang's interest in helping with Shin is also what keeps getting in the way of Sabine whenever she has an opportunity to strike to kill.

Anyway, please no fucking Anakin!!! We don't need more nostalgia bait. Stop!! Jedi canonically can't die from falls of any height so long as they've trained to cushion a fall. We see the trio take insane falls all of Clone Wars, and it's in High Republic now too. Ahsoka clipping off the world map from getting yeeted from a small cliff is sad and a pathetic excuse to show Anakin off.

Also would like to point out that with a tight script, all the events above are 2 or 3 episodes max.

What do you think? Opinions? Suggestions? It's a bit of a meta post so feel free to add on to it!

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just-call-mefr1es · 1 month

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intro post because i forgot that i caould do one (and so that my bio isnt paragraphs long)

(ill put some of my stuff in my bio still tho so this isnt that long woo)

-im a minor (i dont like sharing my actual age) and i dont rlly mind interacting with people over 18, just dont be weird (*discreetly looks to that one 30 yr old that tried to doxx me*)

-certified yapper™️

-i speak through emojis 80% of the time (cause i wanna get what im rlly feeling out and i dont wanna seem like im not interested lmao-) so if you ever wanna talk, im free to do so, but just keep that in mind😭 but please dont let that stop you from interacting with me, im all in for new mutuals:D

-i can art when i feel like it:33

-i giggle at angst (because im a psychopath)

-i have a wife and kids

Fandoms im free to talk to about^^ (sometimes ill rb/post abt other fandoms but ill only be open for the ones in here) please take note that im not that much of an analyst when it comes to this stuff (unless its tbp really-) but i do enjoy talking abt the characters n shit^^

the black phone (please talk to me about my aus im very nirmal about them) // what remains of Edith Finch // more than this (I NEED MORE FANS) // miss peregrines home for peculiar children // ride the cyclone // moral orel // school bus graveyard // school of rock (movie) // hunger games (maybe)

not to mention that if you’d like, you can drop a lil doodle request for any of the fandoms above !! it might take a while to get out, but ill try my best xx !!

reblogs > likes (it helps artists grow yall^^)

(other stuff u can talk to me about is Penelope Scott and Hop Along songs, if you’re interested:33)

PALESTINE WILL BE FREE🇵🇸🇵🇸 DNI IF YOU’RE A ZIONIST AND OTHER BASIC DNIS

also, if youd like, heres the fic that i wrote of me n my friends +kids in a vita carnis inspired zombie apocalypse. why? why not . you can send doodle requests for anyone in there, as well if youd like;)

its cringy, i know but its supposd to be😽😽 (please dont doxx us)

stay safe xx love yall !!

#cant think of anything else #hopefully i didnt miss something😭😭#intro post #blog intro #just a heads up; this blog is gonna be VERY disorganized #sorry in advance #just gonna cutely tag the fandoms id like to yap abt💗💗#the black phone #what remains of edith finch #more than this #ride the cyclone #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #mphfpc #woops this is long #ah too late #i hate miscommunication anyways

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mugenloopdalove · 2 months

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I. Don't have the energy to make a full post so I'm just gonna copy the fic here bc I NEED an answer for why it didn't even get a like.

It's set in the shopkeep Theil au. I'll rb the post explaining the au too

There was never truly a “quiet” moment in the Corner Curios shop. Brimming with raw unfiltered magic, the legends that the shop itself was alive had real merit. Even into the latest hours, when the city was silent and still, it seemed like the shop was still as lively as anything. Rumors had spread all across Baldur’s Gate of seeing a book fly across to another shelf, or a broom moving on its own. Those more skilled in magic claimed you could see how the weave enveloped every inch of the shop. And with the strange, unspeakably powerful sorcerer behind the shop, any one of these rumors could be true.

Even dealings with devils.

There were days where the shop lights stayed on into the strangest hours, but the doors remained magically locked...

“...And it seems that the words creeping in the city’s deepest shadows, the daggers that shoot through the tongues of the snakes and urchins of the alleyways... is that our little legend has made some dealings with the devil on nights just like tonight, when their innocent establishment is shrouded in the secrets of midnight. I’m sure any devil worthy of their soul is rather dashing, wouldn’t you, Theil?”

Leaning against the doorframe of the storage closet, staring down the loiterer with an irritated grin, was the fabled shopkeep seemingly on everyone’s tongue. The tiefling’s face and general mannerisms were as well known as their outstanding customer service and endless selection, but few saw the true face behind Corner Curios.

“Well then, Raphael, my most loyal loiterer,” they replied with a sneer. “Surely you know one.” They stepped towards the table set in the corner of the shop and sat across from the devil, the tension between the two all but visible in their surroundings. The two held a firm gaze, the unspoken challenge handed out. The game had begun.

The silence is broken with the tiniest thunk as a rather large book was sent hurtling right at the back of Raphael’s head, making Theil break out into a fit of childish laughter.

“I see your sense of humor is as refined as ever, dear old shopkeep,” Raphael said dryly, picking up the book to examine it. “Ah, The Beginner’s Guide to the Arts. Don’t you think this is a rather childish simplification of things for someone as studied as The Sorcerer Who Would Become A Bard?” There was a heaviness to the title, one that led the tiefling to flick a small flame in his face as he laughed mockingly.

“That was a working title after a month of no sleep.” Theil hissed, cringing over the dumb joke they made after too much wine and not enough rest. “And it’s still better than any of your little ‘contracts,’ dear devil on my shoulder.” They got up to reach for a bottle of wine left on the counter with two golden glasses, as if prepared for the occasion. Too prepared.

The devil’s in the details.

“The daring shopkeep tried all to make the devil they knew all too well into but a distant memory, a speck on their otherwise undoubtedly flawless reputation free of any crime or harm, but their methods, as sad and as simple as the person behind them, are-”

“So are you going to drink the wine? Because if you’re going to keep going like this I might need both glasses.” Theil’s face remained stone cold, in no way humoring the theatrics that had already far outstayed their welcome.

“Do you truly think you can trick me into-”

“Do you think I’d waste vintage wine gifted to me by the friend of my enemy on trying to kill a fly that found his way through the window?” Theil bit back, huffing and taking a purposefully dramatic sip from their glass.

“Ah yes, that wizard you’ve cozied up to. Quite the choice.” Raphael paused before taking a drink of the wine, then stopped to look at it. “Right, it would be beneath you to sully this with poison. Your tastes are finer than that.” He leaned over the table a bit, grinning at Theil with a spark in his eye. “Still... quite the sordid tragedy you’re setting up for a love lost, isn’t it? I knew you weren’t beneath petty underhandedness, but you’ve set up a whole show for me to enjoy, haven’t you dear?”

“It would have been nice to know sooner that you knew the players, Raphael,” Theil looked out at the shop absentmindedly, reflecting on the “heroes” that had found themself tied up with the greatest villain they had known. Everyone wrapped around Reya as if she weren’t the most miserable, selfish, miserable person anyone could know. They knew she was using them all just as she had used Theil in the past. But they were going to get their revenge, one way or another.

“Now now, I’m not just another pawn you can set, my meddlesome friend. You know as well as I do that even information comes with a price.” A grin spread across Raphael’s face, his more devilish features starting to show as he leaned in even closer to the unamused sorcerer. “So what do you say? Be a good pawn and-”

Theil erupted in laughter, so strong a bookshelf shook on the other end of the room. They laughed for only a second before their expression returned to the scowl that was ready to chase the devil himself out with a broom. “Your sales pitch is still as appealing as hag water, devil,” they cut back, rising from their seat and sauntering toward the man in front of them. “I don’t need your help to set the stage, and I’m still making pretty good use of my soul.” They leaned in close to him, smirking as their faces were just about touching, focusing a bit of energy just to remind him of just how much their soul was worth. Of just how much raw magic they held that made the it worth so much. The game couldn’t end now, afterall. The winner wouldn’t be crowned today, or tomorrow, or ever. That was the fun of it.

Raphael, for once, was silent, until Theil pulled away with a victorious smirk. “Checkmate, old friend.” Theil said, secure in their victory for this round. “NIce try though, you almost won there. Maybe next time?” They hummed as they walked away, sorting shelves to seem busy. “Now, I’ll have to see you off. The show is about to start, and I doubt you can afford the front row seats.”

“I’m almost hurt. If you start having visitors, you won’t need me to warm your lonely nights anymore.” Raphael tried to wrap an arm around Theil, but found himself instantly shoved back by a gust of wind.

“That’s enough, don't you think? Or does the great devil Raphael not have other appointments?” Theil taunted, their temper finally reaching its limit.

“Right, right, I have far better things to do than humor your childish games any longer. Good luck with the show though, break a leg out there.” The friendly, familiar tone made Theil ready to attack again, but something stopped them.

“You’re wasting time now, devil. Just get a move on before someone sees you,” they said, voice ice cold.

“Very well, I’ll leave you to your miserable farce.” Raphael took a step with a superior grin. “And, Theil darling? Checkmate.”

Before the tiefling could fight back, Raphael was gone, and Corner Curios was silent again.

The shop was still.

The stage was set.

“Let the show begin.”

#gerard's diary

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skybristle · 5 months

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more sparks please. girl what happened to you and do i have to kill anyone

rbs > likes

These two. dw shes already fucking them up. hashtag feminism! [they are also both women]

these two n what they do to her [i wont go fully into it but just elaborae since i already summarized it here in my post abt maw but]. yeah. When she was constructed she was a very ambitious iterator and very. jittery and eager to help her kind and very very radiant. probably the perfect iterator!

of course.... as ive probably heavily alluded to ash is a POS ! as her senior, and the only one in their group at the time, she looks to him for guidance and feels so terrible finding out how fucked up he is with his own colony and how he is struggling to bear it [he IS depressed and chronically ill however also just. has zero accoutnability or responsibility whatsoever and refuses to recongize his mistakes ever or consider his actions beyond what he receives from them] so of course as they fall for eachther and she helps him shoulder his burden he simply takes it for granted and does little to return the favor. its soo unbalanced and unhealthy but sparks is just trying and trying because god !! she wants to be good !! she wants to help people !!! so fucking bad!!!

but shes left bleeding alone, in an overextended structure as they operate on her while shes awake, overclocking her systems and sendinf electricity like lightning down her puppet, he basically messages maw Once to try and get her to knock it off before falling back into his patter nof laziness like welp! did what i can do ! and has the audacity to whine to sparks about feeling inadequate. and she really has no choice but to get back up and dust herself off and live with this reality, which persists quite literally forever, even if its less stressful when her colony eventually leaves. and she stays stuck in this delusion that ash couldnt have done any more and that it was just unfortunate and.. he still needs her help she cant leave him in the dust [what did he do to her again?].

especially as their local group slowly grows and he kind of refuses to accept the responsibility so sparks is also shouldering mentorship and taking care of them and etc. the only exception really is whispers who isnt allowed to speak to sparks because their colony is an asshole so they grow close to their designated senior and ash actually does take the kid kinda under his wing as much as he sucks, mainly at sparks concerns initially.

shes also. super badly traumatized by maw and a lot of that fear and paranoia echo especially later on when maw *actually hurts another iterator*. shes well aware how much maw resents her and maw is the only thing to really scare her. over time sparks loses her whimsy and just becomes very calcualted and dilligent. takes little pleasure in it anymore but if shes not working shes nothing, even as she makes her issues and overextension worse she hasnt rested in ages.

once mass ascension happens and ash bascialyl goes 'welp im done. see ya'll' now that nobody is literally there to make him do his job and goes into sleepmode completely disregarding all the work sparks has done for their group and for *him* not just to appease his colony on his behalf thats when she finally breaks this delusion she has and fucking snaps. she still is kidn of in the position where now shes FORCED To hold authority because hes gone but doesnt bother to try with those who dont answer to her. shes just so angry and frustrated and just workaholics it all away but its really. its not helpful long term and this anger is just building as things in their group get worse and worse as he sleeps in the distance none the wiser.

and, finally, when whisper's emergency broadcast rings true and all hell breaks loose- and he wakes up and the first thing he does is crawl back to sparks to make her do his shit again without even acknowledging his abandonment for many many kilocycles she just completely fucking loses it on him. dedicates herself to- rather than try to put ehr group back together and aid whispers, she just charges headfirst into hurting everyone whos ever hurt her. im still trying to figure out what goes on with maw but as for ash. she creates the brainiac to steal his seniority but also just hijack his structure in an incredibly painful manner. just so she can feel her pain. oh, and just like her, she wont have anyone to crawl to for sympathy [being needlessly cruel and ignoring others suffering? sounds a lot like maw. disregarding the needs of your group to chase a selfish goal as someone lay dying? sounds a lot like ash. lol. lmao even].

after she gets the seniority crown she starts having a guilt crisis. then whispers. uhm. Well. Escapes starlight's can and jumps in the void sea [ive been alluding to it this whole time but nobodies said anything so. ill just lay that here and let u guys react] she finally realizes how badly she fucked up [thats what makes her better than maw and ash] and what shes done and how much shes kind of fucked over her bridges with the people who actually cared about her [chimes and ochre especially] and. yeah. i need to piece out what happens after this still but i mean starlight and maw r still kicking around and sparks now has the responsibiltiy to do SOMETHING which would probably resul in violent retallion from at least maw and kick this bs and sparks hurt and anger up all over again. lol. lmao even.

#sky rambles #rain world #rain world oc #oc tag: countless swirling sparks #oc tag: plunging flows of ash #oc tag: erupting maw #story tag: bending horizons #<- just realized i should have a tag like that ill go back and add it to my other posts

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agent-aquato-and-co · 2 years

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Milestone Dtiys!

The dtiys is officially over!! I’ll be announcing winners in a bit, thank you to everyone who entered :D

First off, hi from Otto!!! I know I’ve continued to make a show out of being ridiculous with how often I mention it, but really, I do appreciate the interaction on this blog! I struggle to commit to projects, even ones that I’m genuinely attached to, and the support has helped make it all the more easier for me to return to this and keep it going- even if my updates can be sporadic.

So!!! I’ve decided to do a dtiys to celebrate 500 (560 at this time, actually!!) followers!

If you don’t know, ’dtiys’ stands for ”Draw this in your style.” And its an art challenge where you redraw the original image in your own style! Which actually leads me to my first thing! (Please read all of this before starting, btw! Under the read more)

You don’t have to specifically redraw this image!

I’ll accept anything that is art of Raz, Lili, or both of them, doing whatever! You’re absolutely allowed to choose to redraw this image as your entry, but if you want to do something else? Go for it! I’d love to see unique content of these two!

There will be a prize at the end!

I’m still unsure if it will be a raffle to choose who wins, or me picking which one I like the most (I think I’ll determine it based on how many submissions we get? If there’s a small amount of entries, I’ll just raffle it?) but regardless, I intend on reaching out to a winner at the end to draw them something, which we can negotiate once they’re chosen! (I don’t want anyone to think I’ll cheat out whoever wins, so just know that it won’t just be like. A messy bustshot with no color. I’ll do something worthwhile! Just nothing too scary big GHJRBGKBERH)

Additionally, I’m not sure if it’ll be just one winner? I don’t expect many people to participate, but if enough do, I’ll expand to a 2nd and possible 3rd place prize!

Final Date is July 16th!

I know people are preparing for Art Fight next month, and some might just be busy in general, so I figure a month until a winner is chosen is a safe end-date! If submissions stall before then and activity dies, I might cut it early, but don’t worry about me cutting it off early without warning. If I choose to pick early, I’ll give advanced notice!

And of course, obviously nothing explicit or gross, out outwardly hateful in your submissions, but that should (hopefully) go without saying.

Here’s a link to their OG refs, and here’s a link to where you can find all of Raz’s pin designs, if you choose to go that far FKSJBGKDFGBK

Use the #AACDtiys tag for your posts and be sure to tag me in it! (You can tag this blog or my main one, either works!) In order to avoid clogging up this blog, I’ll rb all entries to my main: @quigley-yy !

I think that’s it! I’ll be rb-ing this post a few times to make sure no one misses out! Please rb to spread this around! I absolutely am not limiting this to only current followers, new ppl can join as well!

#AACDtiys #Agent aquato and co au #psychonauts au #dtiys #Ill be honest and say one of the reasons im completely cool with ppl drawing their own things #is bc im not too awful proud of this piece GKDBGKHFHHKF #I’m rusty with my full piece skills!!! I wanted to do something big but not too ridiculous so i didn’t alienate ppl by making it complicate #d #regardless!!! Places this down here

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istherewifiinhell · 3 months

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[thing im thinking about all the fucking time] i have my g1 megs tag as 'hold that man who is a gun' in honour of funny thing said by someone not prepared to watch an 80s cartoon where a man does in fact hold another man who is a gun. but rather its my tag for the SPECIFIC vibe of. well. when he is held. as a gun. but its a tag i cannot rb posts into cause its apparently TOO specific a vibe.

youd think well, hes a man who is a gun. techicnally this puts him semi under popular tropes of 'living weapon [person dedicates their life to the purpose of violence]' and 'living weapon [person who is objectfied and wielded in violence (comma, literally)]'

but do u know what the god damn problem is. [not with the tropes just with me wanting populate this tag] the gimmick with the first is often about like. regret and remorse. oh theyve become a weapon but life is so much more than that. oh theyve done horrible things thats sad. and worst of all [again for my purposes] now lets heal them from this. lets see them not be this thing any more.

this does not work for my purposes cause. well. He's a gun. and hes a gun cause he wants to shoot people. hes pretty good at it when hes not a gun too. im positive in the grand scope of tf land theres A Megs who fits that kinda vibe. you know. the war is long. or its over. and hes left with the thing hes made of himself. but, to use a phrase from my fav tf toy review. g1 megs is Bad Bastard. hes a warlord. hes a goddamn cartoon villian. the only thing that ever forces his hand imminent treats to his life. which are usually, 1. whatever planet hes currently on is moments away from collasping, imploding, or exploding. 2. literally the most powerful forces of raw power or malevolence in the setting.

thats it. at all other times he seems pretty cool and of his own volition of the whole. Being a gun thing. also he tends to solve those other problems also by Being a gun. a gun that can talk and negotiate and compromise when needed but. still. the necessity of Being the Gun is pretty strong.

the second trope, the mismatch is completely on the objectivified versus object part. if someone is literally objectived and wielded, they are no longer in control, but they are still the instrument of violence. if metaphorical, perhaps the location of violence, the means of violence, but not the true perpetrator. either way. often a feeling that the body is not their own.

but with megs its like, yeah he turns into a hand gun! not a tank. or an automated cannon or turret (thats galv. aka purple megs, which interestingly is him being reformated to one of those malevolent forces will). so hes is an object. that other people can hold, and fire. someone else infact, needs to fire, (well give or take for loose continuity). but the thing is, this is not really a predictament that OTHER people put him into. hes a Man. who is a gun. part of his body is that he is also a gun. he can choose when he transforms, and Be a Gun. And then held, and fired. the depiction of it is usually quite authoritative. and just personality wise. hes not gonna let people forgot that HES THE GUN.

and i mean. to address the holding. specifically to single out oppie. thats someone who is supposedly. less about this whole shooting everything business. i mean. dont get me wrong he very much has a gun and uses it often. its War and hes the Good Guy™. but well he is Not a Gun, and he would not Want to be a gun.

so like. what u have is instead this dynamic of a very bossy gun that takes delight in Being the gun, that sometimes needs to throw himself into the hands of a guy who in the perfect world wouldnt shoot anything.

now granted. extant examples of this are more like 'shoot thing into space' or 'shoot the thing before it explodes' than, more pointed violence thats posed by the presence of The Gun. but go with me here. vibes.

The gun is the means of violence. But to be 'willing to pull the trigger' is to be willing to allow yourself to be the cause, the catalysts of that. so really it is the person who is NOT the gun who becomes implicated in the violence. he is forced to under circumstance, but not, importantly, literally forced, controlled or otherwise overriden.

and ofc. also regarding the intimacy of this arrangement. to complete this act of violence is to hold another person, or to fling yourself towards them and be held. completely fitting into the hands. but its a choice to be held and a choice to catch. and in showing this in smooth and compotent action, implies the not just physical prowess but automatic cooperation and perhaps comfort in the circumstance.

and The Gun is completely fine with this whole situation and is probably gonna laugh at the guy who isnt a gun and say something funny and innuendous as soon as possible.

#some shit #its not called cisformers #collasping on a chaise cause i CANNOT infact make everything about blorbo from my shows. im trying.#UNFORTUNATELY thing that those bad machinmas got so right was having a like. retired megs that was not regretful or remorseful at all #he was just kinda a bored shitkicker fucking around in an abandoned gladiator ring fighting for fun. completely confident in and happy abt #his ablity to do violence Better Than everyone else. and ingeneral was just kinda a tactless asshole.

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nayeonline · 6 months

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My Top 15 K-Pop Songs of 2023

I genuinely don't know how, but somehow we have made it to December 10 2023, exactly 1 year after my top songs of 2022 post which I've decided to make a permanent thing on this blog. This year I was a lot more organized with formulating this list - I created a spotify playlist in January, and any kpop songs I cared about this year I added to it in chronological order. This list includes songs released between 2022/12/10 and 2023/12/10, and is entirely based on my personal opinion - feel free to let me know ur top songs of the year in the comments and rbs <33

(15) BYOB (bring your own best friend) (English Ver.) - Billlie

I just know some eyebrows are being raised but HEAR ME OUT, this song just speaks to me. It’s not a club banger, it's not an anthemic stadium hit, but it is something for the girlies, and I love it.

(14) Girls' Capitalism - TripleS LOVElution

What a hilarious concept for a song, TripleS is too good. Is this song literally just ‘Generation’ the sequel? Yes! I don’t care!! It’s really good!!!

(13) Standing Next To You - Jungkook (BTS)

Now I’m not an army, and none of Jungkook’s previous singles really spoke to me, they were catchy of course but not for me. This song, on the other hand, is artistry. His passion for what he does is so obvious in this song, I am severely impressed.

(12) Spicy - aespa

Aespa just KNOWS how to do a concept. So many other groups would feel stagnant with the futuristic concept, but aespa keep reinventing themselves perfectly while retaining a sound that is so distinctly them. Spicy is peak girl pop; Ningning you outdid yourself on this one.

(11) Drama - aespa

Can aespa release a bad title track??? Drama would probably be higher if it came out earlier, but based on the month I’ve been listening to it, this is an absolute punch up for aespa. Our stint in the real world was fun and all, but we’re in kwangya again and it feels fucking good. Aespa, keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll keep streaming.

(10) Fast Forward - JEON SOMI

People didn’t like this song this year, but I fucking loved it and this is my list. As a UK resident and 80s music enjoyer, this spoke to me on a molecular level. I know it's trashy, I know it's been done before, I don't care. Fast Forward is amazing.

(9) In Bloom - ZEROBASEONE

Category is: Boy Group Kpop (but it's actually good). Pure excellence, this is how to sample a classic song, this is how to debut, this is how to break the mold of boy groups and do it with actually good music (cough cough boynextdoor cough cough). Imagine if they kept this energy for their first comeback. Imagine lol

(8) Cherry Talk - TripleS +(KR)ystal Eyes

People (including tripleS stans) loooveee to shit on this song but it’s literally their best song since Generation, and I will stand by that. This is extremely LOONA coded, if you don’t like it, that must suck for you. BOOM CHERRY TALK CHERRY CHERRY TALK.

(7) Cool With You - NewJeans

They’re literally too good. I have no words.

(6) ETA - NewJeans

NewJeans said this year that being consistent hitmakers is easy actually, this song is fucking excellent. Controversially, I love the production, it's so funky and subversive. I got this song from day dot, if you get it you get it, if you don’t you don’t, and if you don’t I feel sorry for you xx

(5) Attitude - fromis_9

This is fromis_9’s second time showing up very high on my yearly roundups, I’m thinking I need to pay more attention to them. This song is the shit I live for in kpop, its SO HIGH QUALITY. Not a second wasted in this song, just pure goodness throughout. Fromis’s ability to be so extremely on trend never ceases to amaze me. This song is really fucking good, and the whole album is too good as well. Fromis_9, you have my attention. (that actually wasn’t on purpose lol)

(4) Air Force One - ODD EYE CIRCLE

Utter euphoria. That’s what this song feels like. LOONA had a rough 2022, and orbits were feeling it. We were boycotting and fighting for the girls to be free of that fucking company, and when we won, we were happy of course, but mostly exhausted. Then Odd Eye Circle dropped ‘Air Force One’. This song feels like a second wind, it builds up and up from the first second, tension rising, exhaustion fading and then ‘ready set and GO’ and its ANTHEMIC. You can exhale now, the work is done, LOONA is fucking back.

(3) OMG - NewJeans

Oh look, more NewJeans. The audacity to release one of the best songs of the year on January 2nd is crazy. ‘OMG’ is so effortlessly catchy, it’s ridiculous. It’s full to the brim of hooks and creative melodies, this is pop music at its best. It’s serotonin in a song, and the ability and self assurance of the members in their skills is palpable, and oozes from the seams of the track. In a somewhat forgettable year of Kpop, NewJeans were constantly reinventing and redefining what a hit is, and OMG is the physical form of that. Congratulations NewJeans, nobody is doing it like you.

(2) Sugarcoat (NATTY Solo) - KISS OF LIFE

I am being deadly serious when I say this song altered something in my brain. I struggle to comprehend how much I love this song, and I’m struggling even more to express that in words. I found Kiss of Love’s other debut songs to be quite fun, but this song eclipses anything they have ever and will ever release. Natty is such a powerhouse, I am in awe of her skill. If you haven’t heard this song, which is upsettingly likely as while this song had a moment on TikTok earlier this year, it was still a quite niche trend that didn’t last long, PLEASE go and listen, this was the best song released in 2023. But, this list doesn’t just include 2023. It also includes that tiny window after December 10 when literally no one releases music. No one except…

(1) Ditto - NewJeans

Ditto is one of those songs where you listen to it for the first time and you’re left a little bit speechless at the end. I don’t think I’m ever going to forget this song, or how it makes me feel. Ditto has changed the kpop industry forever, and it will go down in history as a defining moment of the genre. It’s melancholic and nostalgic and heartfelt, it's laughing through your tears, it’s hugging your best friend before you go your separate paths in life. I still get a little tug on my heart whenever Hyein’s beautiful intro vocals come in, and I think I always will. NewJeans, you’ve released a lot of amazing music this year, but thank you especially for this one, I’ll love it forever.

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