rorschach-retrograding-rotary - Tumblr blog

rorschach-retrograding-rotary · 3 days ago

Text

New story post 👍

Happy holidays y'all

Word count: 6.1k+

CW: Minor body horror ig

Summary: Leon's Plagas is insistent that the middle of the mission is prime reproductive time

If you found my A03 from this, no you didn’t. Shut up.

There are minor spoilers for Resident Evil 4

🚨Go to my main account “rorschach-retrograding-rotary” for commissions or requests🚨

🚨This was not proof read and I hate reading my work so I have no intention of proof reading it🚨

Feel free to commission me or donate

𝕙𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕤://𝕜𝕠-𝕗𝕚.𝕔𝕠𝕞/𝕤𝕒𝕪_𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖

It's uncomfortable but it does bring a curl of a smile to his lips, imagining Ada's form twisted up with his own as a mess of sweat and hot breath divided them.

It's a pleasant fantasy, and one that despite the circumstances, he finds himself indulging in more frequent stollen moment of envisioning the scenario. Moments of safety are scarce, and ones where Ashley isn't talking or holding onto his arm with an intensity that suggests death with failure, are scarcer. The villagers have already overtaken the majority of the land, and the only few areas he's found that guaranteed solace from the clambering voices of the villagers as they spit and grab for him and Ashley's already infected flesh, have been the merchants stand.

The mysterious stranger who greeted him in a similar name as he grabbed the folded cloth of his coat and pulled open the side to show off his wares and weaponry in hopes that Leon might cave and fork over some of the pesetas he'd managed to accrue. The oddness of the merchant wasn't lost on Leon. Despite the circumstances he was still able to acknowledge the speedy movements of the merchant when it came to arriving at locations before him. His insistence on staying anonymous via his garb did less to affect Leon's perception of him, in all honesty if things had gone according to plan and he'd simply ended up in a rural village instead of a parasite fueled nightmare, he didn't believe he'd have been tossing out his name very frequently if it all.

A soft whistle of effort left Leon's lips as he peaked around the corner, gun clenched tightly in his hands and heart hammering in his chest. A near silent Ashley was behind him and despite her good natured behavior, she has been antsy, thoroughly aware of their close-at-hand demise but also of the parasite crawling through their skins at nearly every moment.

Hearing about the parasite take root and then actually noticing the effects of the parasite were two different things. Hearing about how it was overriding his senses and brain patterns, versus finding himself jumping at the slightest of sounds he wasn't sure he had been heard. Twisting coils of paranoia setting in as he lost trust in his own senses, leaving him double checking everything he did no matter how minute in fear that the time he didn't double check would be the time that he missed something crucial and led both him and Ashley to a bloody defeat.

There was also the uncomfortable reality he'd found for the parasite. It's goal was to infect and spread, and it believed it's control and adoption of his anatomy was just as viable as its own original biological process. What did this mean in practice?

It meant that Leon would find himself swatting Ashley away or leaving her with the merchant as he claimed he was "scouting something out" before leaving the room, finding a small corner and then fighting to deal with the strain of his cock against his pants.

It meant that Leon's encounters with Ada left him having to swallow a whimper whenever she so much as touched him. Fighting the urge the grab her shoulders and push her against the nearest wall for him to try and slough off his garments and rid her of her own.

And it meant that his snatched moments of imagination had begun to occur more frequently as his brain attempted to force the idea of procreating into his normal stream of thought. In normal circumstances, he was sure the impulsive thoughts or glimpses would be quite pleasant, but finding himself on the receiving end of an unintentional boner as the parasites sporadic whim wasn't entirely pleasant.

It left him palming at his pants, dragging his finger tips across the bulge of his groin as he felt the sweat cling to his brow. It left him grunting behind his teeth despite the terror as Ashley stood pressed tight against him even if there were Ganados lurching around, practically inches away from whatever hiding spot the two Americans had managed to slip themselves into. It left him tugging the collar of his shirt up almost habitually despite the fabric never staying high on his neck the minute his fingers left the rim, leaving his neck exposed again which for some reason had become a fact that refused to sit right with him.

He couldn't be sure if Ashley was facing the same ailments, but he didn't feel comfortable enough asking her. Not when she was his junior by around 7 years, and not when she was the child of what was effectively his boss. Snowball's chance in hell.

"Hey kid, Plagas been giving you girl-boners randomly? No? Just me?"

Fat fucking chance. Keep it to yourself.

He waves Ashley forward as they take the next quick steps into the small room under the stairs, the current hiding place or storefront for the merchant, and a good place to catch their breath for Leon and Ashley. Though Leon was almost certain Ashley's deep swallows of breath weren't sparked and inspired by the same clawing feeling that he had begun to feel tightening around his throat as every inhale sent a fresh smell wafting off her.

It could've been perfume, he was sure. Some random fruity scent that she'd picked up and smothered her and her outfit in before she'd been yanked from her college campus. An offhanded attention move in hopes of a compliment or two. A ploy to cover up a mismanagement of time that left her unable to fit in a shower. The scent was intoxicating, and whatever it was, she had practically soaked in it with how pungently the smell of overly ripened fruit was suffocating him. Despite the time period that lay from when she could've possibly put the scent on, to now, it still smelled fresh, fragrant as though just spritzed onto herself. Or at least that's what Leon's Plagas was insisting.

Another step closer and they might've been fused at the hip considering how close she was. She'd stumbled into the room right alongside him, though her hand was still ghosting along his leg as if searching for his non-dominant hand simply to hold. A small flicker of comfort that allowed her a breath of fresh air in the almost stagnant atmosphere of the cupboard they'd managed to squeeze into.

Her fingers trace along the line of his pocket in an unintentional move, her nails giving the slightest bit of pressure where the tips trace against the skin. Though she seems greatly unaware that she's making him swallow back remarks and hold back his screaming instincts.

No, not his. It's the Plagas. He'd never even humor this shit if it wasn't for that dubious parasite, squirming through his flesh and working it's way into his mind. That's the easier way to think it. The way that still leaves him with dignity.

He attempts to shuffle his way out of her reach, but the grind of cloth on his skin feels as though he's just been engulfed in the snarling jaws of hungry flames. Every nerve on end and crying for attention as his brain goes haywire at the friction.

The quiet groan leaves his mouth before he can stifle it. Though his hand snaps up just as quickly when he goes to quiet the sound, all too late. The rigidity in her present movements leads him to believe that she heard him, and the blush spreading to her face as she wrestles to keep her expression neutral all-but confirms it as she holds steady, keeping her gaze fixated ahead.

Acting more professional than you, dipshit

He seems to realize that his legs are his to move, as though he'd been under the impression that the disgusting, writhing insect nestled in his diaphragm had been calling the shots. With an overtly thespian flair, that he can only imagine that he gained out of sheer embarrassment and desperation to not tackle or even acknowledge his prior *ahem* mishap, he spins to face the Merchant.

A gentleman of heavily clothed figure and of few words besides sale pitches for whatever product he's insisting Leon needs in his artillery. The man is lean, around Leon's height though with a drastic stoop that leaves Leon wondering about his real stature. His pale skin seems scarred from what's visible or left exposed by his fingerless gloves and facial mask. While Leon projects his air of confidence and authority, he can't help but be unnerved by the prickling that creeps up his neck whenever he turns his back on the man. Or even just finds himself in the man's proximity in any capacity.

The villagers seem to pay him no mind which Leon would assume would earn the man the label of "Foe" in relation to Leon. Maybe the man had been saddled with a Plagas similar to the one Krauser seemed to sport. One that left his mind free but his body eager to evolve at the slightest twitch. Though through the reliable service as well as the vending of a rocket launcher, Leon had found himself convinced that the man was more "friend" to him instead.

Even if he didn't trust the man with his life, he was comfortable enough to mumble around certain aspects of his mission around the gentleman, even if not in much detail. Though this didn't seem to lessen the general unease that the man seemed to bring with him, like an oppressive aura. Friend or foe, it didn't matter. The man creeped Leon out.

And yet, now Leon got to choose, look back at Ashley and risk acknowledging what just happened, or keep staring at the weathered face of the Merchant.

In all honesty, Leon wasn't sure Ashley would even acknowledge the small interaction. He couldn't imagine it was any easier for her than it had been for him. Embarrassing on both ends. But he also wouldn't pretend that he hadn't noticed her stealing glances across his form like a kleptomaniac in a trinket store.

Even in his heightened stage of lust though, he wouldn't pretend that justified or lessened the curling and coiling desires that seemed to fester and multiply in a matter of seconds across his flesh. Sweat seemed more than eager to fill all the available space that his body had, and despite the cold interior of the castle and the room, his skin didn't seem discouraged in shoving more beads of salt-filled water to the surface in an attempt to cool down the furnace that he felt he was becoming.

The first huff of breath he puffed out in the Merchant's direction, left him wondering about the humidity he'd just sent the other man's way. The idea of heat mixing with the sour smell of road kill had crept into his mind while he tugged at the collar of his shirt. For the first time since it'd happened, he was glad he'd lost his bomber jacket. He couldn't imagine he'd have been able to endure a single second of the warm wool clinging to his form as he attempted to keep his composure.

Though Ashley's smell of overripe fruit had returned, only emphasized by the close quarters of the room again as Leon begun having to hold his breath to avoid taking in another breath of the alluring scent that he was sure would go straight to his cock which was already yearning for attention. With some attempt at casualty, he leaned closer to the Merchant. Hoping the smell of mothballs and sweat would prove more pungent than Ashley's scent.

In Leon's peripheral, he saw and acknowledged the thick, oaken surface of the door that led to the adjourning safe room. The shooting gallery he was sure. A room he was sure the Merchant was proud enough to set up at each spot, regardless of the fact that Leon barely spent any time bothering with it no matter which location. But for now, that seemed like the best answer or hope for solitude that might allow him a moment of reprise or hope of dealing with his Plagas induced boner.

A shift of his hips as he attempted to lean against the counter for faux casualty with the Merchant, left him wincing as the fabric of his pants grabbed and clung to the protrusion of his boxers, nearly bringing tears to his eyes from the discomfort. It was at moments like these that he was grateful for his strenuous and arduous work into training his facial expression and demeanor.

His brow twitched and Leon took a breath, a quick motion to quell the itching tension and anticipation rising in his body. A moment longer and he finally found the strength to speak to the Merchant, who's gaze had begun to dull in the moments it had taken for the interaction to actually start. As though he'd been staring through Leon's panting and sweat-soaked form, ignoring the furnace his body was becoming.

"Mind if I use the other room?"

The question was met with an easy grin that reached the man's eyes as the salesman that had presumably been at rest, was stirred.

"Of course, stranger. Gallery's all set up. You walk in and shoot the targets. Hit enough of 'em and you'll win yourself a gorgeous piece o' work."

His accent had consistently made Leon cock his brow, but this time he couldn't find the energy to question the man's way of speaking, even mentally.

"Forget the reward. Just going do some self-proctored target practice if that's alright with you." The sweat drops on Leon's face were driving him him up the wall. Sweat clinging to his cheeks, nestled in the fibers of his eyebrows, resting on his upper lips, slipping down his forehead. The feeling of the salty water tracing the path down his face, but being unable to even fathom touching or wiping at the sweat without drawing more attention to it. He could play it off as simply a result of the job. A fierce roundhouse kick that had left him winded, a room they'd passed through that had been a bit too warm for his liking. Or even simply just claiming that he was finally getting fatigued. But those all drew far more attention to it than he knew would be given if he simply pretended nothing was happening.

"'s alright with me, stranger." Underneath the bandana, Leon was sure that the Merchant was still pulling his lips into some kind of smile judging from the continued crinkle of his eyes. Though he wouldn't have laid money on it, as he supposed the traveling salesman had more than his fair share of experience and as such, Leon expected the man could fake a grin with only his twinkling eyes.

"Thanks." Was what Leon eventually spat back out after seemingly remembering the two-way nature of conversations.

Leon's boots ground against the floor as he turned himself to face the door, a stooped posture and a quick and lengthy stride brought him to the well-worn handle in a handful of steps. His steps weren't accompanied by Ashley's as they had been for the entirety of the journey up till that point. The quick click of her boots and the clunk of her buckle embracing the leather beneath in a jostled hug as she tried her best to keep up to his pace. In an environment such as the one they were in now, it wasn't as though there was much wiggle room for denying or ignoring his commands regardless of if she saw the imminent danger he was anticipating or not.

"Stay." And she'd hear the chorus of gunshots after he rounded a corner and encountered whatever creature of flesh and parasite he'd encountered.

"Come on." And she'd find the brown leather of the underside of her boots, smeared with blood as she navigated the corpses Leon had newly procured. A gallery of limbs mangled from the bullet spray Leon had fired into their infected forms. Despite having been grabbed and hauled over the shoulders of grumbling infected, despite being forced to sprint alongside Leon as they narrowly avoided an enraged "El Gigante" or the swinging chainsaw of Dr. Salvador, she followed and stayed when he asked. He knew best.

But the prickle of eyes on the back of Leon's neck told him that Ashley had decided in this instance, without him having to tell her, that she needed to wait outside. Her feet planted firmly where she stood. A glance over his shoulder earned him an image of Ashley with her mouth contorted into a thin line as she gnawed away at the inside of her mouth, brows scrunched together as she stared at him like a wounded puppy.

She took a step back as he twitched, and that seemed to push him over the edge as he finally pushed open the door and stepped into the small shooting gallery, shutting the door behind him with an obnoxious creak that demanded the parties attention as it swung shut with a thunk as it locked behind him.

The wood of the counters was blistered, not yet sanded and hastily put together. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, maybe some bottles along a shelf in the back? But the the varyingly distant shooting targets seemed well-painted and smoothed into having an almost glossy cover that made the dim light of the room, practically shine off them. The contrast between the two items was puzzling enough, though he supposed it wasn't outlandish to assume the Merchant had simply picked a room, found it already had the counters and just utilized the environment by slapping his markers onto the rim. The room was colder than the prior. Not yet tampered with by bodies that radiated warmth as sweat dripped off their face. Though he supposed he would soon amend that.

He willed his legs to move despite their sudden insistence on dropping down to his knees right there and indulging. He wasn't that much of an animal yet.

A few firm and confident strides brought him to stand at the corner where the counter met the wall, and with that, he slumped down with a thud that made his teeth snap together in a clack that rattled through him with a pained groan. Staring at his legs splayed out before him left him acutely aware of the sheer amount of grime and strain he'd forced his clothes to deal with.

Mud and dirt flung like old friends to the rim of his shoes, uneven knots of the stuff poking out from underneath the sole of it. His pants were coated in different patches of blood, some human and some from whatever monsters had been thrown his way in a desperate attempt to make his next breath, his last. His shirt was fringed. Torn along the edges and soaked with his current mess of sweat that left his face red with a flash of embarrassment.

He despised how pathetic he must've seemed. Stumbling off to go deal with an awkward boner like some pubescent teen all over again. Ever since his time in Raccoon City, a night filled with screams and the smell of his own blood, a night that left his clothes flecked with more brain matter than he should've seen in his entire life, a night that left him cautiously touching at his neck every few minutes as sweat dripped down his forehead, just to ensure the canines of the undead hadn't managed to puncture his skin and condemn him to a similar fate of rancid flesh rotting on his still moving bones. Ever since that night, it was though he'd been sleep walking. Floating just under the surface of a lake that had frozen over and refused him escape, a dull thrum reminding him of all that was just out of his reach and blocked by the watery coffin lid.

He didn't feel human, not as if he was better or superior, mind you. Instead, as though he didn't have the right to indulge in human emotionality. Every situation had to be handled with precision and grace, otherwise the victims wouldn't be just himself anymore. He didn't have the liberty of finding his situations terrifying. He didn't have the luxury of hesitating or thinking of his safety in a moment of peril.

So to be reminded of his own humanity in this kind of fashion?

A dry chuckle attempted to work it's way to his lips, fighting the constricting muscles of his throat as his watery eyes and chapped lips demanded attention from their less than benevolent owner. Instead, he just wanted the distress to be over.

He dragged the tips of his fingers across his forehead, the material of his gloves eagerly grabbing and collecting the salty secretions before he dropped one to his side. Chilled stone against his skin seemed to accentuate the heat practically radiating off his again as he groaned in relief at the colder surface.

A shifting of his legs as he leaned further back against the wall reminded him of his less than ideal ailment, and so with an attempt at restraint so as to not risk further discomfort in the state of heightened sensitivity, he began to undo his belt buckle. The soft clink of metal against metal seemed defending in the otherwise quiet environment of the room.

The dirty-blonde sighed tentatively as he pulled the two sides of his fly apart, the coarse material feeling like a cats tongue against his skin as the sweat practically dripped off him. His boxers were tented, but he had been expecting that. The large damp spot that made it look like he'd pissed himself from the sheer amount had not been on his bingo card for this event.

With care, he began to peel his boxer's hem down, letting another stifled groan stay at his lips for a few moments before releasing it with a hiss through gritted teeth at the relief from the now unbearable texture of his clothes having been removed from his appendage. The feeling of cold air on his dick made his fingers curl into fists, his nails digging into the palm of his gloves with such force that Leon was sure he'd be drawing blood if the fabric scraps had been stuffed in his pockets like he kept promising himself he would.

His relief and discomfort were shortlived though as his eyes trailed along his dick with great scrutiny, occasionally taking the curled knuckle of his pointer fingers to press against his eyes in hopes of clearing whatever vision or hallucination was ailing him. He pressed harder, his mind racing and repeating like a mantra how the sight would just disappear in a few seconds and all would be fine. A desperate plea with no one in particular that left him breathing a quivering exhale as he tried to let ease soak back into his bones.

Leon didn't count himself as well versed in the genitalia of creatures besides that of humans. And even then, his experience with dicks besides his own had usually taken place from an angle at which he couldn't see his partners, or they'd held his head down with their fingers knotted in his messy dirty blonde locs to ensure he couldn't sneak a peek.

However he was well aware that this thing wasn't normal across any boards and his mind began racing to rationalize.

I'm high. One of the villager's drugs from when I was tied up still hasn't worn off.

Why is this the only thing you're hallucinating?

Concision. Shovel to the back of the head scrambled my senses.

Too good of a reaction time and a shot to have a bad enough concussion that would cause hallucinations.

...side effect of the Plagas?

Ding ding ding!

You've had that piece of work crawling around in your system for hours now. That's hours of it searching for flaws or wounds, genetic deficiencies, and ailments for it to latch onto and fix. For it to "evolve".

So a healthy host, what does the Plagas do? As much as it disgusted him to admit it, it wouldn't be too far fetched to reason that his Plagas has jumped the gun and decided that the working host could simply be better. Fix the broken ones. Upgrade the healthy ones.

Leon grimaced at the thought, his face contorted to a mess of wrinkles and creases as his lips drew back, exposing the pink of his gums.

Slight discoloration was the first thing he noticed, a gradient that faded into his normal shade the closer it got to the top and head. The discoloration was gleaming as though slick, and another glance over revealed the culprit to be his own precum, dripping down in opaque beads as he panted.

With tentative movements, he brought his pointer finger to touch at the skin, noticing the firmer and smoother texture that summoned images of beetle shells to his mind. Insectile and crawling with an inhumane chitter that slipped through his memory before seemingly disappearing under his skin to rouse a shiver from him.

Laying his hand flat at the base left him feeling a series of bumps, curved almost like shark dorsal fins that trailed along the underside of his dick in a single file line, gradually getting smaller before disappearing at the line of his reddened head. The grimace took hold of his expression, eyes glossy as he touched along the bumps with a delicate curiosity. A shiver slithered over his spine like the run-off of an icicle along his skin, a discomforted grunt passed his lips as he peeled his gaze away from the discoloured canvas of his length.

It wasn't permanent. It couldn't be. The destruction of the Plagas inside his chest would leave his body to attack the tumorous or foreign cells, yes? It wasn't as though he was expecting everything would go back to normal and he'd be able to take a piss without cringing within a week. No, he expected there'd be a lot of tissue sampling and studying, much to his distress, before any of the scientists back at the D.S.O could give him some kind of tonic or salve that would allow him to take a girl home on a Friday and not have her scream like a chick in a black and white horror flic if they happened to get handsy with each other and his belt happened to get yanked off.

But he wasn't there yet. Right now he was gently squeezing the warped surface of his length, a finger resting between the evenly spaced notches of the small bumps. His thumb ran along the top side of his dick, tracing where he was used to feeling the swollen lines of veins.

A hand twitch or a subconscious urge left him giving his cock a squeeze that left him bringing his free hand to lay across his eyes as though it might distance himself from his current situation.

Get it over with. Just hurry up and get the Plagas calmed down.

It took more time than he'd care to admit, but his hand eventually grew steady enough to allow him to confidently run his loose palm over the ridges of the underside without irritating or fearing irritation of it a few times. Each bump of his skin against the ridges sent a discomforted grunt to his throat as if he'd just brushed a series of severed wires, a shock bolting through his body before disappearing into the chaffed wood below.

In his chest, he felt the Plagas practically squirm in delight, presumably under the impression that he'd found some implanted village folk or another creature of a similar affliction. He assumed the creature would've made him waltz over to Ashley and bond more intimately with her if it got its wish. Though instead, it would have to deal with his hand and his imagination for the time being.

In mention of his imagination, he allowed his thoughts to drift from the present situation in order to envision a more pleasant environment. Specifically that of his companion and he didn't bother to try and deny his indulgence when the recesses of his mind brought forth the image of Ada, clad in her short sweater-dress with the firm material of her boots trailing up her legs and attempting to obscure the smooth canvas of her skin.

Her hair gleaming like a crow's feather under the pale moon as it soared by. Her cunning smile, the upturn of those glossy lips as she laughed inwardly at joke, some comedic stroke of genius or irony that she didn't intend to divulge to him till it was too late. Her eyes creased at the edges as she wore a condescendingly expression mixed with a grimace.

He'd never had the pleasure of actually laying with her, but he wasn't alien to this particular fantasy.

He'd find himself actually useful to her, bringing something to her besides just a sigh with a passive smirk. It was crude and he was well aware. A guilty blush crossing his face as he imagined the front of her shoe pressed tight against the front of his clothed groin. Practically toying with him while he attempted to maintain composure. It would go on for a few minutes, then she'd grow bored and would gesture for him to unzip his pants which he'd do with an almost frantic or wild relief. Wether it was related to his own hand dragging up and down along his cock, or if he found himself that deeply relieved even in his imagination, he found a sigh passing his lips.

A few minutes more, and her tongue swiped across the head of his cock as he stared at the wall of the room, too embarrassed to make any kind of eye contact. He intended to close his eyes, but a spasm of the Plagas in his chest dragged his attention and made his grip feel like iron around his cock, letting him hiss an exhale through his teeth as the scenario faded from his mind.

"Fuck!" His irritation lay more with his predicament as a whole, though he was sure that "imagination Ada" felt a bit hurt that the loss of her hadn't been his main lament.

Sitting here was humiliating. Knowing the Merchant and Ashley were sitting outside waiting for him to come back out was humiliating. Having his own dick be foreign in some element to himself was humiliating. This whole thing left a sour taste in his mouth that refused to slither back into his stomach, though he guessed that he was too unlucky to ever hope to achieve anything similar to that. Too good for him. And for a moment, he debated stuffing his too-hard dick into his too rough-textured pants and hoping everything else went smoothly, ignoring the problem might bring some kind of victory if he was able to drag his mind out of the gutter for long enough actually complete his mission.

But wishful thinking wasn't getting him anywhere, and his cock was already aching in the absence of his palm's warmth. This wasn't a problem he could easily ignore, and his mouth curled into a sneer as he leered down at his chest, hopefully cutting eyes at the parasitic creature.

His hand resumed it's place, gripping tightly between the notches which he hadn't the foggiest notion of the use for. Grip? Friction? Pleasure for the partner? A disgusted and almost sluggish shiver crept over his sweat-slicked body. He didn't want to think about it anymore and quickly discarded the thought as he gave his cock a few testing pumps, ending with his thumb dragging across the slit to collect and wipe away the precum he'd been leaking at a pace he was less than comfortable with.

He fought his gaze away from his misshapen dick again, returning it too the spot on the wall, discoloured and stained from what he would assume was years of neglect. Left to the rot and mold that had crept into the base of the castle, sinking it's diseased teeth into the tree carcasses.

"Get it over with. They're waiting on you."

He nodded to himself in his solidarity, though no one would've questioned whatever will he was trying to prove or reinforce. A few more gentle pumps of his dick drew a whimper to his lips, but he quieted himself.

Again, he imagined Ada's appearance. The curves of her thighs and his desperate want to run his hands over her sides. Holding and squeezing her hips as he basked in the scent that emulated from her whenever he managed to get close enough.

During Raccoon City, he'd imagined it was a perfume. Something from a bottle she would toss on or swipe onto her neck in order to make herself that much more irresistible. A carnivorous plant coughing out the most alluring scents in order to bring ignorant or misguided creatures scrambling to them. And Leon had scrambled more than once or twice. And yet Ada hadn't found it in herself to permanently terminate their working relationship yet.

Still, he considered what she was doing crueler. Misgivings and misinformation disguised as hopes that passed her pretty lips with a subtle smile. And yet it was still that smile that he longed to see when he woke up in the morning. Her hair disheveled yet still seemingly perfect as she let him wrestle on top of her. Her shapely form laid out before him as her palms rested on his bent legs, her fingers tracing the flexed muscles of his thighs.

Leon grunted into his free hand as his pace quickened, the Plagas sending a seemingly thrilled spark and shiver through his body to let him know if it's approval for what he continued to believe as it's apparent approval for its misunderstanding of the current situation.

While doing his best to ignore the creatures opinion, he flicked his wrist into giving a small twist near the end of his reddened head which made him grit his teeth, gnashed together like a chewing mule.

The feeling of Ada's own thighs on either side of his head, squeezing with varying intensities as he licked needily at her pussy, intent on attempting to get her to cum once like this. And while he was sure she would, she seemed intent on playing the uninterested lass. A uncaring or even bored expression plastered on her face as she glanced at her nails.

His nails dug into her hips with a more than spiteful whine leaving his lips as he stared at her from his post between her legs. A kick to his back in retributive action was delivered swiftly in trade for the nail marks, though he seemed without care as he began kissing and licking gently along the insides of her thighs like an overeager cat, or as she loved to remind and taunt him, "a lovesick puppy". A few times she'd chastised him enough to try and bully him into wearing dog ears during their endeavors, but that was one decision he intended to stay loyal to in his denial of it.

He gnawed on the inside of his lips and mouth as he kept himself quiet this time, barely aware of the pace and vigor with which he was practically assaulting the roughened exterior of his cock now. He felt his back begin to arch as he tried to push himself further into the sensation that already seemed all enveloping and consuming.

Her graceful behavior continued in bed, her back a smooth arch and her lips scarcely parted to vocalize anything besides the occasional teasing remark. It's not for his lack of trying, in his fantasies, he's tried nearly everything that comes to mind and yet she still refuses to break that illusive yet alluring façade of her disinterest. Leon's sure that it's something he's attracted to even if he doesn't want to admit it to himself. A moment of finally not being in control after having spent years being the one to be relied on. The one who had to fix everything and the one on who's shoulders everything seemed to fall despite his irritation. So to let her take control and act as his higher power for once? He wouldn't pretend the idea wasn't at least a little bit liberating.

With-

He felt the warm seed coat his knuckles and his fantasy quickly disappeared. He cursed out the Plagas and it's seemingly overeager tendencies. To some amount of relief though, he found his cock softening in his grip. Or at least softening as much as the chitin would allow.

Shaking off his knuckles and sending a small droplets of the opaque liquid to lay on the planks of wood.

He just wanted this mission to be fucking over already.

As if on que, the Plagas squirmed in his chest again, presumably still ecstatic from what it assumed was a successful infection of another being.

Tough luck. Was his mental response. A thought tossed out like a crumpled up piece of paper. We've both got trouble with women, little bug.

#resident evil #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #leon kennedy #leon resident evil #leon x ada #ada wong #ada x leon #resident evil 4 #resident evil fanfiction #smut writing #creative writing #writing #leon scott kennedy #ashley graham

4 notes · View notes

rorschach-retrograding-rotary · 9 days ago

Text

"YOU SEE THAT IN THE MOVIES?"

In the original release of MGS3, Para-Medic would talk about one of 39 different movies when the game was saved. Two of these were westerns. Copycat Ocelot models himself after the on-screen cowboys that appeared in the movies he was so obsessed with, emulating their shooting styles, dressing in Old West inspired outfits and at one point even adopting a stereotypical twang while speaking English. The concept of his character came about due to Kojima's love of Django (1966). His original design was inspired by the actor, Lee Van Cleef, renowned for his performance in the iconic "Dollars" trilogy. Being able to shoot his beret off during his boss battle in MGS3 is almost certainly a reference to a scene from For A Few Dollars More (1965). That same boss battle has tumbleweeds rolling, dust blowing and the option to engage in a standoff with him. He uses revolvers, engraved and otherwise. His gloves! His spurs! His horse! His moustache! "Draw"! There's so much about him that it doesn't need to be explained - Ocelot is THE cowboy character. The westerns Para-Medic mentions were no doubt chosen with him in mind.

1. A Fistful of Dollars (1964)

Para-Medic: "Snake, have you ever seen 'For a Fistful of Dollars'?"

Snake: "Nope, never."

Para-Medic: "It's a spaghetti western."

Snake: "Spaghetti western?"

Para-Medic "It's really cool. Especially the main character's stylish gunplay."

Snake: "Gunplay..."

Para-Medic: "I saw it in England on the major's recommendation, but it hasn't come out in the States yet. It's so cool! They'll bring it to America, I'm sure. You have to see it sometime."

Snake: "Sure."

This is the first movie in the Dollars trilogy (The third is The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, which is decidedly more popular but its inclusion would've been anachronistic as all the movies featured in MGS3 were released in or before the year 1964). Cultural significance is not the only reason for this selection. The protagonist, The Man With No Name - or "Joe" as he is referred to by the locals - is a drifter and skilled gunfighter who wanders into a small town dominated by two corrupt rival families. Without reciting the entire plot, Joe remains loyal only to himself and exploits both families in order to turn a profit. He assists, endangers and kills people of either allegiance. Making money isn't Ocelot's ultimate goal but he is, of course, infamous for his treachery, suspicious even to characters in the games. Joe is described as being uncomfortably intelligent for a hired grunt, much like Ocelot, whose preferred approach is to act as a simple stooge, feigning ignorance to his bosses, all the while observing and devising schemes to enact his secret plans.

In the end, Joe outsmarts and outlives the two families, having played a role in the downfall of them both. It's important to note that the town sheriff being a member of one of the families does not (in true cowboy fashion) sway Joe's decisions. Ocelot is similar in that he will not bow to authority simply because they wear a badge or have a title. Joe also seems to only trouble the people who "deserve it" - he sees the corrupt families as fair game, but shows no malice towards anyone else. In fact, he takes a risk and goes out of his way to reunite a captive woman with her family, which could be called noble. Ocelot considers himself noble (In MGSV, for example - "Assuming they see [Quiet] as a prisoner here, no, even more so if they do, she deserves to be treated humanely. I always thought our men were a bit more noble-minded".) and although he can be cruel, it seems to be reserved for those who, again, "deserve it", as in, they're already operating in a military environment. Every character Ocelot kills is either a war profiteer, a military operative or is corrupt in some way. In MGSV, he laments the effects of war on civilians and shares Big Boss' sentiment of, "You pick up a gun, and sooner or later you're going to hell". Ocelot describes the Venom Snake project as "a detour on [Venom's] journey to Hell". Venom is a man Ocelot must surely respect for protecting Big Boss but he still recognises him as a soldier. Not to say that Ocelot a good person but he is aware of the harm that he and those he encounters in the military and intelligence spheres inflict by engaging in direct combat and inciting violence through manipulation that results in prolonged conflict. He speaks mournfully about the cycle of vengeance that he and those like him feed into. Still, he finds it fulfilling because that's the life he was prepared for. For him, there is no alternative.

Anyway, Joe also uses a Colt .45 ("the greatest handgun ever made"), even against the main antagonist, who claims that a man with a rifle will always beat a man with a pistol. The antagonist's signature killing style is to aim for the heart, which is what Ocelot does in MGS2. There's also torture in this movie. And a cat.

2. The Magnificent Seven (1960)

Para-Medic: "Snake, have you seen 'The Magnificent Seven'?"

Snake: "Sorry."

Para-Medic: "It's a remake of the Japanese classic, 'The Seven Samurai', only in a western setting. This tiny Mexican village is attacked every year by bandits. Finally, the village elder can't stand it any longer and decides to hire someone to protect the village. Seven gunmen respond to the call. They teach the villagers how to shoot and prepare for the oncoming attack. But then, the enemy shows up at the village with a huge band."

Snake: "Then what happens?"

Para-Medic: "You'll just have to see it for yourself. I don't want to spoil it."

Snake: "...Oh."

Para-Medic: "Movies are only fun when you actually watch them. They're something you have to experience for yourself."

In this movie, the main character, Chris, rounds up six other gunfighters to help protect a farming village that is regularly ravaged by bandits. Major Ocelot is EXTREMELY reminiscent of Chico, the youngest of the seven. After witnessing Chris' impressive skills, Chico is amazed and becomes desperate to be recruited by Chris. As Chris searches for suitable candidates, Chico persists in following the growing gang around, even after becoming infuriated by what he perceives as a ridiculous, childish game (link to scene - the way he flounces off reminds me SO much of the scene where The Boss disassembles Ocelot's gun - "very young and very proud"!). Young Ocelot is just like Chico in that he is an inexperienced, volatile young man who is eager to impress someone he idolises. Snake and Chris both act as older role models who teach the rookies to temper their pride in order to become a better soldier/gunfighter.

This movie script excerpt shows Chico's youthful naivety, as well as the likely reason Ocelot is so fond of westerns:

Chico: "Villages like this, they make up a song about every big thing that happens. Sing them for years."

Chris Adams: "You think it's worth it?"

Chico: "Don't you?"

Chris Adams: "It's only a matter of knowing how to shoot a gun. Nothing big about that."

Chico: "Hey. How can you talk like this? Your gun has got you everything you have. Isn't that true? Hmm? Well, isn't that true?"

Vin: "Yeah, sure. Everything. After a while you can call bartenders and faro dealers by their first name - maybe two hundred of 'em! Rented rooms you live in - five hundred! Meals you eat in hash houses - a thousand! Home - none! Wife - none! Kids... none! Prospects - zero. Suppose I left anything out?"

Chris Adams: "Yeah. Places you're tied down to - none. People with a hold on you - none. Men you step aside for - none."

Lee: "Insults swallowed - none. Enemies - none."

Chris Adams: "No enemies?"

Lee: "Alive."

Chico: "Well. This is the kind of arithmetic I like."

Chris Adams: "Yeah. So did I at your age."

Here, Chico is primarily concerned with the glory of being a gunfighter, whereas the older men who have actually lived that life have a bleaker perspective. Young Ocelot also values his reputation, pridefully reminding the KGB soldiers at Rassvet: "That's Major Ocelot to you - and don't you forget it!"

The arrogance of youth puts Ocelot in danger more than once. Snake spares him after every encounter, explaining to EVA that Ocelot is "still young". Over the radio, Snake says that he doesn't think Ocelot is "any older than 18 or 19", which is younger than his actual age of 20. Snake is 29 in MGS3, whereas Ocelot has only been out of his teenage years for a few months. A nine-year gap at that age is massive in terms of maturity, which is why Snake assumes Ocelot is still just a teenager. In the MGS3 novel, it seems the devious aspect of Ocelot's character is toned down, with more of a focus on how immature he is instead. His youth is mentioned at every opportunity and his admiration for Snake surviving Volgin's torture is described as "naive". Like in the game, his emotions often get the better of him which could be seen as quite childish too, as could the way he looks for guidance and approval (checking his unit are laughing along with him, ditching the engraved revolver because Snake mocked it, etc.). One of his super cool and necessary gun juggling moments is even compared to a traditional Japanese children's game called "otedama" where beanbags are tossed and juggled - a literal child's game. Snake looks on Ocelot as The Boss looks on Snake: young, inexperienced and naive. This relationship connects Snake and Ocelot through The Boss: Ocelot is her biological son, Snake her spiritual son. The Boss was Snake's mentor, and he became Ocelot's.

These lines sum up the most likely reason for Ocelot's love of westerns:

"Places you're tied down to - none. People with a hold on you - none. Men you step aside for - none."

That kind of freedom is probably something that Ocelot, raised to be a tool by the Philosophers, has desired since a very young age. Watching westerns might have inspired some kind of hope that he could have that agency over his life one day, too.

There's also a scene where Chico infiltrates the enemy camp and returns with information, an act he later brags about. Ocelot is too cautious to brag about being a spy but he does have a high opinion of himself (on the surface). Chico makes a speech in the village, ringing a bell to demand everyone's attention, a grandiose display that matches Ocelot's cockiness and dramatic gestures. While alone in the woods, Chico encounters a docile bull and tries to play bullfighter with it ("Toro! Toro! Toro!" It doesn't respond.). He kisses his hand and places it on the bull, transferring the kiss indirectly as a symbol of his harmless intent. It's another example of the light-hearted playfulness that might be expected from a young person. Considering Ocelot's fondness for animals (particularly the markhor) and tendency to be playful, it's not difficult to imagine him acting in the same way.

3. Gunfight At The OK Corral (1957)

Para-Medic: "Hey, Snake. Ever seen Gunfight At The OK Corral?"

Snake: "No, I haven't."

Para-Medic: "It's a color western about a showdown between Wyatt Earp and the Clantons in Tombstone. I was touched by the friendship between Wyatt Earp, the lawman, and Doc Holliday, the man whose life he saved."

Snake: "Was it an American that Wyatt Earp had? I thought it might have been a Peacemaker."

Para-Medic: "What are you talking about?"

Snake: "Nothing. I was just thinking about the Single Action Army Ocelot-"

Para-Medic: "Snake. He's not Kirk Douglas."

Snake: "I know that."

This movie was only added to the 3DS version of MGS3 in 2012, so the main MGS story had already come to an end four years earlier in MGS4. Ocelot's life was over and his motivations were clear. As EVA says: he idolised Big Boss.

In this call, Para-Medic says to Snake, "[Ocelot's] not Kirk Douglas." Kirk Douglas plays Doc Holliday, making Snake Wyatt Earp. These are real-life historical figures but the following is solely based on the depictions of them in this movie.

Wyatt Earp is a virtuous lawman who crosses paths with crooked (but strangely refined) gambler, gunfighter and former dentist, Doc Holliday. Through circumstance and debt, they save each other's lives and develop a familiarity with other. Their friendship is unusual considering they operate on either side of the law. Similarly, Snake and Ocelot form a bond despite their opposing allegiances. Snake spares Ocelot's life multiple times and also saves him from falling debris during the motorcycle chase in MGS3. In the novel, Ocelot concludes that every instance of him and Snake evading death at each other's hands is fate. In the game, the only time Ocelot is "allowed" to shoot Snake is when his gun is loaded with a blank.

Doc becomes somewhat distracted by Earp, even to the point of arousing jealousy in his former brothel worker girlfriend. Both she and Doc are broadly considered to be socially undesirable. He tells her plainly that people like them "haven't mattered since the day [they] were born". Doc also expresses indifference when warned that he might be killed if he confronts another character (played by Lee Van Cleef!) who is hostile to him:

Bartender: "You act as if you want to get killed."

Doc Holliday: "Maybe I do."

He later tells Earp he would prefer to die in a gunfight rather than waste away "little by little".

Ocelot was always thrilled by combat. He refused to shuffle off and succumb to illness or allow old age to snuff him out. He found fulfilment in the brutal fistfight immediately before his death at age 70. It held great meaning for him to fight with an opponent he respected in the image of an aged Big Boss.

Like Doc Holliday, Ocelot holds himself in low regard, which is referenced in the MGS4 novel with the line about his "insignificant personality" and he certainly believes himself to be disposable given the damage he voluntarily inflicts on his mind. Ocelot does not value himself as an individual and instead lives his life devoted to Big Boss and his ideals.

Doc repeatedly refers to Earl as "preacher" which is again reminiscent of the relationship between Ocelot and Snake. Before Operation Snake Eater, Snake idolised his mentor, The Boss, who became elevated to something of a sacred figure after her death. Snake is The Boss' spiritual successor and acts as Ocelot's mentor. Ocelot respects and reveres him, and in MGSV, helps to further cement Big Boss as a battlefield legend, granting him an almost supernatural status akin to The Boss'. In the Japanese script for MGS3, Snake's initial advice to Ocelot is described as "preaching" and Para-Medic later calls it a "sermon".

Until that moment at Rassvet, Ocelot obeyed but likely didn't respect many people in his life. The Philosophers, who abducted him as a baby, raised him as a tool to carry out their orders. As a teenager, he is stationed at Groznyj Grad where his only role model is the sadistic Colonel Volgin, who rules his men with fear. Ocelot has never been allowed input into the direction of his life. He has never known his parents, never had stability and is obsessed with westerns, indicating that he longs for freedom. Snake encouraging him to use revolvers is hugely significant for Ocelot. Snake's advice to switch from modern standard gear to an outdated weapon is actually a recognition of Ocelot as an individual, something that he has likely never experienced. As a child of the Philosophers, he has been trained since birth to deceive and suppress his true emotions in order to make him a more effective spy. The revolver suits Ocelot's style and brings him genuine fulfilment, even though it's tactically obsolete. He was already wearing spurs at Rassvet and was able to procure at least three revolvers within a week. If he was interested in westerns and had easy access to revolvers, the fact that he wasn't suggests that he was suppressing part of his individuality. Ocelot looks up to Snake as a guiding figure after this.

Eventually, Doc falls deathly ill and becomes bedbound. Miserable in his weakened state, he learns that Earp's brother has been killed. On the day of the fight, he becomes invigorated and by sheer force of will, sets out to join Earp and his other brothers in avenging their sibling. He says, "If I'm going to die, at least let me die with the only friend I ever had."

Ocelot constantly risked his life for Big Boss and eventually died for him after the distinct impact of his words in 1964. He pushed the young Ocelot towards true freedom and helped him shape what little personal identity he had. He irreversibly changed the course of his life. No other person or organisation could ever do what Big Boss did for Ocelot and so were undeserving of his loyalty. Doc fighting alongside the Earp brothers is indicative of his relationship with Wyatt being so strong that it approaches the familal. Ocelot is first introduced in MGS1 as one of the "Sons of Big Boss" and then, after grafting Liquid Snake's forearm onto his elbow, can be partially described as a literal "son", which is explained in the MGS4 novel:

"He had been born an ocelot but was now—even if only in fiction—a snake. That might have been what he had always desired—to be the son of the warrior whom he respected more than anyone else."

The dynamic between Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday is similar to Snake and Ocelot in that their friendship is unexpected, strong and has elements of admiration and devotion. Earp is dedicated to his duty and inspires a loyalty in the notoriously devious Doc after displaying genuine decency and treating him fairly despite his reputation, a decision criticised by other characters. Snake plays a similar role for Ocelot throughout MGS3, where he consistently shows strength of character, skill and devotion to duty, even in extreme circumstances. Snake is also able to see past any prejudice he might be expected to have towards Ocelot as an enemy operative and reaches him on a personal level. Their budding friendship, like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday's, is questioned by their respective associates and colleagues.

Doc's character shares multiple traits with the many iterations of Ocelot as he appears across the series: he is refined, duplicitous, cynical, a loner and a remarkable gunfighter. Wyatt Earp also says this to him:

"I hear you did some pretty fancy shooting, Doc."

The influence of all three westerns mentioned in MGS3 on Ocelot's character is clear: A Fistful of Dollars typified the shrewd cunning he is known for; The Magnificent Seven demonstrated his youthful pride and idolisation; and Gunfight At The OK Corral evoked the strong friendship and devotion that defined his life.

91 notes · View notes