k1ssaphobe

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*shaking a magic 8 ball* should I kill myself

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homoerotic friendship save me.... save me homoerotic friendship...

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in the end, nothing's really changed.

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THE WARMTH OF YOUR HAND

leon kennedy x f!reader word count: 1,473 warnings: angst, mentions of leon's alcohol use, not proofread synopsis: leon doesn't believe in much. but if there's one thing he knows is for certain to be true, it's that he doesn't deserve you.

 Leon doesn’t believe in much. The kind of work he does has stripped him of that ability. He stopped believing in more than just God, he stopped believing in people, in the world, in himself. Leon doesn’t believe in much but if there was one thing he could know for certain to be true, it was that he didn’t deserve her. 

 How could he?

 She sleeps in zen beside him, one arm folded beneath her pillow, the other resting on the small sliver of space on the mattress between them where he dare not touch. She must be dreaming, because Leon can see her eyes rolling beneath their lids. She must be dreaming of something good, because Leon traces the small curve of her lips, a peaceful, subconscious smile he finds himself envious of. 

 Leon cannot remember the last time he, himself, had a good dream. His ability to dream must’ve been stripped away along with his ability to believe long ago, when he learned just how short his luck had run out. Perhaps his inability to dream was why she took him so much by surprise. 

 He’d learned to accept that his life moving forward would always be far from normal long ago. Any dreams he might’ve had prior— whether it was the so-called “American Dream” of white picket fences and a golden retriever in a perfectly trimmed, green front lawn and a litter of kids that look just like him or not— he knew was far beyond his reach now.

 It was why he turned to drink in the first place. He mourned the loss of a life he would never know, mourned the death of his former self: the cop, the rookie, the young adult, the teenager, the boy. It was unlike any other pain he knew— it could not be suppressed with medicine or bandages— so all he knew to do was to make do with what he had: drink. 

 It was a time in his life he wished he could forget. Funny how it works— somehow, he’d lost any sense of the man he was before Raccoon City despite how desperately he tried to cling to the dying embers of his boyhood, whilst simultaneously unable to forget the man he’d temporarily become. Was this some force punishing him? Was this his punishment for being unbelieving? 

 Leon didn’t know, and the more he tried to make sense of his fucked-up life, the more his head would pound, the more he’d feel himself inching closer to the bottle he swore he’d never touch again when he met her. These thoughts of his, these doubts, this disbelief in himself and anything around him, was what made him feel so undeserving of this woman— this woman who was currently bundled beneath sheets and a duvet, lost in dream, so clean, so pure and entirely too good to be true. 

 Sometimes Leon thinks he must not have lost the ability to dream after all, for he cannot stop thinking that all of this is just an illusion, this woman but a mere figment of whatever small part of him that still believed, and he’d wake up to Raccoon City, or Spain, or who fucking knows what. 

 Leon’s molars sink into the inside of his cheek in hopes to dull the ache prodding against the crown of his head and blinks down at her hand, still resting in the space between them. The only source of light in her bedroom is the moonlight peeking through her curtains but it’s enough for him to make out her skin, to make out the lines etched into the tops of her fingers. 

 Her knuckles are not blue, or purple, or calloused, or terribly scarred. Her knuckles are clean and were always soft to the touch— Leon closes his eyes and can feel the phantom of her knuckles dragging along his cheek, over his scars, over the moles he couldn’t quite feel but knew were there. He inhales sharply and opens his eyes, pushing himself into an upright position, exhaling heavily as he drags a palm— a rough, calloused palm— over his face. 

 He peers around the dark, moon-lit room, at his jacket slung messily over the back of her vanity chair, one of his shoes beside her closed bedroom door, the other rolled onto its side beneath her closed wardrobe. He realizes just how out of place he feels and is— and it serves as just another reminder that he doesn’t deserve to be here, he doesn’t deserve her, he doesn’t deserve any of this. 

 He inhales shakily and drops his head, rubbing the crown of his head and his temple with the pads of his thumb and forefinger in an attempt to ease the ache festering there. The bed suddenly feels too warm and makes him feel even more out of place but he can’t bring himself to pull away from it, not when he can feel her feet brushing up against his leg as she squirms in her sleep. 

 His heart begins to pound in his chest. His mind begins to reel. 

 You do not belong here, a slick, oily voice curls around his ears and for a moment, he thinks he must be back in Spain and this is all just some sick form of joke. You are poison, and you are ruining her. You are an imposter, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You should leave. She does not want you here. You do not deserve her. And you will never deserve her. You do not deserve her, you do not deserve her, you do not deserve her, youdonotdeserveheryoudonotdeserveheryoudonot—

 “Leon?”

 Her voice, thick with sleep but still devastatingly sweet, interrupts the voice in his head and he snaps his eyes back open, searching through the wrinkles in the duvet because he doesn’t know what to do but he knows he cannot look at her. If he looks at her, he won’t ever leave. If he looks at her, he’ll only linger and ruin her further. If he looks at her, he will be her demise. He just knows it. It’s the one thing he believes in. 

 He hears the sheets ruffle and the bed creak as she moves behind him and he suddenly feels something against his elbow. Leon startles and flinches away, and he swears he can hear a faint gasp behind him. His brows knit together and he bows his head, squeezing his lids closed. 

 “What is it?” She asks him, alert, aware something is wrong. Damn her, he thinks. She’s much too intuitive for her own good. 

 When he doesn’t reply, she asks again, daring to inch closer to his side. He can see a few locks of her hair fall into the outskirts of vision and his breath hitches in his throat. It suddenly feels like he can’t breathe and he thinks he might break out into a sweat and he feels so out of place and so undeserving that he thinks he’ll explode. His breathing begins to quicken and his mind begins to spiral and vision begins to blur and he doesn’t know what to do because he can’t move and—

 “Hey,” her voice sounds closer now and he knows she must be because he feels her palm press firm into the center of his chest and his eyes snap back open to find hers already staring back. “Head’s being loud again, hm?”

 Leon’s brow dips and his gaze softens because he knows he cannot win when she looks at him like that, when she speaks to him like that, when she knows him like that when everyone else failed to. He’s suddenly aware of just how hard he’s breathing because his gaze drops to her arm and how it rises with his chest. Her hand is warm against his chest but not so much that it is stifling, and not so less that his bones catch a chill. Her warmth is just right and Leon closes in on himself and lets his head drop to her shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling, breathing her in. 

 “Oh Leon,” she murmurs against the top of his head, her hand slithering away from his chest to rest warmly on the back of his neck, her other weaving through his tendrils and comfortably tightening around his locks. “Why don’t we lay back down, yeah?”

 Leon doesn’t believe in much. The one thing he knows for certain he can believe in is that he does not deserve her. He doesn’t deserve her speaking to him like this, touching him like this, caring for him like this. But as she eases him back down into the mattress and cradles his head closer to her chest, he begins to ponder something he’d never pondered before: perhaps there is a way to disprove any certain belief. 

a/n: it has been... quite awhile since i last wrote something. admittedly, i haven't even been working on my books (thank you work and college 🫠) but... a lot has happened the past few weeks. a lot of things from lots of different reasons. so i just really wanted to write some comfort :) (of course i had to throw in some angst)

just a side note: i wrote this literally twenty minutes ago so this is not proofread whatsoever 🤩

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[k1ssaphobe]

Are you guys okay with me being completely insane

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I need me a freak hoe that’ll do freaky shit in bed like hold my hand under the covers when we sleep

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Oh movie Scott… how i mourn you dearly .. 🥲

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Comically large lollipop 🍭

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To the men who voted for Donald Trump today:

When your girlfriend gets pregnant, and you’re not ready to become a father, and you’re forced into a position that cripples you emotionally, financially and irreversibly, remember: you did this.

When your sister’s pregnancy turns out to be ectopic, and she can’t get the life-saving medical care she needs and dies a completely pointless, preventable death, remember: you did this.

When your 12-year-old daughter is raped by her soccer coach — after he’s legally allowed to strip off her pants and peep at her genitals, because the existence of trans kids terrifies you — and she steals your shotgun and kills herself in your garage, remember, first and foremost: you did this.

Hundreds of thousands of people are going to die because of the decision you made today.

You did that.

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i need a capri sun and then i need to be shot

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fuck y'all!!!!!

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The problem is that America has beaten down its people for decades and gotten them weak and desperate and now promises a way out, a way to transcend and rise above, through selling out their fellow man. They encourage contempt and hatred as one way ticket to not being included with the masses being death marched to poverty or imprisonment or whatever other bitter end surely awaits the people they’re told are beneath them. An embarrassingly large chunk of white men are just straight up nazis these days as a way to dissociate from the rest of the carnage around them, even if they’re broke and uneducated and from an impoverished background themselves. They’ll vote for and align themselves with anything for a taste of power and control that makes them feel a little less helpless. The same goes for minorities. They’ll punch down if they think it’ll get them somewhere, even if in reality they’re punching sideways. I don’t know what else to say, really. Everybody is so incredibly hateful. We are a loveless, disrespectful nation. We are so spread thin by our government that we would sell each other out in a heartbeat for an ounce of relief. This is what we’ve come to.

It’s not even about Trump at this point. He’s gonna get in office and do whatever he does and it’s gonna be a mess but whatever. This is indicative of deeper problem. This is just the ugly consequence of the already present reality in this country that we all just despise each other. There is no solidarity and there is no love. Trump being in office or not doesn’t change the fact that America is a breeding ground for violent hatred. Trump has given people a shining example of how to give in to the worst parts of your human nature and make it the problem of everyone around them. I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do about that. I don’t know if that’s something we can come back from. And if anything COULD be done about it, Trump certainly wouldn’t do it. Honestly, Kamala probably wouldn’t have either. We are so deeply fucked.

However, I must say, if you voted for Trump, I hope that peace never finds you. Instead, I hope clarity strikes you someday like a clap of lightning and you have to live the rest of your life with the knowledge and guilt of what you’ve done and who you are as a person.

Love yall. Shit is so bleak but the world keeps spinning until it doesn’t, I guess. We can’t count on the government for literally even a shred of progress or hope so just keep up the good fight in your own personal lives. That’s literally the only thing to be done at this point. Stay safe out there. Maybe buy a gun.

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can someone recommend some beginner normal behaviors for someone looking to become normal