#[[ so this isn't actually what I had originally envisioned

[falseficus]

if i may play the devil's advocate for a moment -- it doesn't really bother me that most of the fan posting around disco elysium on this site is more focused on the emotional aspects of the game than the political ones. i mean, firstly, it's well-acknowledged that fanworks tend to fill the gaps of unexplored potential in the original work -- ie, envisioning darkness in lighthearted works, re-imagining dark works as lighthearted. a lot of the emotional or relational aspects of disco elysium are left ambiguous, abstract, or at the very least dependent upon player choice and interpretation. this renders them fertile ground for speculative art. by contrast, the game's political statements are, if you have the context to analyze them well, complete. there simply isn't much more to say.

beyond that, those political aspects are also leagues ahead of many other pieces of media in terms of their complexity, nuance, and real-world analysis. that's part of what makes the game so great, and i do think may fans understand that. but, to be honest, being capable of engaging with those aspects of the game (just glance at reddit, and you'll see that many fans don't even reach that level) does not mean that fans are capable of generating that level of work themselves. like, it's simply more mental work to come up with a piece of creative art/writing that expands upon the superb worldbuilding and commentary of DE than it is to write about harry and kim getting goopy nasty. people know how to do the latter because it is a commonly exercised muscle of fandom. the former is almost academic.

that doesn't mean people *shouldn't* engage with the political aspects of the game generatively/creatively. but also... like... maybe it's better this way. seriously, look at reddit, guys. the DE subreddit is full of people *attempting* to engage with the game politically, and the analysis they're putting out is hot steaming dookie. i lose brain cells every time im forced to read another take that earnestly assumes the game positions moralism as the Right and Good Choice for Revachol. on tumblr, analysis is generative, practiced through art/fanfiction... and if i had to see the type of shit i see on reddit on tumblr in the form of fanart, id kill us all.

so anyway, i dont think the fanwork hyperfocus on relationships/emotion indicates that people aren't properly understanding the political points of the game, but simply that those points are much harder for fans to process in a generative way. their underrepresentation in fanwork doesnt particularly indicate anything about the way people are actually receiving and understanding the themes of the game.

except for the people inexplicably clogging the tag with jean viquemare. they do not understand the game and will not see the light of heaven

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Playlist Love | Jungkook | Slow Down | Chase Atlantic

Play it again...and again and again and again.

Summary: Jungkook's party isn't exactly how he had envisioned spending his birthday so sneaking out with you was the only way he wanted to end his night. Based off of Chase Atlantic's discography. Specifically 'Slow Down', 'OHMAMI', 'HEAVEN AND BACK', 'Meddle About', 'Friends', 'Now' and I think that's it 😅 Pairing: Sunshine f!reader x Grumpy Jungkook established relationship (Written in Jungkook's pov) Word Count: 4k~ Warnings: Smut smut and more smut and explicit language ofc cuz it's Chase Atlantic. Jungkook is low-key a dick and hates everyone but has a very soft spot for the reader.

The music that seemed deafening on arrival has become nothing but a hum in the back of my mind, vision focused only on her. Watching the way she speaks, the way she smiles and specifically how tempting she looks in that dress.

"Aye birthday boy, you wanna beer?" one of the many guys who suddenly thinks they're my best friend tonight asks yet again. "Nah man I'm good" I say, scooting over when he goes to sit on the couch next to me, now stuck between him and the couple who have been sucking face for the past ten minutes.

This party although for me hasn't entertained me in the slightest. It's harsh to say but when my best friend is the one who decides to throw it it's more or less just another one of his usual ragers that have become less and less my style since I left college.

"That your girl?" the guy who's name I haven't bothered to learn asks, following my line of sight to her, dancing in a circle of girls that are just as intoxicated as she is, if not more.

"Yeah, she's mine" I mumble, loving the way those words taste on my tongue. "Nice" he drags out, clearly overcompensating for guy talk. He's drunk though so I guess I can't expect an original or coherent thought to come out of him.

As I tune out whatever else he's saying I opt to listen to the lyrics of a familiar song I've heard her play ad nauseam when we're together and I realize I had never fully digested what they're saying.

I don't know if you already know how But girl, I got the feeling that you know now You're buried in the pillow, yeah, you're so loud But I'm about to show you, baby, slow down

Visions of her with her face buried in a pillow entertain me. Back arched and ass up, the pleasure too much yet not enough, begging me to go faster but all I do is slow down. Pressing down between her shoulder blades to muffle her cries of protest since she's being way too fucking loud. Nothing stoping me from keeping a slow stroke going, denying her her release again and again until she's broken.

"Aye Jungkook" the guy calls out, knocking me out of my fantasy and bringing me back to reality.

"What?" I answer curtly, already sexually frustrated from those thoughts alone, leaving me ticked off. "That guy is trying to make a move on your girl" he say. My eyes although hadn't left her, fogged over with the illusion my twisted mind had created leaving me blind to the pitiful interaction in front of me.

I get up from the couch wordlessly and stalk towards the dance floor, weaving through the crowd haphazardly just to get to her and once I do I grab her wrist and pull on it a bit, making her stumble, her back now pressed up against my chest.

"Who's this?" I whisper in her ear, showing a sense of intimacy enough to make the man who had clear plans with her in mind uncomfortable.

She giggles at the ticklish feeling and leans into me once she's realize who it is. "Oh um, I dunno" her speech cutely slurred making me laugh at how much she actually didn't care to learn anything about him.

"Oh! Um what's your name?" she asks, no doubt feeling a little embarrassed and asking just to clumsily remedy the situation. "Jake" he replies dryly, sizing me up now instead of paying attention to her, knowing that he's lost the battle and the war.

"Well Jake, I suggest you find another girl" I say, turning her around so her focus is on me but in true drunk y/n fashion she never wants anyone to be left on a bad note. "It was nice meeting you" she says over her shoulder, his eyes going between her and I, my eyes in response wordlessly telling him to walk away and he does, eyeing the crowd to find another girl who might bother giving him the time of day.

"Hi Koo" she say happily, running her hands up my biceps and shoulders before locking her fingers behind my neck, trapping me in her hold. "Hi baby" I say softly, caressing her face for a second and noticing how warm she's gotten.

"You wanna come sit?" I nod my head towards the area I just came from, the couple from before gone, no doubt getting that room they should've gotten half an hour ago. "No, dance with me" she slurs, dragging out the first word, pulling me closer to make a point. My hands now placed on her hips while she gets lost in the music again.

Girl, just scream it out Tell me what you're thinking No, I wanna see you undress now I wanna hear you confess now

"You having fun" I ask, amused at how adorable she's acting, a dazed giggly mess. "Mhm so much fun. Are you?" she asks, not wanting to be the only one of us enjoying ourselves since technically it is still my party. "I am but I'd rather get outta here" I confess, having had fun at the beginning but this past hour or two has been excruciating, nursing my water to make sure I'm good to drive us home while watching her tease me without even knowing it.

"But my friends just got here" she says, gesturing to some people who had been here for long enough. "All of your friends have been here for so long. Which means we've been here for way too long " I argue and she shakes her head before realizing how bad of an idea that is, clearly having made herself dizzy from the way she stumbled, resigning to a pout instead.

"Don't look at me like that" I chuckle, kissing her pouty lips which she responds to right away, her clumsy kisses tasting like the many drinks she's had tonight. "What are my friends gonna think if we leave so early? It's your birthday" she asks, not realizing it's well past two am.

"I'm sorry to say this babe but I don't give a fuck about your friends right now" I whisper in her ear, my words making her shiver. "I'm sure what I've got to offer you tonight is a lot better than what they can give" I say, kissing her neck to prove my point leaving her humming in contentment.

"Lemme finish up my bottle then we'll g-go" she says and I chuckle while pulling back to look at her. "Do you even know where it is?" I cock a brow and when she opens her mouth to respond her brows soon furrow in confusion. "That's what I thought" I say and when she goes to protest I cut her off.

"You're not drinking what's in that fucking bottle y/n even if you did find it" and she closes her mouth, her pupils dilating just the slightest bit telling me that she's fully ready to listen now.

"Go get your stuff" I say patting her ass twice before spinning her around and encouraging her to lead the way. She refused to give me her things at the beginning of the night, claiming she needed her lipstick or whatever so she better know where it is or we're leaving without it.

I don't have time to fuck around right now when I notice how high her dress had ridden up her thighs, leaving me following very close behind.

She finds her purse and double checks for her phone that's luckily in there too and before she can start saying goodbye to anyone I'm dragging her out of the house. "You guys sneaking out of your own party?" one of the guys who's smoking a cigarette by the front door asks.

"Yeah can you tell everyone we left? If they even bother to notice" I ask, helping her clumsily walk down the front porch steps. "I'll tell em, Happy Birthday dude" he says and at that we're walking to my car with y/n slurring out a goodbye for the both of us.

"Why do you wanna go home early?" she pouts, dragging out the last syllable while I help her down into the passenger seat. "I don't like partying like that anymore. Plus it's already two am so I'm pretty sure we've stayed long enough" I inform her but she's still not one hundred percent convinced.

"But it's your birthday! I thought we were gonna take an Uber home?" she asks, now confused and a little concerned. "I stopped drinking a couple hours ago so I'm fine. I'd never put my girl in danger like that" I assure her, caressing her cheek for a second when she leans into my touch, retracting it and putting her seatbelt on a moment later.

"You okay?" I ask, checking her out...for safety reasons of course, but those bare thighs are making it so much harder to keep my thoughts to myself. "I should've let you have fun" she sighs, regretting not offering to be the DD this time.

"It's okay baby, let's just get home yeah?" I say and she nods, her lips still very much pouted in remorse for her choices. "Better suck that lip back into your mouth or I'll make you suck something else" I warn and she listens right away, knowing I'll make good on my promise and I smile when I see her rubbing her thighs together. "Good girl" I rasp and close her door before rounding the car to my side.

~~~~~

"Did you have a good birthday?" she asks after we've been driving on the highway for a while, taking sips from the water I bought her. "It's not over yet" I smile, looking over and seeing she's starting to sober up...barely. "But it's past midnight" she says and I shake my head. "It's not over yet since I still haven't gotten to unwrap my gift yet" I say scanning her body but she tilts her head at me.

"But I already gave you your present" she says, brows furrowed and completely oblivious to what I'm thinking. "Yes you did baby and it was a very nice gift but I'm not talking about that" I say, thinking she'll understand this time but with her still coming out of her drunken state she's not the sharpest tool in the shed just yet.

"What do yo-" she starts but cuts herself off when she feels my hand that's been on her thigh slide just the slightest bit higher and she flutters her lashes, sobering up just a bit more at the implications of my action.

"Is that okay with you" I ask, rubbing circles on her inner thigh to reassure her that it's her decision. We're both comfortable having drunk sex together but she knows she can always say no.

She stares down at my hand for a while, no doubt lost in a similar daze I had been in at the party not too long ago. "It's okay you don't have to answer now. Drink some more water and you can decide when we get home" I say, sliding my hand to rest just above her knee so she don't feel too much pressure.

After a couple of minutes of her contemplative silence I glance over and see that she's smiling to herself, a clear sign that we're both getting what we want tonight but I decide to take my hand off of her leg, opting to grab my phone and put on her playlist, the one that I've realized leaves nothing to the imagination.

Once we hit the first chorus I realized that this is the perfect one to get her to realize what I've been thinking about since we got in the car. From the way she changes her posture and glances over at me I know it's only a matter of time and when the second verse hits she's rubbing her thighs together again.

Bend it over slow 'cause daddy I know how you like it Backseat of the 'Rari pullin' over just to ride it

"You okay?" I ask her, noticing how she's bouncing one of her legs up and down, a usual nervous habit of hers but in this case it's to give herself some stimulation and we both know that. She nods and clears her throat to get rid of any nervous tone that no doubt would've come out of her and opts to nod.

"Okay" I smirk, going back to driving but I place my hand on her thigh again, stopping her ministrations and making her just as impatient as I've felt since that fucking song at the party...literally.

Hit one-fifty on the dash, I bent the corner Then she bent it for me sideways, uh I might have to fuck her on the highway, yeah

"Pull over" she mumbles and I smirk, thanking the artists on this song but making her say it again. "What was that? I couldn't hear you baby" I taunt, sliding my hand further up her thigh and squeezing it to reassure her since I know she's embarrassed.

"I said pull over" she commands which takes me by surprise but I do as she says, opting to take the next exit instead of the very reckless suggestion from the lyrics.

Once I get off the highway I find a secluded parking space in an otherwise completely vacant lot and turn off the car.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about?" I tease, turning my whole body to face her and the next second she's unbuckling her seatbelt and yanking on my collar to smash her lips against mine. Lips, teeth and tongue clashing, kissing each other breathless until she has to pull away, chest heaving and her bottom lip already starting to swell.

"We can wait until we get ho-" "No!" she interrupts me, her eyes opening with a glazed over look from arousal and her slightly intoxicated state. "No I wanna do this. Here. Now" she says, pulling me in for another kiss and I reciprocate it, my hands feeling for my own seatbelt to get it off of me.

I hold her face in place with one hand while the other is grabbing onto her forearm, pulling her over to to sit in my lap and when she gets the message I start pushing my seat back to make room for her but she still ends up landing her ass on the horn, making her bite my lip in surprise.

"Shhh" I chuckle, guiding her hips to sit on my lap instead, "You sure you're okay?" I tease, sliding my hands up her bare thighs, my fingers just barely slipping under the hem of her dress in case she says no.

She wanna fuck me, okay? She wanna know how it tastes

"Yes" she groans, clearly frustrated with me asking her again, shutting up any questions of doubt when she starts to unbuckle my belt.

"Someone's extremely impatient huh?" I say while she unbuttons my jeans, leaning back in my seat and lifting my hips for her so she can slide my jeans and boxers down, spitting on her hand afterwards and wrapping her hand around my dick, stroking it up and down at a lazy pace and taking control.

I hum and lay back, my eye half lidded and watching her as she takes special care to pay attention to what she's doing. "Feel so good" I encourage her, wanting to get her attention so she'll look at me, her lashes fluttering before she does, her bottom lip between her teeth from concentrating too hard.

"Come here" I say, caressing her face and tugging her lip free before kissing her, this time at a slower more sensual pace that matches the way her hand is stroking my length up and down, up and down.

"Fuck you're so good to me" I curse when her thumb runs along my tip, pulling away from her lips and kissing down her jaw to pepper kisses along the column of her neck, sucking marks into her skin when her hand tightens on my length and starts picking up the pace.

I groan against her skin and bite down to muffle the sound of any others coming after that but once I get too close I tell her to stop. "S-shit wait, wait" I say and she does, taking her hand off and looking at me, concern written on her face but I clear my throat and answer the question that's clearly written all over her face.

"Wanna fuck you" I say and slide my hand all the way up her dress, going to press against her clit and realizing there's no barrier. "You're not wearing anything under this?" I ask, raising my brow and getting the answer myself when I'm able to put a finger inside her. 

I pump it in and out until she starts to ride my fingers, adding another one but making her do the work. She shakes her head, resting both of her hands on my shoulders to keep her balance.

"T-took them off when you got me the w-water" she stutters, admitting to what she did when I went inside of the gas station. "You little minx" I chuckle, adding another finger and making her clench around them, a yelp coming out of her when she sinks back down, not expecting the stretch just yet.

"Thought it would be easier for when we got h-home" she explains, the innocence in her tone contradicting the way she's using my fingers to get off. "You we're trying to make it easier for me to fuck this pussy as soon as we got home. Didn't know you were as eager to get fucked as I was to fuck you" I hum, loving the way I've trained my girl.

I take my fingers out of her and she whimpers in protest. "Patience Princess" I scold, grabbing her hips so she'll hover over my length, taking one hand off to help line up with her entrance. She looks at me and my eyes flicker down to where she's hovering and when she starts to lower herself down she rests her forehead against mine, squeezing her eyes shut while her nails dig into my shoulders.

She lets out a whine and I can tell that the stretch is starting to burn from the way her walls are sucking me in. I hiss when she clenches around me, sensitive from denying myself of an orgasm in favor of prepping her to fuck sooner.

"It's okay baby, s-slow down" I stutter, nudging my nose against hers and grabbing her hips to stabilize her, gripping them so hard that my fingers will have left bruises for her to see in the morning. Her breathing is shaky when she takes in more, her pussy wrapped around my dick like it was made for me. 

"Just like that, doing so good for me" I say, brows pinched together when she clenches around me again, praise always having this effect on her. "Gonna be good and ride me on your own or you want me to help you?" I ask, tilting her chin up since her eyes have been focused on where we're connected, me being balls deep inside of her while she controls her breathing until she's comfortable. 

"Wanna be g-good" she stutter, her hands bracing herself on my shoulders before lifting her hips a bit, sinking back down on me before repeating the motion, her movements getting more bold as she finds her rhythm. 

Her tits bounce in front of me, adding another layer to this erotic scene but I need to get this dress off of her so I can see them, the top part basically slipping off already because of the strapless nature and the rumbled state it's in from not having more space to move around.

I slide it down and immediately place my mouth on one of her tits, grabbing the other one and toying with her nipple making her yelp in surprise, her mind focused on keeping a steady rhythm and forgetting that I'm able to explore her body while she does so. 

"It's okay baby keep going. Doing such a good job riding me" I coach her, placing a kiss on her open mouth, her face looking so fucked out already. "Fuck you're gorgeous" I groan, pulling her back into a deeper kiss, her gasping against my lips when I buck my hips into her.

"J-jungkook" she stutters, my name sounding so forbidden on her lips, little sounds of pleasure following, soon replaced with sounds of frustration. "Does baby want some help now?" I ask, running my thumb along her bottom lip, her lip gloss replaced with the swollen color sucked into it. 

She nods her head and shyly admits her need for me to take over, the sight endearing if she didn't have my cock buried deep inside her.

Gripping her hips again and urging her to move I lend my strength to keep the momentum going leaving both of us unable to hold back sounds of ecstasy. The squelching sound from the way her dripping wall suck me in making it hard for me to keep going. 

The thoughts of my cum dripping out of her and making an even bigger mess as she rides me being too close...too attainable to hold back for much longer. 

"Just like that, you're doing so well. Riding me and giving me such a pretty view. The only gift I fucking care about" I curse, the sight of her with her mascara running and her lashes damp from the pleasure being too much for her, mouth letting out unrestrained moans as she gets closer being just enough for me to hit that climax. 

"Baby you c-close? Fuck" I groan feeling her clench again, the sensation almost being my undoing. She nods her head and smashes her lips against mine, bringing me into a sloppy uncoordinated kiss, making me swallow her moans as the both of us finally come undone. Pleasure washing over us in waves as her walls flutter around me, the feeling of my cum dripping out of her being so disgustingly forbidden it's making me want more of her again. 

"Did so good for me" I soothe while rubbing her back as she lays against my chest, her mind no doubt still up on cloud nine from the way I felt her body reacting to me. "Made me feel so good" I whisper, kissing her temple and waiting for her to come back down to earth. 

"Baby?" I ask while feeling her relax into me, nuzzling her face into my neck. She hums in response before sitting up, making me hiss from the sensation, still sensitive from how well she rode me, my dick still very much buried inside of her. 

"You ready to go home?" I ask, wiping off some of the black tears that have almost slowed to a stop off her cheeks. She hum again and starts to fix her dress, getting off my lap and making herself whine from the loss of feeling full.

I tuck myself back into my jeans and then reach into the backseat and grab the hoodie I had back there and place it on her lap. She smiles sheepishly and slips it over her head, her body now enveloped in my scent with hers still very much all over me.

"Drink some more water" I say, picking up the bottle I got her so she can hydrate some more after the number she did on me. I put her seatbelt on her while she does as I ask, making sure she's fully secure before I fix my seat and put mine on as well. 

"How do you feel about your birthday now?" she rasps once we've gotten back on the highway, a lazy smile on her face while she admires me. "Like I said...it's not over yet"

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[floral-comet-whump]

consider institutionalized living weapon whump. mmmm. I will now explain this autism fueled hyperfixation that has been going on and off for me in the last 3-5 years

content warnings (all fictional): general whump stuff, child abuse, child soldiers, living weapon whump (kinda), conditioning, discussion of genshin impact (since I'm not tagging this post as genshin in fear of normal genshin likers on tumblr stumbling onto whump and not knowing what it is, therefore whump likers who dislike genshin and have the tags blocked would still view this (maybe. idk how tag filtering works)), multiple whumpers/carewhumpers, multiple whumpees, fantasy whump, briefly mentioned eating disorder

OKAY so back at like 2020 or 2021 I was ACTIVE in the genshin rp scene and one of my friends made a fatui oc that, due to being the only survivor of a snow blizzard, was adopted into the fatui and raised to be a soldier! also this was before inazuma's release so shoutout to [unnamed bc we fell out of touch so I don't know if they'd like to be named] for predicting the house of the hearth!

anyways their oc was not only an absolute BANGER, but also sparked what I now realize was whumperflies in 14 yo me! so I copied it with my own oc. also had the stellar idea to think that if [friend's oc] was integrated, why not make it a whole program? badabim badaboom fatui orphanage. I shit you not the first thing I came up with is that the rejects get sent to dottore

uhhhh as stuff came out and someone leaked a fatui orphanage then the secret shrine maiden quest came out I TWEAKED. my oc got updates. leaks about lyney (and lynette) being from the hoth(house of the hearth) brought me back after I'd gotten bored. I desperately held myself back from telling everyone their surnames. I listened to their leaked voicelines. I read their stories.

it was not as bad as I envisioned in my head. fym arlecchino saved them!! white knight white knight!!! fym they're not sleeper agents!!!! fym freminet has a job he enjoys that is in no way related to the fatui?!!?!!! free time and healthy hobbies on my extremely fanonized interpretation of a fictional orphanage we previously only had teeny tiny crumbs about?!?!?!!!;1!?!

arlecchino releasing made me fully give up on the vision I'd originally had on the hoth. I generally do actually like the canon hoth, but I was super attached to this whole miniature concept I'd invented and shared with so many people.

so I'm making my own child soldier orphanage!!!

CONSIDER CHILD SOLDIERS IN WHUMP. WITH CONDITIONING. consider telling children that have nowhere else to go (and whumper KNOWS they have nowhere else to go) they can either join the military or continue whatever they were doing. consider training and conditioning them. consider reminding them where they'd be, had carewhumper not taken them in. consider "letting them off easy" via punishment, or threatening to put them to other use.

consider teaching those children happy lies of doing good, and shattering that reality when they dare be ungrateful and try to run away. consider always making the expectations on them clear. consider the bonds these children will form both with each other and carewhumpers. parental whump my beloved. consider living weapon whumpee that isn't an on-field combatant. consider living weapon whumpee who's allowed to be a person as a reward.

consider living weapon whumpee who was previously rescued from a different kind of whumper and is just perfect for molding into a killing machine. consider orphans children willingly volunteering for the military because the program is well known. consider generations upon generations of this where previous whumpees retire to work in the same orphanage so that they'll never have to move out, prolonging the cycle of violence with promises of family. and that family isn't even false, just conditional.

whumpee who was rescued from a vampire thrall trade and is constantly reminded where they would've been had carewhumpers not been so generous as to rehabilitate them. ungrateful little thing, always reacting so slow, cowering from the vampires the carewhumpers have taken in as if they're the same one, either hoarding food or immediately wolfing it down.

whumpee who was abandoned as a child and came in to a place they knew they'd be accepted, but gradually realized the danger behind it and tried escaping. they were brought back and thoroughly disciplined. it's obvious that they're using a facade once one simply reads their file or asks them, but that doesn't matter so long as they're obedient.

a whumpee turned carewhumper that sees nothing wrong with what they're doing. they were raised this way, and though it was very scary, so is life in general. they certainly wouldn't have survived in this world without this orphanage, and much less by being coddled. the children brought here have all had difficult experiences that have scarred them, they can't be treated like normal kids.

that's all the ocs I have thought up for it rn soz

yeah!! will also be in a typical high fantasy setting because I prefer it a whole lot more.

I'm honestly unsure of what to call this thing. I can't really go with the house of the hearth. at some point I internally called it erysimum institute because I read destroyer and the name beldam institute just sounds rlly catchy. also erysimums symbolize faith in unfortunate situations which I think fits perfectly. but the loneliness/shyness part of wallflowers (a prominent type of erysimum) is a little less fitting.

I'll definitely change the name because I want it to be as original as it can be!! probably to some kind of flower meaning rebirth or smt but idk.

p.s: it would have art!!!

[anghraine]

I knew I'd written a screed explaining my actual perspective on why there's such a disparity between Faramir's aspirations for Gondor in victory and what Aragorn as king of Gondor actually does. I remembered feeling even at the time that it was a harsher rant about it than I'd normally post, but I didn't want to write it again from scratch.

Finally! I did manage to find where I put that rant—it was actually embedded within a friends-locked Dreamwidth post dealing with an "original" short story I'd written about the convention of a fairy-tale hero getting rewarded with the hand of the king's daughter. The story involves the hero's evolution into a conqueror who I had envisioned as a cross between post-LOTR Aragorn and Cesare Borgia, and eventually my post went off on this tangent that, yeah, is pretty much my opinion:

The point isn't "this is what Aragorn and Faramir are really like" or "this is what they actually do in LOTR." It's more about how Tolkien frames Aragorn as a good and noble and heroic warrior-king and kindly, merciful overlord whom we're expected to believe has good, noble reasons for the distant military campaigns he and Éomer go on until Éomer (aged 28 in LOTR) is an old man. To go by Faramir's speech about wanting Minas Tirith to be a "queen among other queens" rather than a ruler of other, subjugated cities, and going by so much else that Tolkien wrote, it's not that JRRT is broadly uncritical of overlords and kings and empires, but that the rules are kind of broken for Aragorn specifically. This is what George RR Martin's notorious tax policy quote misses IMO. His argument is that Aragorn's arc represents Tolkien's general perspective on leadership, which I think is a very narrow way of viewing Tolkien's work, and why the quote seems so inadequate as a way of understanding leadership in The Silmarillion. And good intentions making good kings is a baffling way of understanding (say) the Númenórean kings of the Second Age. Aragorn gets relatively special treatment because he, personally, is so special. He can become a benevolent and merciful overlord of his enemies, and noble king who brings prosperity, and a victor in far-flung battles, without ever doing anything wrong.

This is a sharp contrast with someone like Tar-Aldarion, whose dream of building Númenor into a naval superpower is far from pure. It's partly motivated by basically good intentions (he recognizes the very real threat that is going to rise long before most people do, and is trying to prepare for when it comes), and yet it's made clear that this entails destructive, terrible actions that cause a lot of needless suffering, and that Aldarion himself is a deeply flawed person with deeply flawed motives.

Essentially, Aragorn gets the glamour of empire without having to do actual imperialisms in the story. The reality that imperial power necessitates doing imperialism is both kind of denied with regard to Aragorn, because he is the most special boy and a magic exception to this somehow, and also kind of vaguely acknowledged in a way that's shunted into euphemistic summaries and references in the Appendices and such. So the point for me was less an argument that Aragorn actually committed specific imperialist actions, but more about pushing back against the idea that that kind of power is achievable without the moral baggage of imperialism and autocracy.

[linkito]

I am here to make puppy eyes at you and ask for Cub and Scar tidbits pretty please? <3

-🎀

YES HI RIBBON ANON!!!

Ohhh what to say about Cub and Scar... <3

Both of them are vex hybrids, of course, and I'm not sure how much I've talked about their Past™ before, but... the general idea is that they originally did live with other vex. But the Bad Kind. The kind that the hunters of the other world envisioned all vex hybrids to be.

Cub remembers it, but Scar really doesn't, because one day, Cub took the both of them and ran. This is why Scar doesn't know much about how to handle his vex instincts/magic at the beginning of our story, because it's something he was never really familiar with.

The thing about Cub, too, is, maybe he could have fit in there. It's not like the vex there were Evil, just... brutal. Focused on expanding their magic to its very limits. Strict and aggressive.

It's Scar who did not belong. Scar who had big dreams, a creative mind, and the brightest laugh.

Cub couldn't bear to watch the vex squander that. So one day he grabbed Scar and they fled.

Because of this, they're each other's only family, even if not directly related.

And speaking of family, did you know there are other sorts of vex bites besides the mating ones? The idea is definitely borrowed from omegaverse lore (shhhh), namely the diagram from this post here. It's only a loose similarity though, so don't take all of that info as canon to hhau! But another notable mark is that of a parental/familial bond—

Cub marked Scar when they were young. Scar doesn't even remember it. It's on the back of his neck, almost completely obscured by his hairline. You're never going to see it unless you know what to look for.

And with this little ritual comes a magic-laced bond—nothing too significant really, but it means Cub can always feel a sort of tug toward Scar's presence. It's subtle, almost unnoticeable, just an instinctual sort of thing... but imagine how Cub felt waking up from the destruction of Season 8 to having that feeling suddenly gone.

It's how the rescue team tracks down Scar as well. Scar alone.

And isn't it sad how all of those things Cub tried to protect Scar from happened anyways in that other world? Scar comes back with a white streak in his hair and Cub knows exactly what that means. Scar comes back on edge, claws out, ready to pounce and bare his teeth and it absolutely breaks Cub's heart.

But Scar and Grian also come back together, and that mating mark doesn't escape Cub's knowing eyes.

He's definitely one of the few Hermits to understand that the bond Grian and Scar have together is not something to be concerned about in the slightest. It's natural, really, just maybe not for what the Hermits have come to understand vexes to be like. Because Cub and Scar (up until now) have not been your typical vexes!

It's a little difficult, as a vex himself, to really change the minds of anyone else alone, but what he does do is make sure Scar knows he's there for him. He's still family and Scar is still Scar, despite everything that happened to him.

I actually wrote a mini-fic of sorts about hhau Cub and Scar back in April, but the premise is... very silly. I'm not sure if I'll share the whole thing LOL

buuuuuut you can have this <3 ~

[cowboyemeritus]

Day 4

Prompt: CNC

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/Reader

Tags: consensual non-consent, stalking, slapping, non-sexual mention of corpses

Notes: i hope this isn't too intense. i tried to make it as explicit as possible that this is consensual, but if i need to edit the tags or add a community content warning please lmk! stay safe out there :)

It’s more than just routine now. It’s muscle memory. He knows when and where to find you by instinct.

The small chapel is dark and quiet, lit only by devotional candles and the full moon streaming in through the ornate, stained glass windows. It smells of dust, incense, and, if you breathe deep enough, formaldehyde. After midnight — the witching hour, actually — is the best time to visit, long after your fellow Congregants have bedded down. Alone with your thoughts, it’s the perfect way for you to pay your respects to your beloved, departed Papas distraction free.

You brought flowers tonight. Three white lilies for each glass coffin. Not wanting to disturb Primo’s garden, you’d gone into town specifically to fetch them. As you enter the chapel, bouquet clutched in your hands, your chest puffs up with pride. While the original outpouring of grief from the community had been befitting of such a tragedy, people had moved on rather quickly. Out of all the Abbey residents, you’re the only one who still visits with frequency.

It’s cute, the Cardinal thinks.

From his position behind the door, he watches as you go about your nightly ritual. Primo is, of course, first. Placing the flowers on top of the casket, you take a moment to kneel before him, whispering the customary Requiem Prayer. Fire, brimstone, an eternity carnal delights — both of you know every word by heart. With a quiet “Nema” — the Cardinal has always found that so tacky, but knows he probably won’t be the one to undo centuries of tradition — you rise, moving on to repeat the process with the second Papa. Jealousy flares up inside him. Having joined the Congregation during his reign, Secondo has always been special to you. As such, this stop takes a little longer. From this angle, he can just barely make out the furrowing of your eyebrows as you pray extra hard for the fallen clergyman.

Hidden beneath his cassock, The Cardinal throbs in his trousers. He isn’t sure how much longer he can hold himself back.

After holding vigil over the Third, you kneel before the chapel’s central altar for one more prayer, this time to the Olde One himself. Finally, time to strike. Lost in your recitation, the sound of the Cardinal slamming the chapel doors shut startles you out of your trance; he swears you jump at least a foot in the air. Your head whips in his direction, veil trailing behind. When your wide, doe-like eyes meet his, a delightful thrill runs down his spine.

“Cardinal? What are you-“ Gasping, you desperately try to scramble to your feet as he starts trudging towards the altar.

“You are out past curfew again, suora,” he says, leering. “These halls are quite dangerous after dark, especially for young ladies.” You squeal as he overtakes you, grabbing your wrist so hard it will certainly bruise. The Cardinal feels a sick sense of satisfaction, envisioning you walking the halls with his marks decorating your lovely skin. His heart skips a beat at the fearful look in your eyes.

“Let me- Mmph!” You try to break free but he’s deceptively strong, crashing his mouth into yours and immediately forcing his tongue down your throat. Holding you against the altar, he grinds his erection into your front and you let out a little sob into his mouth. By the time he pulls away you’re shaking in need of air.

So it’s a surprise when your free hand reels back and you slap him, hard, across the face. The Cardinal can’t stop himself. A moan ekes out from between his gritted teeth, pleasure twisting in his gut. You’re trying your best to still look frightened, but it’s clear you’re biting back one of your coquetteish, little smiles. He’ll have to punish you for attempting to spoil the game later. Now, though, he has a part to play.

“You little bitch!” Grabbing you by the shoulders, he spins you around and forces you down so you’re bent over the altar. Your efforts to break free only excite him more as your ass presses up against his hard cock. You whimper, and the Cardinal is unsure if it’s performative or not. Either way, he’s soon reaching under your habit, grabbing a fistful of your panties and yanking them down. He gives you no warning before sinking two still-gloved fingers into your pussy, the squelch of your wetness echoing off the chapel walls.

“C-Cardinal, please,” you beg, the true meaning of your words masked by the trembling in your voice.

He laughs at you, pouring as much cruelty into it as he can. “You asked for this, suora.” Literally — this was your idea. Pressing into your sweet spot, he watches with mirth as your whole body shakes. You bite your lip, trying to stifle your moan. Deciding that’s all the preparation you deserve, he withdraws from your cunt, frantically working to free himself from the confines of his trousers. Soon enough he’s lining himself up with your entrance, clapping a hand over your mouth as he sinks into you. The sound that leaves you is halfway between a scream and a cry of pure ecstasy.

Oh, how the Cardinal has come to love your little routine.

[kaleido-write]

My very own shez redesign !

Design choices

OK so here I'll explain what I changed and why (also forgive me im still working on buff people and different body types but I'm on the right path 💪💪)

I chose to give her more realistic body hair since the prickles doesn't do it for me , I also gave her more arm hair ! In my redesign she does have armpit hair i just didn't draw her arms more stretched out hahaha

I gave her a different haircut , because it's really bad to keep the same haircut she had at 14 design Wise , a character design is supposed to tell us about the characters and having nothing changing in a decade is poor character design choice and bad writing

I gave her a darker skin tone ! There isn't much variety in the lb skin tones so I wanted shez to be darker

Following Mel's take i gave her a bit more yellowish teeth's! Since she most definitely went trough depression either during her teens or young adulthood (sometimes it takes time for a traumatized person to live the repercussions of their trauma)

I also i didn't give her her "blind eye" dont take me wrong she is still blind , its just a bad stereotype to make blind characters have white eyes

I also changed her tattoo ! I went for a butterfly with a dagger to represent freedom and that she fought for hers , since the original tattoo doesn't complete her character and rather add complexities where we would need something to complete her

I gave her sandals with socks ! Because clothes wise i wanted to show that shez breaks stereotype and decide for herself what's right , so making her wear a "fashion crime" is a statement of her rebellious and strong nature

The references i used

I wanted to find a build that ressemble shez current one and then go for realistic ones according to her height , (the bigger lady is taller than shez) i also went both for people working out to be stronger and wrestler since I wanted to find kind of a middle ground while still having shez more on the plus size side

I wanted to pick a masc haircut that was short and is actually worn by a lesbian , when I do designs I like to do researches to make sure I represent what I envision as good as possible !

With my design I also wanted to break from her ridiculously large breast , and while yes it's a possible tit size (i had a friend with even larger breast than shez and was smaller) for someone who works out its not very realistic yk ? So without taking making her very small breast I went with something that would be more realistic for her body type and height

@pronounmelon @fluffytimearts

What do yall think of it ? :3

[guujikaroko]

PLEASE go on about genshin characters and instruments and genres 🙏🙏 Totally agree with your Sumeru 4 headcanons! Like as much as I like kpop, I can’t see them being a kpop group

Ok, fine, just because you asked (<- really wanted to do that for a while anyway)!

Since there's so many characters, I'll only do some this round with a little explanation.

Lumine: she's a jazz clarinet! Clarinets have this airy, whimsical sound that just screams "Lumine" to me, but it's specifically in a jazz contest that it reminds me of her. Since I default to Traveler Lumine, I imagine her being a star in ascension in the jazz world, always busking and playing with other famous jazz musicians and befriending them.

Aether: a classical clarinet. I envision the twins mastering the same instrument but going off to build their music careers in different genres. Clarinet in classical music also has an airy quality to it (is the instrument's nature, after all), but the "mood" is noticeably different from a clarinet in jazz music.

Venti: he's pretty much the creator of Mondstadtian music, so he probably knows everything medieval under the sun. But he isn't one to stay complacent either, so along with classical harp, he'd also play the accordion, with is vital for European folk music! I'm sure he's proficient with a ton more instruments.

Diluc: classical violinist. Do you ever look at this man? His face screams "I hate Paganini for what he did to my fingers". Damn near a virtuoso too.

Zhongli: he's not an expert in Liyuese culture, he IS Liyuese culture. I can only give him the erhu. He had all the time in the world to master every piece of traditional music possible and I'm sure he'd be a living legend in the orchestras of today. That being said, he loves trying new things, so I bet he'd dabble on things like jazz erhu too.

Childe: he looks like an electric bass player to me. Now, what genre does he play in is the question... I'm staying with funk for now, but it's subject to change. He does look like he'd dance a lot while playing too.

Ei: she's been disconnected from her people for a LONG while, so I wouldn't be surprised if she only knows gagaku (traditional Japanese music). With that in mind, I'd choose the koto for her.

Itto: unemployment be damned, my boy can play some drums! It's so easy to imagine the whole Arataki gang getting ready to work on a taiko ensemble. But I think Itto would like to try some drum kit too.

Nahida: while the image of her holding a big-ass citar would be hilarious, I think she'd actually be a tabla player. You know what they say about percussion being the backbone of music; Nahida's reliable like that.

Wanderer: Mr. Kabuki over there could have played gagaku in the old days, but I actually think he was more of a singer instead. And, after the Sumeru Archon Quest, he could have picked up traditional forms of Indian singing too. In general, I'll always associate his musicality with theater.

Furina: also a singer. Originally an opera singer, grew tired and overwhelmed by her career and then retired. I think she's a jazz soloist these days, but she doesn't really make a career out of it anymore.

Neuvillette: a very talented cellist, but I think it's more of a pastime for him than an actual career. Otherwise, I can see him as a superb orchestra conductor.

[seeyouonsaturn]

I'm sadly entirely unable to draw her the way I envision her, so there will not be art, but I want to make a post about my Predacon girl Razormane anyway because I love her.

Verse: Transformers Prime

Pronouns: Any are fine. I usually default to she/her, but Razormane doesn't actually care, it's whatever. She resembles a lioness, so people tend to use she, but then the mane comes out and suddenly everyone goes with he. Meanwhile Razormane doesn't even know what an earth lion is.

The original idea for her came to me in a dream. Literally. And as I awoke with "giant cuddly cat robot" etched into my mind, I knew I had to make her a reality.

Since I knew she had to be a big ol' kittycat, I based her off the Nemean Lion, to give her a mythical connection. Also because hell yeah Greek mythology.

Razormane is a large Predacon, bigger than Skylynx and Darksteel, though smaller than Predaking. Her plating is primarily dark gray, nearly black, with small highlights of gold, golden claws, and golden eyes.

When idle, she resembes a lioness, sleek, and made of smooth, dark metal. When she feels threatened, her plating folds up and outwards, similar to a cat fluffing up its fur to appear larger, revealing golden undersides. Her smooth surface turns into an impenetrable armor of sharp metal spikes, giving the illusion of a golden mane made of blades.

She has a regular bot form, but prefers to stay in her lion form. In her previous life (as in, pre-cloning) she had deep trauma associated with her root-mode, the details of which she does not remember, but the instinct was strong enough to remain even through the cloning process.

Razormane is younger than Predaking, but older than the test tube babies the Autobots destroyed. I'm not entirely sure when exactly she fits into the timeline, and I have decided that I'm just not going to think too hard about that specific tidbit. I want to make my dream a reality, so you're just gonna have to go with it.

Due to the shortage of energon, Razormane spends a lot of her time napping to conserve energy. Someone her size would need to consume more than the average bot, and there just isn't enough to go around, so she just sleeps.

She is generally calm, and has a distaste for causing pain, but very much will fight to defend herself or those she cares about, or hunt for survival. But if she's in a safe environment, she's just a very cuddly overgrown house cat.

She starts out with the Decepticons, but eventually leaves them to do her own thing because she doesn't agree with their morals, and hates that they act like they own her. Afterwards she has an on-and-off thing with Predaking where she originally teams up with him out of necessity; and once more Predacons come into existence, she's not really part of his pack (she does not want to be ruled by anyone, including him), but is tolerated on the territory and just sort of hangs out with them sometimes. They're still her family, so she's simply a rogue that occasionally comes to visit but doesn't defer to their King more than necessary.

Razormane has a very complicated relationship, but also a deep bond, with Predaking, that would be far too long to add to this post, but if anyone wanted to hear about it, I would be elated to write it all down. The one she's shipped with is Starscream, but shipping is an overstatement since that won't happen for a very long time. They're just friends, and at times not even that. Again, I have so much lore. Someone please ask me about the lore.

[senblades]

hi! i love fftsr and i really enjoy the dynamics between everyone and their personas so i wanted to ask how you decided to characterise the personas/their dynamics and if you had envisioned how the other thieves interact with their personas as well?

sorry if this question is weird 😭 keep up the good work!!

interesting question...

(uhhh I didn't think this would happen with this question but SPOILERS FOR UP TO CHAPTER 46 OF FFTSR)

To be honest, the ony dynamic that I put a real degree of thought into is the Akechi & Robin & Loki dynamic- I wanted neither persona to be entirely good or rational, or one side representative of 'being evil' or whatever. Akechi's problem, is that his thoughts, feelings, and ideas so often contradict eachother, and he is entirely unable to reconcile that. So even when Robin and Loki do agree, Akechi is more likely to ignore them than take thier advice.

Of course, just because I didn't put too much thought into it doesn't mean I'm pulling all the other dynamics out of my ass lmao:

Sumire takes second place for "Persona who talks the most"- Ella, for the most part, is a supportive force that also isn't afraid to call Sumire on her bullshit. Whether or not Sumi listens is another matter entirely. This sort of stems from how Sumire's third awakening is her final resolve to stand on her own, to reject Maruki's reality despite all it could give her, to be unapolagetically Sumire for the rest of her life- So her persona is a force to remind her of that vow, when she starts slipping into her anxieties and her tendency for avoidance.

Haru doesn't get a lot of POV scenes, but her awakening was very fun for me to write. Since I've taken Haru in a direction that is distinctly angry, I wanted Milady's words to reflect that anger at her circumstances, and the need to break from it.

Ren doesn't chat with Arsene often enough for me to remember much of what he says HAHA- he doesn't have the same influence on Ren's character the same way that Akechi and Sumire's persona's do. When he does talk, however, it's usually to quip or be a smartass- a trait which I've quietly yoinked from how people tend to characterise Arsene/Shadow Ren- as, simply, the essence of Joker.

And, now that Ren has also resolved the whole Crow situation, his dynamic with Metatron is pretty much that Metatron is a forceful reminder of the kind of thinking that got Ren to make poor descisions in the first place. Metatron often speaks up any time that Ren tries to justify taking Maruki's deal, spoken with all the snark and fury of the real Akechi.

Most of the PT haven't had POV scenes, but Futaba and Makoto certainly have!

For Futaba, any time Necronomicon speaks up is usually when Futaba is trying to avoid something. Stemming from her awakening, Futaba's vow to never allow lies to decieve her again is reflected in her persona, and especially when she tries to decieve herself.

For Makoto- I actually can't remember if Johanna has spoken in a previous chapter, or if she's going to speak in an upcoming one, but Johanna's shtick also stems from Makoto's awakening. Makoto's vow was to not be trampled by authority, to ensure that she can be herself even in a society that aims to push her in a box. Johanna will speak up if Makoto is becoming complacent, if she tries to take the easy way out.

Uhh that's pretty much it! For the other PT's personas, I would similarly draw from their awakenings to decide what I would want them to say. For the most part, though, everyone's personas start getting chatty when their wielders aren't being true to themselves.

FUCK I FORGOt about Maruki. HAHA I wrote Azathoth as being a cryptic peice of shit, mostly. That kind of 'cult leader talk' is the kind of shit he pulls in canon, and I saw no reason to change that.

Shadow Maruki, on the other hand, is a more true reflection of the man himself- an echo of who he was in the original timeline. Shadows and personas are two sides of the same coin, but how they present themselves does vary. They're archetypes, rather than a 1:1 of their wielder's personality.

aaand that's all I got! ty for the ask! <3 <3 <3

[childotkw]

Um, not sure if you've been asked this before (I could've sworn that at one point you had, but i can't for the life of me find the post) but do you have any thoughts about genderbent Regulus Black?

I can see there being a much more different sibling dynamic between them and Sirius as there isn't an heir and backup dynamic with Walburga and Orion no doubt seeing Regulus as a tool to be married off. Not to mention they'd be much more strict with Sirius without a backup heir to replace him.

Not to mention it would be interesting if Tom saw Regulus as a chance to better win the loyalty of the pureblood community, after all having a bride from one of the most prestigious pureblood families would raise his standing by a lot.

I absolutely love your female Harry AU's especially "I pray(death parts us)" and "Serpent In These Still Waters ", and I love the marriage dynamic between Tom and Harry.

However I do wonder about the arranged marriage dynamic that Tom could have. Especially with someone who was born into the world of pureblood politics.

No pressure obviously to answer if you're not interested, but yea I was just wondering.

Ohh yes I know the one you're talking about! I ended up with Rana Black being the fem!Regulus name - you can read the original outline here.

I do have many thoughts about it - mainly how Ran would have grown up shaped by society's expectations and how she would eventually grow to cast those expectations off.

In my idea, Rana manages to convince Orion to ship her off to Beauxbatons. Orion, because his daughter is his favourite child, agrees to do this one thing for her, despite any objections from his wife. Rana actually eventually moves permanently to France with Kreacher as her ""guardian"" (because let's be real, the wizarding world has a pretty broken view on how young children should be raised and this isn't that far out of the norm for them). So Rana misses a large portion of the bullshit that is brewing in Britain.

But...

Walburga sees, Walburga knows. In the brief instances she actually interacts with her daughter (who seemed to grow up between blinks, who turned from a slim and silent shadow of a girl into a calm and confident young woman far from her mother's influence), Walburga learns.

Rana is not some demure wife-to-be. She is a...liberationist. A young woman with incorrect and damaging opinions on what her place in the world should be. Her time in France, in that school, has warped her understanding of her duty.

So, Walburga must fix this. As the new heir to the Black legacy, Rana has a responsibility to their House. She must bring in the next generation, and she must accept her place.

Walburga looks at Narcissa, at Bellatrix, and knows she must find her daughter a husband that can curb her radical views.

She also decides, rather firmly, that it's time her daughter learns deference. Learns to bow.

Orchestrating an encounter between her daughter and the Dark Lord is easy enough. Walburga is one of the few that still sees Tom Riddle in the face of Voldemort, and that tenuous childhood connection gives her enough leverage to push her daughter into the man's space with the implied permission to teach the girl how to drop her chin.

Only...that's not what happens.

Voldemort sees Rana's spark, sees her potential and her ideas and her biting cynicism towards the structures of their society; sees the way her eyes constantly drift towards the horizon, towards France, and finds himself a little curious at this until-now unknown Black.

(Voldemort is, after all, a radical himself. Why Walburga thought he would dismiss Rana's ideals or find her foolish is beyond him.)

Marriage isn't the first or fourth or even twentieth plot he envisions with Rana Black - but eventually it does creep into his purview.

And that intrigue, the future he could see forming with everything Rana Black brings with her, is enough for him to kick things into gear.

The biggest problem - the only problem, really - is that Rana Black does not want to marry.

Anyone.

Not even the Dark Lord.

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Pitch Manor Progress (which is sort of like Six Sentence Sunday but also not)

It's still Sunday for five more minutes, here. SO....

Okay, I haven't written anything on the Haunting of Simon Snow in awhile. But I have been working on my floor plan for Pitch Manor, which is more than tangentially related to the potential progress of that fic. And today's a rough one for me, so I'm going to post about it like it's progress so I might feel a tad better. Ahem.

OKAY. SO. I've been working on a floor plan for Pitch Manor for... pretty much forever and a day. I ran into trouble when I was writing chapter 2 of Haunting and Simon (Construction Worker!Simon) began to describe the house. I realized... I had no idea what he was describing.

(Warning, there is a long winded geeky ramble ahead. It's just how I do things. Ahem.)

What was supposed to be a quick "let's find a floor plan that I can just copy with some minor adjustments" project has since turned into my special interest project. As a history nerd, that means a lot of research, looking at dozens of floor plans for other houses ranging in origination from the 16th century to the 20th (and probably a few older than even that, since a ton of religious buildings were repurposed into estates. Think Downton *Abbey*.)

But this past week, I feel I've really pushed through a lot of the issues I kept running into. (I've ridiculously been trying to make it as true to the descriptions in Carry On as possible, and something that fits the purposes of my fic, which of course I have envisioned in many, sometimes incompatible, ways.) I've had to make some "this or that, you can't have both" choices, but I'm finally happy with the basic shape and layout.

Whew.

Just for funsies, here's a cross section snippet of my floor plan WIP. It's pretty messy still, but I'm still excited LOL

And (finally), instead of six sentences, I will instead offer you all six tidbits of information about Pitch Manor, as I've envisioned it:

There are four (4!) different sitting rooms. Because the aristocracy just loved their sitting rooms. (Parlor, Withdrawing room, Drawing room, and Reception/Receiving room.)

There is a ballroom. Try and stop me.

The original manor house was built in the 17th century, and has been refurbished and updated a few times.

The most extensive refurbishment happened in the 19th century, which is how it gained its current stylings. (Baz is a freaking troll and I love him for it. The most popular architectural style in the Victorian era was "Gothic Revival." "It's not Gothic; it's Victorian." Hah.)

Some rooms were added on during the Victorian refurbishment, including a Smoking room. They were very popular at that time.

The largest room in the house isn't the ballroom. It's the library. (It's two stories. Try and stop me.)

(I do hope to release the floorplans into the fandom wild after they're complete, in case anyone else wants to make use of them.)

I want to ramble more. But it's almost midnight. Sooo.... Gratitude and hellos under the cut!

Thank you to @blackberrysummerblog, @shrekgogurt, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @monbons,

and @cutestkilla for the tags. I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on!

Thank you also to those of you who have willingly (I hope) listened to me ramble on about this damned project of mine for ages. Because boy howdy, do I ramble. @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, @ic3-que3n,

@best--dress, @monbons, and @mooncello. It's good there are a few of you, that way no single poor soul has to bear the full weight of my obsession special interest. (If anyone reading this actually wants to join these ranks, hit me up on Discord XD)

Thanks also to everyone that has tagged me even when it's been ages in between progress posts from me. I appreciate being kept in the loop on what you all are up to creatively!

Hellos and howdies to @noblecorgi @bookish-bogwitch @that-disabled-princess @bazzybelle @messofthejess

@imagineacoolusername @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @prettygoododds @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife

@valeffelees @fiend-for-culture @bubble-gumhead @brilla-brilla-estrellita @aristocratic-otter

@j-nipper-95 @whatevertheweather @ivelovedhimthroughworse @drowninginships @alexalexinii

@facewithoutheart @angelsfalling16

[steviebbboi]

The Defiance

Pairing: Nick Gant x Original Female Character (OFC)

Summary:

Adroits. The myth of a single individual holding multiple talents. The Division agency thought they could control them. All of the 'mutants'. Clara Miller plans to take charge on this war. Most people called it, The Defiance. [ONE-SHOT]

Disclaimer(s): I do not own Push nor do I own any characters other than Clara! I wrote this in 2014 when I was but a wee lad - that said, I edited this best I could lol but this work is unbeta'd.

Warnings: This has some mild depictions of violence/violent acts/harm against others. Largely angst and action ahead, not much romance but maybe if you squint!

Additional Note: We need more Nick Gant fics! Cassie isn't featured but she is mentioned!

A shout full of anger, determination and pride seeped into her middle ear. It amplified to the point where she couldn't even cover her ears anymore. She ceased in her frantic movements and finally lay still on the ground…numbing into the abyss of limbo.

Clara gasped as she came out of the vision. A tear rolled down her cheek out of absolute fright. She looked down at her hands where the broken plate in her vision held still intact, yet ready to drop. Her face turned pale as she realized that she envisioned her own fate.

With a shaky breath, she put the plate back in the sink, not even bothering to turn off the tap. She raced upstairs, filled up her duffel with anything that she could put her hands on. The pounding on her door could be heard once she had reached the bottom of the stairs. She quickly ran outside and hid behind the large garbage disposal.

Clara held her breath as a Bleeder peered outside. He swept his gaze over the dark backyard carefully before he went back inside. Releasing a relieved exhale, she then waited an hour till she knew that they were gone. Clara knew what she had to do next.

She needed to find Cassie Holmes.

6 months later…

Panting slightly, Clara rested her hands on her knees. Japan, London-- Paris. She went everywhere to look for Cassie Holmes. Yet, she didn't appear.

“She could have a shadow on her.” She groaned softly at the realization. An intense pressure abruptly crashed on her as she reeled forward as the next vision hit. It went as quickly as it came. This time, it was on a more positive note. She and Cassie were talking. Actually talking. 

Catching her breath, she ran down another hidden alleyway within the depths of the Hong Kong region. No idea of where she was really going, just had the ideal focus that she would find her way or stumble upon her next clue. Faintly hearing footsteps behind her, Clara picked up the pace and settled behind a dumpster. She found herself peeking out to check the vacant space to see if it was clear of danger. Thinking that she’s in the clear, she stumbled upon the public area once more into a street market. 

Shouts and tones of demand echoed the streets as she noticed apartment complexes standing just up ahead. A weird knowing feeling took over her body with a shudder. Her intuition taking over her body, she started towards this 5-story tall building and approached the gray shadowed hallway. Walking slowly, she walked past steel doors one by one until she felt her feet stop in front of the last one. 

Clara turned to face the door and cocked her head to the right. Another brief vision hit her of a white man and Cassie standing in the very spot that she was standing. Her vision blurred out into black before she opened her eyes, not even noticing when she closed them. She so desperately wished her visions could show her more of a scene. But her visions were only as strong as she was capable of being. 

Feeling a sense of alert, she hesitantly knocked. She heard footsteps and then a brief pause behind the door. As the door opened, Clara refrained from letting a laugh out but she couldn’t help but smile in relief. Even if a gun was now being pointed at her.

"You could put it down. I'm not Division." She tried not to be offended when he still didn't lower the gun. 

"Who are you?" The man questioned warily.

She simply stared back at the man and responded awkwardly, "My name is Clara Miller.”                      

The man looked closely at her before tucking the gun into his jeans. "What do you want?" He bluntly asked.                                

She fidgeted a bit before responding. "I...I'm just looking for someone-"

Clara drew back a bit as and exhaled sharply as another brief vision hit. It showed the man. He sat up on his bed and sighed. He got up and Moved the cup that was on his bedside table all the way over to the kitchen sink. It cut to him moving a small black box. Clara felt her own body jump back into the present with a jolt of shock at what she Saw. She needed that box. 

"You're a second generation Mover." She spewed out on impulse.

The man didn't look surprised. "And you're a Watcher. Fantastic.”

Clara cleared her throat at his derision and looked at his placid face through her eyelashes. "I'm currently looking for someone. Her name…–her name is Cassie Holmes...would you happen to know where she is? It's really important."  

At hearing her plight, he seemed to clench his jaw in a threatening stance but suddenly changed back into a calm demeanor.

Clara’s eyes widened before narrowing into a knowing gaze, “Gotcha.” She thought to herself. 

The man met her narrowed gaze with one of his own before answering, "Sorry, can't help you. I have no idea who the girl is."

She looked at her feet disappointed. Naively, she thought that he would cooperate. Although she was intimidated by the man’s blaise denial, she was suddenly flooded with a burst of confidence. Looking back into his eyes with a determined glint, she responded, "You see, I can't help but not believe you."

They stared at each other in silence and after a few seconds, she interrupted the tension brewing in the space. "I am, sorry, about this." She muttered quietly.

Clara quickly reached into her beach bag and pulled out a gun. Only, it hovered in mid air with a simple thrust of her hands.

The guy’s eyes widened slightly at the move, but he quickly composed himself. Letting out a reluctant sigh, he put his hands up. All while keeping her eyes on him, Clara reached out towards the gun in his pants, grabbed it and tossed it into her bag. She proceeded to move into the dingy apartment as the man moved back slowly.        

"Thought you said you were a Watcher." He stated, gazing intensely at Clara. 

She shook her head slowly, "No. You did."

She came inside and shut the door without using her hands. She kept the gun pointed at him, as she rummaged through his drawers, filled with clothes, money, and endless amounts of junk and dust. Clara stopped tersely before slamming her hands atop the drawer table. She made a sound in the back of her throat which resembled a whimper.

"It should be here," she muttered repetitively.

Now out of focus, the gun fell and Moved into the man's hands as he used her distraction to manipulate the gun. He immediately pointed it at Clara. Getting her body ready for a fight, she turned with her hands posed before she heard the click of the gun that seemed to make her pause momentarily.

"How did you know that 'it' was supposed to be here?" He asked menacingly.

She sighed impatiently and rolled her eyes, "YOU said that I was the Watcher. Remember?"

"But you never denied it." The man carried a smirk on his face and quickly retorted with complete confidence.

Clara blankly looked at him and realized that she was beaten at her own game. She was hit, again, with superfluous colors that specified an image; it kept rolling like a film in her head. That's when she froze and stared at the man with incredulous eyes.

"What is it?" He asked hesitantly.

"You're him. You do know Cassie...the person I'm looking for,” Clara paused at her realization. “You lied to me... you're Nick Gant."

Nick stared at Clara with a grimace until he pointed 2 firing shots into the ceiling above her and quickly pointed the gun at her again. “Move.” He ordered.

Clara, having shrunken back slightly at the abrupt sound, flinched and stood up straight as he jabbed the gun at her once more. She silently stood up straight and walked towards the door. Before she could open it, he told her to wait.

Nick went in front of her, still securing her place with his gaze, and slightly opened the door while looking left and right to secure the perimeter. He opened the door wide before motioning at her to move forward. Clara looked down at her feet with a clenched jaw before stiffly moving out of the dingy apartment. Nick silently motioned for her to go downstairs to the exit of the complex.

Once they reached the streets and sidewalks of Hong Kong, Nick put the gun in the front of his waistband while forcibly gripping Clara’s forearm and said to her quietly, “Let’s go.”

They were quiet for some time until Clara mustered up the courage to ask, “Where’s Cassie?”

They faltered in their step a bit as Nick slowly gathered into a secluded area of the street. He gripped Clara’s arm tighter to face him. He clenched his teeth and said, “I don’t know.”

She looked at him for a second in bewilderment. “You don’t know?” she stated rather than asked.

Nick looked in her eyes and proceeded to throw her off, “She left. 2 years ago. I woke up and she was gone.”

Clara began to shake her head, “No, no– that can’t be. I Saw you with her.”

Nick frowned but grabbed her arm again in shock, “What-- where?! Tell me.”

“Ow! I don’t know! Why do you think I came to your apartment?! I knew that I had to go to your door…don’t ask me why but…I just felt that I could trust you.” She spoke as she looked into his eyes but then drifted her gaze down to her arm that he was grabbing tightly and looked back at him. “Though, I’m less sure of that now.” She told him smartly.

Nick looked at his hand and let go of her arm, slowly. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard to trust anyone these days. You know why.”

Clara rotated her arm at instinct and broke the intense moment. “Relax. As I said before, I’m not Division. I’m running from them myself.”

Nick fixed his stare as if he remembered something. “Right. That little stunt you pulled before. I didn’t think people like you actually existed.”

She retorted, “People like me?”

“Yes. You know damn well what I mean. Adroits.” He sneered back at her.

Clara staggered back at his brutal tone. Adroits. Very able or skilled. That was how people like her were described. People who were…multi- talented. Adroits were a mere story. A myth. Nobody truly believed they existed in the mutant world. Well, except a few people. Those people are Division. Adroits were listed at Divisions’ top priority list. They halt whatever and whoever they would be working on, just for that small alert on the location of an Adroit. That’s how Clara came to this situation. Someone either reported on her somehow or something else tipped them off to her location.

She stared down at the wet pavement morose and explained, “Someone tipped them off. Neighbor or stranger—I don’t know. But they know me now. I had to run. After I left, I arrived in Japan. I was hit by a vision of me with a blonde girl. The blonde girl. Cassie Holmes. Everyone knows about the two of you, you know. The people who defied Division rule,” Nick didn’t respond to her comment other than tilt his head away briefly before silently signaling for her to continue. “I don’t know where we were but I knew I was intoxicated. I don’t know what it was but she was gripping my head, repeatedly reassuring me, “”It’s alright, Clara. It’s over.” “

She stopped talking to draw her gaze up to his face. Tears were over the edge of her eyes, waiting to fall as she continued, “I keep having the same exact vision and I think it’s because I’m getting closer to her. In my visions, she was also gripping a key. I felt it…right on my temple. I thought she and it would be here.” Her voice broke on the last word and she swallowed down a sob. “That’s what I was looking for earlier but it was never there, was it?” Tears now spilling down her cheeks, she wiped at her face despondent.

Nick quickly softened at Clara’s tearful expression, and was finally looking at her. He saw a woman. A terrified woman who feared for her life, who was confused, disoriented and heading towards the brink of falling over the cliff of panic. Maybe she already fell. 

A flash of a young, 13-year old Cassie asking for his help came into his mind. Clara didn’t realize that the similarities between the woman in front of him and of Cassie six years ago is what ultimately made Nick decide to help her.

She let out a small, dry sob. “Please. I don’t know what’s going on and what it has to do with me. I just need to find Cassie and the key, please.”

A flood of empathy had Nick pulling the woman he barely knew into his chest and into his embrace. 

“I’ll help you. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” He whispered as he rested his hand on the back of her head.

Clara proceeded to let out small sobs while her shoulders shook. The two stayed in that position for a long time until Clara sniffed and relaxed enough to put her hand on his arm around her. “Thank you.” She looked up at him and gave him a grateful smile.

Nick nodded with a frown and came out of his slight stupor, taking his arms away from her. “We need to go to a safe place, ok? I have a feeling now that my apartment isn’t exactly ideal.”

She shrugged half-heartedly, “Sorry about that.” Nick looked at her and let out a small laugh, “C’mon, I think I know a place where we can go for now,” while slowly jogging away with her following.

“So, what’s this key you’re talkin’ about?” Nick asked her as they seated inside a Chinese, dim-sum restaurant, eating silently. He figured that they would need to replenish their energy after such a charged first meeting.

Clara ate her food quickly as she was famished and all before responding, “I’m not sure. I just know that it was there at the time. As an…Adroit—,” she stopped shortly before saying the word, “I could feel, well, essentially See, the emotional attachment that one would have to things, people…I mean, the list could go on.”

“Huh,” Nick let out in wonderment. “Can you sense the relationship between me and this bowl?” He teased curiously, half-joking to add brevity to the tension brewing.

Clara swallowed her food quickly, “No. But I could see the relationship you have with this food in front of us,” she leaned her arms on the table. “I could see that you would go without eating for days due to your financial struggles. I could feel the hunger you had to endure to survive and the suffering you feel when you look at food. Specifically, dim-sum, because this is your favorite. Isn’t it?” Clara knowingly ended while resuming to eat.

Nick simply stared at her with his mouth slightly ajar. “You’re good.” He spoke after a few seconds, choosing to ignore her tellings, interrupting the depressing tone set around them.

“I’m flattered. I’m still a 2nd generation, you know.” She responded sarcastically. 

“Clearly, well done.” His tone matched hers. She merely smiled at him before going back to her food.

“Do you have any idea of where Cassie would have gone?” Nick asked.

“Honestly, no. However, I still feel her energy surging through the streets. That means that she is currently here. In Hong Kong.” Clara told him while finishing her food and getting up, preparing to leave.

Nick looked up at her while also getting up, throwing down a few bills. “So, she’s definitely here. Makes you wonder why.”

Clara looked at him and said, “For you.” Nick stopped to look at her in confusion. “Nick, there’s something out there.  A war is coming. It’s between Division and us. The ‘mutants’. It’s spreading and quickly. Now, it seems like Division is winning. They’re coming for everyone, Nick and maybe. Just maybe, Cassie picked up on this to warn you. To let you know that it’s coming.”

Nick stared at Clara as she continued walking down the dimly lit street. “What is this war? Why?” 

Clara slowed down until they were right next to each other. “Division seems to have concentrated some type of antidote. Before, they’d do anything to hunt us down to experiment. Well they don’t need to anymore. They seem to be using it on unsuspecting mutants and rumors are that it works. Now, we all know that being like…this, isn’t exactly easy,” Nick hummed in agreement. 

“However, these gifts make us who we are. We may not like it, we may be confused on how to live with it, but it’s apart of us. Division wants to suddenly take it away? We wouldn’t tolerate that and you know it. We’re stubborn and for the sake of us, we’re fighting back.” Clara ended with a certain vindication that Nick couldn’t help but admire.

A prideful smile grew on his face as he realized that he couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. It was about time.  

Comments/reblogs/likes are very much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this little ficlet.

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[mirai-e-jump]

+act Magazine July 2023 Issue ft. Masashi Ikeda Interview (translation below)

Publication: June 12, 2023 (between episodes 15-16)

"First, please tell us how you were chosen for the role, and what you were thinking when the decision was made."

Ikeda: I originally auditioned for the role of one of the main five warriors (kings), and wasn't selected, but, there was an audition for the additional warrior (Jeramie Brasieri). When I was chosen to play the role of Jeramie, I was more confused than excited. Then, the realization slowy began to sink in, and my heart felt full of excitment and anticipation. I've been watching tokusatsu shows since I was a child, and I've always had a strong desire to become a hero. My favorite show was "Kamen Rider 555," and I was such a huge fan that I had all the transformation belts. But even still, it feels strange being chosen to be apart of a hero production.

"After appearing in a Sentai series, many of the actors are still active, as it's considered a gateway to success for young talents. What are your thoughts on this?"

Ikeda: I would like to grow as a person throughout the next year. I'm not content with just being in a situation that's considered a gateway to success, so I want to perform as well as the other actors, and I want to do my best as to not destroy the legacy or quality of the past works that my seniors have created.

"The character of Jeramie plays a very important role, but what was your first impressions of him?"

Ikeda: Since Jeramie is a "storyteller," my first assignment was to narrate the story. What I thought was most interesting, is that Jeramie has been narrating since the beginning with Episode 1. It's unusual for a hero to also narrate the story.

"Your first task was to record the narration, right?"

Ikeda: That's right. Actually, at the time, I myself didn't completely understand Jeramie. I also wasn't familiar with doing narrations, so I had a hard time trying to put Jeramie's character into it. In order to convey Jeramie's emotions, the director gave the advice, "Try moving like you're in a play," so I tried speaking while doing a flashy pose and putting my hand in my hat. It's a recording, so luckily the cameras weren't turned on (laughs). I tried various things out, so it took two to three hours to record the narration for Episodes 1 and 2. The phrase "tosa" was created at that time. It wasn't originally written in the script, but the director had the idea to, "add in "or so it goes" at the end."

"The phrase "tosa" is a strong and memorable one, isn't it?"

Ikeda: That one phrase helped me a lot. The unique way of saying "or so it goes" was the foundation of Jeramie for me, and I was able to envision his character.

"Jeramie is a character of many strong traits. In official material, it also describes him as having an "annoying personality" (laughs)."

Ikeda: Ahahaha! He's pretentious, has a high sense of pride as a storyteller, and has a repetitive way of speaking…Even still, I try to be conscious of the lines I perform, and try to speak in abit of a joking way, or speak with alot of tension when it comes to things he doesn't understand. Jeramie is 2000 years old, he's composed, and enjoys talking to people. That's the kind of character I try to create when performing.

"In regards to Jeramie, what did you and the director discuss about?"

Ikeda: Reading the script, within his annoying, awkward, and narcissistic personality, you can also find a cute and innocent side of him. We discussed how we should remember those points, and express them in order to make him a well loved character. Actually, when I'm told something happy or sad, I react to them honestly and show my true emotions. I'm the type of person who understand emotions easily, so I hope I'm able to show that off.

"How did the other warriors react to such an intense character?"

Ikeda: Everyone said, "You're a nice character. I'm envious" The way he appeared in Episode 11 was very cool, he may be the narrator, but he has an intense presence. He's not just weird and annoying, he wants to help the world for the better more than anyone else. Jeramie's father is a human, while his mother is a Bagnarak, and although he has complex feelings about being a "child of love," he is a pacifist who has a strong desire to help those living in difficult situations, and wants to stop the war between the humans and Bagnarak.

"On the first day of filming, were you deeply moved by the fact that you were finally able to join the heroes you had been longing to work with?"

Ikeda: When I first appeared, I was wearing the Spider Mask that hid my face, so I didn't really feel it then. But, when I was able to let go and take off the mask, I thought, "Uwa! I'm finally going to become a hero!" and an excited feeling overtook me. When we were filming the transformation, I thought, "What should I do? What kind of face should I make when I transform?…" (laughs)

"What kind of things were you conscious of during the transformation scene?"

Ikeda: Jeramie's fighting style is brilliant. He can manipulate spider webs at will, uses his two weapons, a dagger and shooter, he can fly around, and is very smart. When I transform, I don't do it with a lot of enthusiasm, but rather, with a sense of grace. However, the pose is a abit "pretentious" and is kind of annoying (laughs). To transform, I bend my body back as much as I can while saying "Royal Arms." Suspended by a wire, my body flies up, and in a blur, turns into Spider Kumonos, but it's also filmed from the camera above me. It was the first wire acting in my life, and when they first explained the moves to me, I was like, "Eh? We're going to do this?" It was surprising (laughs). Furthermore, my body felt really stiff, and even though they said, "You're not bending at all," I really was bending to my limit…The action director said, "It's difficult for beginners." He also said, "I'm know I'm asking you to do something impossible," but I felt frustrated that I couldn't do it, and my back and abdominal muscles were sore the next day (laugh).

"Do difficult transformation scenes await you in every episode?"

Ikeda: That was the main one for Episode 12, so I won't have to do it every time. However, the director told me to, "Keep my body soft," because it might happen again in the future. That's why I'm going to work hard on my flexibility and try to become even closer to Jeramie.

"What are some highlights to expect in Jeramie's future?"

Ikeda: The relationship between the five kings, Racules, the Bagnarak, and the consequences of their actions, will be the main highlights as the story unfolds. But, how will Jeramie be involved, and what kind of relationship will he have with other Bagnarak? I think it's worth paying attention to see what Jeramie's up to, and I hope you will look forward to the movie being released this July.

[fictionadventurer]

the animation style isn't for everyone, but my family typically watches the 2009 Christmas Carol with Jim Carrey - if you're up to try another adaptation I wonder what you'd think of it! It does include both the scene of the ghosts and of Ignorance and Want, and iirc a pretty big percentage of the dialogue is straight out of the original book.

I'm actually watching it right now, and I've been checking patches of the dialogue against Gutenberg. Aside from cutting out some lines from conversations, the dialogue is pretty much word-for-word from the book. In the scene with Marley, Scrooge even says, "Thank'ee," where it would have been easy to substitute, "Thank you." Unfortunately, some of the lines they've cut are the religious ones, but I guess we can't have everything.

I was going to wait to give thoughts until I could give a full review, but I'm actually watching this version because I was so impressed by the patches of it I caught on TV, and this gives me a chance to talk about some of the things I've liked.

Jim Carrey as Scrooge works shockingly well. He really throws himself into the part. All the weird little gremliny body language makes him this loathsome creature, but in a comic way that feels very Dickens.

Starting with Scrooge signing Marley's death certificate was such a smart choice. They managed to work in the "dead as a doornail" line without narration!

I had been hoping for Scrooge to steal something from Marley's body during his death scene in the Sim version, and was disappointed they didn't go that route. But this version does! It's such a good choice.

This might be the first Bob Crachit I haven't loved--he looks too ratlike and henchman-y. But he's growing on me a bit, and I love that they include the scene of him sliding on the ice with the boys.

This version seems to overexaggerate the horror and nightmare elements of the story. Not a huge fan of that, but it could be worse.

I adore how they capture Scrooge's joy in the Christmas Past scenes. I was disappointed we didn't get him going into raptures over his childhood reading, but I've liked everything else I've seen so far of that portion.

Seeing young Jim Carrey in Victorian garb as young Scrooge was...an odd experience.

This version's Belle absolutely blew me away. Every other version of her I've seen makes her just Scrooge's girlfriend. She's there to be a sweet and sentimental lost love. But this Belle is a mature, responsible woman, who knows her own mind and heart and can make good choices for her life. This is a woman who could have captured Scrooge's heart and would have made an excellent wife. Astounding performance on every level.

Want and Ignorance were the only parts of the Christmas Present scene I've caught so far. Loved that they were included, didn't like the expansion into much weirder nightmare imagery.

I'm obsessed with how Carrey keeps Scrooge's gremliny body language even after he reforms. So it plays as "Mwahaha, I've trapped you in my evil plan to...give your family a comfortable life!" Not how I would have envisioned his post-reform behavior, but a believable and very fun choice.

[territorial-tarot-tahr]

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

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🚨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.