#Sherrie Flick

[cinader]

Sherrie Flick – Homing

Feminism is frontline, and Sherrie explores working class feminism in this book, which we talked about on the show this week.

The Listen & Be Heard Hour for Readers & Writerss2e35 Sherrie Flick Homing: Instincts of a Rustbelt Feminist Homing: Instincts of a Rustbelt Feminist traces the creative coming of age of a mill-town feminist. Sherrie Flick, whose childhood spanned the 1970s rise and 1980s collapse of the steel industry, returned to Pittsburgh in the late 1990s, witnessing the region’s before and its…

[judgingbooksbycovers]

Homing: Instincts of a Rustbelt Feminist

By Sherrie Flick.

[promisingyounglady]

accident. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.

WC: 3.6k

WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst

A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.

He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.

Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.

Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.

He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.

Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.

Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.

“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”

“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.

“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”

Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.

Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.

“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.

She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.

“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.

“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.

Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.

Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.

“Fucking hell.”

_

You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.

Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.

Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.

Javier was supposed to pick you up too.

But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself

You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.

Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.

What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.

You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.

You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.

You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.

—

Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.

When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.

Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.

The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.

Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”

Thwack.

An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.

Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.

“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.

Thwack. Thwack.

The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.

“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”

You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.

Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.

He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”

The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.

You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.

“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.

“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”

“Mi-”

“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.

Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.

You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.

“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.

“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.

You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”

Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.

You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”

The words pierce through Javier’s heart.

Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.

“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."

Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.

A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.

“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.

“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.

A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.

Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.

“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.

“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.

You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.

You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.

But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.

Now it was your turn to fuck things up.

Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.

Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.

You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.

“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.

Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.

“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.

That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.

“Javi, I’ll go get the-“

“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.

You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.

“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.

Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.

You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.

”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.

Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.

“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.

You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.

He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.

“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.

“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.

“Answer me, mama”

A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.

”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.

Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.

“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.

Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.

“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.

”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.

”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”

You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.

“Yes, Javier” you repeated.

He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.

It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.

You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.

“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.

“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.

You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.

“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.

“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.

“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.

“I know.” He says back gruffly.

Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.

“Merida”

You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.

”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.

Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.

You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.

Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.

“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.

Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.

You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.

It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.

Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.

“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.

He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.

He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.

“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.

You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.

Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.

You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.

You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”

You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”

You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.

You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.

[child0feden]

HORROR FLICKS ARE THE BEST CHICK FLICKS

max verstappen x horror nepo baby! zombie! reader

faceclaim: assorted but mainly sherri moon zombie

୨୧ max won the vote so here you go! there are some inaccuracies like rob zombie didn’t make the silent hill film, house of 1000 corpses came out in 2003 and stuff but hey, it’s fanfic, let me live <3

reading music recommendations: living dead girl by rob zombie - house of 1000 corpses by rob zombie

ynzombie: throwback to when little me was in my first ever horror movie ( and movie in general ) dad had me doing child labour for free because i’m his daughter… so sad 💔

robzombie ✔️: little liar, i paid you with candy and put money into your pre adult account 🖤

❤️ liked by ynzombie

maxverstappen ✔️: you were adorable liefde ❤️ though how you were in movies like this so young, i don’t know…

> ynzombie ✔️: thank you maxie moo <3 the horror love just runs in my love babe, you know that

ynlnhorrorqueen: a horror icon was born the day this movie came out…

> zombiesloveynzombie: a horror icon was born the day the world knew she existed lmao 😭

landonorris ✔️: you were a funny looking kid

> ynzombie ✔️: get the fuck OUT of here oh my god 😭 i genuinely might get my dad to cast someone who looks like you as a victim in his next film (spoiler alert: you will NOT be a final girl, you’ll be the dumbass who falls over a pinecone and gets decapitated)

❤️ liked by maxverstappen

> landonorris ✔️: 😟

lewishamilton ✔️: fucking hell… i saw this when it first came out! and you were a baby then and you’re a grown up now… feel well old now! so nice seeing how far you’ve come love ❤️

> ynzombie ✔️: you are old, practically a fossil at this point! thank you lewis

ynzombie: house of 1000 corpses came out in theatres yesterday… did you guys love it? i know i fucking LOVED filming it and my dad LOVED making it ❤️

lewishamilton ✔️: loved it! incredible work yn, definitely a new favourite

> ynzombie: thank you lewis! i NEED to bring you on set next time

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

robzombie ✔️: no cursing

> ynzombie ✔️: i… dad have you seen the i do in your movies? i think you should be okay with cursing 😭

> robzombie ✔️: i’m kidding honey, curse all you want, you’re sure as shit old enough

zombiesloveynzombie: this movie… oh my god! yn zombie you should be imprisoned for making me obsessed with a character like baby firefly…

❤️ liked by maxverstappen

> maxverstrapon: max liking this comment lmao? sir can you even watch this movie?

> iluvf1: let him be 😭 he’s just supporting his gf

maxverstappen ✔️: so proud of you liefde ❤️

> ynzombie ✔️: i’m so proud of YOU for sitting through it without gagging at a nasty scene <3

> maxverstappen ✔️: i try, for you

❤️ liked by ynzombie

ynzombiehorrorqueen: i love how since yn was born and old enough, rob has basically never made any project without her being in it 🥺 he loves his daughter so much

landonorris ✔️: you’re a funny looking adult too actually…

> ynzombie ✔️: hope you die

> landonorris ✔️: maxverstappen come get yn she’s acting crazy again

> maxverstappen ✔️: i’m on her side this time, sorry mate

> landonorris ✔️: “ this time ” you’re ALWAYS on her side, she could skin me alive and roast me over a fire right in front of you and you’d be on her side

> maxverstappen ✔️: sounds like a you problem

❤️ liked by ynzombie

ynzombie: finally took max to meet daddy dearest! he only sat in the car shaking for about 20 minutes ❣️

robzombie ✔️: he’s an alright kid, your mother loved the flowers, bring him around again soon hon 🖤

> ynzombie ✔️: for sure <3

danielricciardio ✔️: how’d you get him out of the redbull gear?

> ynzombie ✔️: told him my dad HATES redbull

> zombiesloveynzombie: LMAO 😭

maxverstrapon: bringing her mom flowers, helping her mom in the kitchen, opening the wine, wearing something not redbull related… this man wants to be parent approved SO BAD LMAO

maxverstappen ✔️: it wasn’t so bad, thank you for convincing me to come liefde ❤️

❤️ liked by robzombie and ynzombie

> ynzombie ✔️: i’m just glad you were comfortable maxie ❤️ love you lots

> iluvyn: she needed to convince him to come? omg…

> oldf1lvr: to be fair if my girlfriends dad was a horror director and i knew nothing about horror and could barely even sit through them i’d be pretty scared too 😭

> iluvf1: not to mention that her dad is just ROB FUCKING ZOMBIE? how was he not supposed to be scared? lmao

ynzombie: sneak peek at mine and my dad’s new project! won’t be out for a while but i wanted to feed you guys ❤️

lewishamilton ✔️: can’t wait for this one yn! looks great already

> ynzombie ✔️: can’t wait to hear what you think when you see the full thing :D

❤️ liked by lewishamilton

> iluvf1: yn and lewis’ friendship will never not be adorable to me, they’re so close 🥹

> loveuyn: i mean, he LOVES all of her dads movies so it makes sense that they really easily befriended each other when max brought her to the grid for the first time

zombiesloveynzombie: yn playing another psycho ass bitch that i’m going to be obsessed with… I CANT WAIT

❤️ liked by maxverstrappen

maxverstappen ✔️: i think this one might be my favourite…

> ynzombie ✔️: because i kill characters who wanted to fuck my character?

> maxverstappen ✔️: yes :)

> maxverstrapon: max sitting through his girlfriends movies despite hating horror will always be SO CUTE to me, he lovesss her

maxverstappen: she’s a 10 but she’s got a bit of a big ego ( she’s rewatching all of her own movies ) ❤️

ynzombie ✔️: hm… okay then

> loveuyn: max is so going to regret saying this… i just know it, we all know how petty yn can get, even over a joke lmao 😭

❤️ liked by ynzombie

landonorris ✔️: 🫣

lewishamilton ✔️: oh mate…

> maxverstappen ✔️: what? what’s happening? what have i done?

danielricciardo ✔️: 😶

ynzombie: according to my lovely boyfriend, i have a large ego… i don’t know guys… anyways here’s some pictures from our weekend ❤️

maxverstappen ✔️: yn i’m begging you delete that first picture before your father sees it

> ynzombie ✔️: this is what you get for saying i had a big ego

> maxverstappen ✔️: i was KIDDING, liefde, please i beg you, delete

> ynzombie ✔️: i’m not deleting it

robzombie ✔️: yn, hon, would you ask your boyfriend to go into another room and call me? 🖤

> ynzombie ✔️: sure will dad!

> lewishamilton ✔️: maxverstappen good luck mate 👍

❤️ liked by ynzombie

maxverstrapon: the picture of him helping her clean the fake blood out of her hair… i want what they have 💔

> iluvf1: max is about to face the wrath of a father and you’re talking about that???

> maxverstrapon: ITS A CUTE PICTURE 😭

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

the aftermath of a call from a concerned father

[belovedcloud]

Kiss Me Thru The Phone

pairing: leon kennedy x fem! reader

✎ synopsis: leon's missions really come in the way between you both. the distance creates a wave of worry for you, leon however longs for you. memories of you and him flood his brain and he can't help but call you for a little help.

✎ notes: phone sex with leon is a need, i crafted this up at work so i hope you enjoy! hope everyone is having a good summer too! :)

➤ WC: 3K

➤ CW: phone sex, fingering (yourself), pet names: babe, baby, leon thinking about you as his pretty girl, description of leon's dick a little bit.

MINORS DNI!

This was his life.

He could cope with it most of the time. However, knowing that you always worried for him made him believe that he was unworthy of your time. Unworthy of the love you blessed him with. Here he was, slinging his gear on the armchair in the corner of the hotel room. This mission wasn't all that bad - minus the bioweapons wanting to kill him it was alright. That's what he would tell himself. He couldn't afford to be emotional in the moment where he would murder the countless experiments that umbrella threw at him. The failed products of tests haunting his mind 24/7, not allowing him a moments rest.

Despite that, meeting you was the best thing that happened to him.

He found solace with you. Leon could be himself with you instead of a ruthless government agent he trained to be. Going from rookie cop to agent was a big step in his life. A step that he never thought he would have to take. Nonetheless, he did take it. To save Sherry. To save others from another nightmarish hell like Raccoon City. Beneath his cold gaze, was a man who just wanted peace. Peace in the world and tranquillity in his life. Leon's life was like a movie. A video game. The genre being horror and gore all year around.

Did he deserve this? No. Did he have to live with it? Yes. And that's what he did. He lives with the nightmares, the panic, the anxiety of not saving everyone. The world on his shoulders.

At least he had you. Memories of you and him always flooded his brain when he was off on missions. Your beautiful smile, the plumpness of your lips after a make out session. The meals you ate together, the movie nights, game nights. Countless things between the two of you kept him sane. Being your boyfriend was a gift granted from God. He was happy to be your loyal servant. He would allow you to do anything with him as long as it brought a smile to your face. Your joy was his joy. That's all that mattered.

Walking into the ensuite bathroom of the hotel room, the pads of his fingers flicking on the dim light to allow him to see. Shower, sink, towel. The usual.

His eyes followed to the full body mirror in front of him. Fuck. He looked like shit. A mess, covered in unknown liquid and blood. The clothes he wore stained with the smell of gunpowder. Gross. A groan left his lips as he pulled the clothes off him. Undressing himself shakily - adrenaline still flowing in his body from the events prior a few hours ago. New cuts and bruises littered his body, great. Unwanted scars now multiplied whilst he examined himself.

"Seriously?" He mumbled to himself, seeing the new additions to his body. Leon was already self conscious about his body beforehand. These missions didn't help at all with his self confidence.

But you didn't mind - you didn't care for the scars.

To you, it had shown how strong he was. The resilience to the abhorrent nature of the world. His handsome face could be tarnished with scratches and cuts, he was still the one you would truly love.

Twisting the handle, the water started to run out of the showerhead. Dirty blonde strands of hair gradually turned into a deep brown as the water washed away the oils. His calloused hands squeezed the shampoo bottle, the scent of something fruity flooding into his nostrils. Huh... raspberry shampoo? Whatever, at least he would be clean. Frothing it up in his hands, he slapped it onto his head. An almost whiny moan left his lips whilst Leon scrubbed his head clean. The soapy solution travelled down his body, plastering itself on his muscles.

Leon was proud of his physique. That was the one thing he liked about himself. His biceps being his favourite. The way the light veins protruded out even when he wasn't flexing gave him a small ego boost. The light coloured hair feathered across his body, alongside the multiple moles he had too. Flexing slightly in the shower - he watched as the water trickled down. Glistening his skin and really showing how muscular he was. Leon's eyes averted to his chest, his pecs being as big as tits and the imprint of abs shining clear. A sight for sore eyes for sure. A smug smile tugged on his lips when he remembered how you look at his body.

Oh how you loved his arms. His chest, thighs, ass... quite literally everything you adored. He could put you in a chokehold between his bicep and forearm and you would be ecstatic. You and Leon would engage in little play fights that would lead into something less violent and more sensual when it came to you admiring his body. You can't help it. He's too pretty for his own good.

After what it seems like hours, Leon gets out of the shower. The once grimy skin now squeaky clean. Drying himself off softly to not aggravate the gashes and marks. A fresh linen clean towel hung on his waist whilst he walked to the sink. The same full body mirror watching his movements. Grabbing his little care bag that you made him bring, he took out his exfoliator.

Ever since getting with you, his skin became better than ever.

Yes, the acne scars from when he was younger still remained but he had the softest skin ever. Your little recommendations after pointing out he had sensitive skin allowed for you to make him grab some skincare.

Before you, he thought skincare was stupid. A quick rinse of his face was enough. After you, he followed his little routine like a good boy.

Squeezing the exfoliator out of the tube, he gently massaged the grime and dirt that lingered in his pores. His four fingers on each hand rubbing in circular motions whilst he chuckled. Leon remembered the day you shown him what to do, your fingers on his face demonstrating the importance of exfoliating and how he would benefit from it. God. He loved you so much, more than you could ever know.

Next he pulled out the moisturizer, lathering it on his fingers. Daubing it on his forehead, cheeks and chin. Rubbing it in thoroughly into his skin, making his face a little pink due to the amount of touch. Shaking his head, Leon looked at himself. A small smile on his lips as he switched off the light, slouching over to the bed.

Snatching his phone, he wondered how you were. But checking the time made him think it was a bad idea to call you. 2:12 AM shined bright and clear on his phone. Leon's eyes squinting ever so slightly whilst he turned the brightness down. Scrolling on random apps to try pass time. Sleep wasn't an option, he wasn't all that tired - he had to be up and ready for 5AM to fly back home anyways.

Back at home, you worried about Leon. You weren't asleep like how he thought you would be. How could you sleep when he was out of town? He told you the mission was going to be a long one. Maybe even a week or so, but for it to go past the deadline he gave you made you panic. Is he okay? Would the government inform you if he died or not? Overthinking was a bad habit of yours, not being able to control your thoughts about Leon made it all the worst. Especially when his job was extremely dangerous.

Scrolling aimlessly on your phone, your fingers tapping the back of your phone case nervously - you find yourself swiping on pictures of you and Leon in your camera roll.

Some of them cute, including you both in dinner dates, picnics and whatnot. Others of them just silly pictures of him that you took when he was sleeping, his hand always under one pillow and the other spread across his chest.

Other photos were more explicit, ones of him taking a few mirror selfies shirtless. Or him having a loose towel wrapped around his waist after showering in the gym. Shit. It wasn't the time to be getting horny. Could you even be aroused and worried at the same time? Your mind raced a thousand miles a minute, thoughts of him being dead scared you but memories of him dicking you down corrupted you the next second. Time passed, your body getting needier as time went on - would he even pick up your call? If he was still out in a mission then you'd have to make an excuse asap to why you called him. You couldn't fathom knowing you could mess him up mid mission and risk him practically killing himself because he picked up the phone.

Before your thumb could continue scrolling, the loud ring from both ends of your speakers erupted the silent room. Your eyes fixated on the name that appeared on your screen. Leon. Oh fuck. The ideas that once corrupted your mind went blank, nimble fingers tapping the green button.

A moment of silence is present as it connects you in, your ears perking up to the shuffling sound over the phone. Leon's voice soon interrupts your train of thought, a slight rasp enlaced in it.

"Hey baby, have you been okay?" His voice made your stomach flip a whole 180 as you recalled what he said. Right, he asked a question. Get it together. All that could come from you was "Yeah.. m'okay lee." You were way too flustered. Too worried. Too horny.

Of course it didn't go unnoticed by him. Your vague response was enough for him to question if you were actually okay. Something was plaguing your mind. Or even someone. Leon tapped against his leg, a shiver trespassing his body, envisioning your touch on him. "Yeah? Just okay?" Christ, someone help him please.

That sultry tone you knew and loved made a pathway through your body. Creating a second heartbeat in your core. A murmur leaving your lips, a small 'mhm' confirmed Leon's suspicions. You were just as needy as him. His hand trailed down his body, his abs flexing at the touch. Trying to mimic the feel of your fingers on him. There was no use; his calloused fingers couldn't imitate yours.

Leon longed for you here.

But that's impossible as the distance from you to him separated you both so despicably. Damn this mission.

Looking down, he saw the evident tent in his pants that needed dealing with. Leon didn't have you so he had to make deal with the second best thing. His hand. Squeezing the bulge, a low groan erupting from him. The blue eyes of his squeeze shut, hips bucking into the makeshift hole he created.

"Babe... can we do something?" Leon moaned out, still rubbing on his clothed tent. The blankets beneath him ruffling whilst he shuffled his body. The sounds of him moving and whining made the blood rush up to your cheeks. Crap, you were getting hot - wet too. Sliding your hand down, index and middle finger pressing against the fabric, now soaked with your arousal. A quiet whine leaving your lips, breathlessly responding to your boyfriend over the phone.

"W-what? What do you want?" There's a pause, and Leon lets out a deep sigh. "Oh, you know what I want." He keeps his voice low, quiet, as if he's worried someone will hear him. "I keep thinking about you baby. Thought about you this whole time y'know?" You gulp, hearing his words - a sharp intake of breath trying to steady yourself as you respond back with a whisper.

"Really?" A hoarse response from you elicits a chuckle from Leon. No longer being subtle, he pulls out his dick from his boxers. The boxers he just changed into 10 minutes ago. Seems like after this he would need to clean himself again...

A soft hum of affirmation, and there's a hint of a groan in his tone. Demonstrating how needy he is. "I miss you so bad, babe. We haven't been able to see each other in forever. Fuck, I've been so on edge." Pumping himself slowly, looking at the precum coating down his length. Wet, sloppy sounds filling the room. The phone picked up every bit of it.

Your breathing became ragged, trying to muffle yourself had no use so whines and moans left your throat whilst you touched your slick clit. The bundle of nerves craving for Leon's fingers other than your own. A clear glistening liquid coating the tips as you played for yourself. You let out a long shaky exhale, followed by a soft, strangled moan only for him.

"Oh, babe... God I need your hands right now. Shit... Your mouth would be even better." Leon spurs out - he keeps speaking. His words have quieted down, trying to concentrate on the thought of you. The memories of you riding him, your pretty lips enveloping his cock. Mind fuzzy and hands shaky, Leon's voice becomes a little stifled. It's like he's trying to be quiet; he's struggling. Soft, shaky moans escape him.

He can't get you out of his head, the thought of you kept floating through his mind; of how your touch felt on his skin. The way your voice resonated in his ear whilst he thrusted deep inside of you. Sights of your puffy, pretty pussy sucking him in. You were a sight to behold, so beautiful for him.

Liquid covered your ring and middle finger whilst you pushed them in. Squelching noises apparent in the four walls you were boxed in. A mellow moan kindled out from you, travelling through the phone to Leon's ears. You couldn't speak, the struggle was too much, waves of sensation coursing through your body. "Leon I, I can't," the pads of your fingers hit that precious spot inside. It felt so good imagining what he would be doing to you.

Perhaps he would have his face buried in your cunt, nuzzling his nose on your clit whilst he tongue-fucked your entrance.

Even better, his veined dick would be driving into you - your body fucked out as Leon would release orgasms from you at alarming rates. His girl deserved everything from him.

Leon was no better. His hand tightened around himself, pumping the precum that leaked out - a mess all over the base. An overwhelming feeling of bliss so close but so far whilst he went faster - hand motions swirling. The rim of his hand bumping the flushed dark pink tip, twitching his cock slightly. Moans of need and desire leaving him in a constant stream. Leon's ears perking up when he heard you reciprocate the longing urge to cum. He had to make you cum first. Even when you both were distance due to unfortunate circumstances, his baby was his top priority. You deserved to cum, he needed to hear the scream that he's heard so many times. The mantra of his name.

Leon desired it all.

He's panting now, struggling against the urge to let himself go. Leon whines desperately - his hand not stopping the pace to help himself. It felt too good. Uncontrollably shaking in the fresh white hotel sheets with the effort to hold back. You could feel yourself becoming feral with need, every fibre in your being is screaming to let yourself go. The pressure building up to a near-painful breaking point.

"You gonna cum f'me babe? Oh god... Make a mess on our sheets?"

Leon managed to sputter out, every inch of his body taut like a bow string. He's holding on as best as he can - he's reaching his limit, fast. "Mhm, gonna... fuck! Lee, m'gonna cum," was the last thing you said before your mind went blank. Completely past the point of being able to speak coherently. Every word that left you is a whine, a whimper for him. Consuming you in a state of neediness and pleasure.

"Good girl, such a good girl f'me." Leon himself is a mess as he praises you. Every muscle in his body tensed. Words and whimpers from him are intertwined with unadulterated, unrestrained need. He can barely control his own breathing - gasps and panting coming in short waves. A hoarse voice broken into pleading, desperate pants. The sound of your heavy breathing, shuddering through his ears nearly pushing him off the edge.

"Baby, fuck m'gonna cum.. Oh fuck-." His body bucks involuntarily. His cock spurts out cum in pure ecstasy. Losing himself completely, he can't even speak - nor think. His own voice no longer in his possession anymore. All that leaves Leon is a strangled series of gasps, and his body trembles; thrashing helplessly when he finally lets go. Entirely lost in a world of euphoric pleasure.

The both of you share heavy breathing, trying to calm down as the two of you share the same sticky feeling hovering on your skin. Sweat and cum being the two substances that bring you both together.

A few minutes pass, Leon breaks the 'silence'.

"You okay? Was that okay with you babe?" A worried tone is laced within the questions he asked you. To you, it was silly. Of course you were okay with it, knowing he was safe but also bringing you to immense pleasure. You genuinely felt reborn.

"Yeah m'okay." A giggle leaves you, causing Leon to smile. He lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was keeping in. You were okay. That's all that mattered.

"Y'know, I did the skincare you put in my bag." The change of topic brings you to giggle again. What a way to rejuvenate you both. "Really?" Your questioning received a fake scoff from Leon, jokingly hurt from what you said.

"Yes really."

"Okay, okay!" A smile tugs at your lips - he was still the silly guy you fell in love with. His attitude to you never changed. He loved you, and you loved him.

"Since... you're okay with this. How about we do it every time I'm gone?"

likes, comments and reblogs are really appreciated! thank u for reading!

-> masterlist

[winksasleeplesseye]

SUMMARY: Leon drifts deeper into a dream of perfect moments, struggling to separate longing from reality as everything he feels is watched closely.

PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x F!Reader

WARNINGS: angst, intense emotions, dub con/noncon voyeurism

[MASTERLIST][PREVIOUS][NEXT]

Leon drifted off, just like he had been every other night for the past few weeks. The hazy realm between sleep and awake beckoned to him so easily. He barely put up much of a fight rather letting it guide him than him actually protesting sleep.

No longer when he reached for the other side of the bed did he find a bitter cold. He found the warmth of your hand in his, fingers steady and pressure just the same. His heart raced, rhythm too fast, too sharp, like a drum out of sync with reality. Kind of like the one he just abandoned for this.

But nothing compared to this. Nothing.

Leon knew his heart was a place filled with regrets and unrelenting, unfulfilled desires. Not to mention, the now ever-present sharp, aching hole where you should've been. Every time he woke up he tried to convince himself to stop this, stop chasing ghosts…yet, here he was, every night. Every touch, every word shared with you felt like a desperate echo of what he couldn't have. What he couldn't reach in his waking life.

He'd tried to capture it. A way to cope with what he was experiencing in his head but more tangible, something he could touch. They were small, fleeting distractions. Women who vaguely resembled you in some way—-maybe their eyes, the curve of their lips, or the warmth of their skin. But it never compared. Didn't feel like enough. But for a brief,—very, very brief moment, it made this newfound ache that sat like a rock in his chest go away. It made the visions of you, the dreams, the memories—whatever they were…go away so he could breathe again.

It made him feel like himself before all this, the man who learned to hide it all, push his feelings aside and put on the mask of a man who was okay on the surface. But who was he kidding? This is exactly what it is. A game. A distraction.

They didn't matter. Because they weren't you.

Nameless, faceless women with empty words and empty touches.

He stared blankly to the ceiling as he sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey half-empty beside him. A lovely habit he picked up during training. It only granted him temporary respite. A harsh, flicking neon light casts a dull, sickly glow on the room. His eyes wandered down to the glass in front of him, maybe if he stared into the bottom of it hard enough, he'd find something there.

Some of the previous nights, where he didn't want to fall victim to the hold of sleep so quickly lingered in his mind. Nights he'd wish he could forget, the faint touches of skin, laughter in his ears. None of them you. They were someone else.

His mind had wandered, back to you—the vivid, soul-piercing moments that felt more real than anything in his real life. The way you'd touched him, your hands soft as they ran through his hair, the gentle way you kissed him. Everything about you had been seared into him like a brand, burning him with its intensity that left him wanting more.

But it's not real. He knew it. He knew she wasn't real.

Leon shook his head, a frustration building in him that threatened to drive him to the brink of insanity. The solace of temporary pleasure only made him more desperate, left him hollow.

"What the fuck am I doing?" He muttered to himself, pacing around the dimly lit kitchen.

He should find you…the real you. He knew it was stupid to even think the government would let him do that. It was hard enough to see Sherry, what made him think they'd let him see you? Fear and uncertainty plagued him at every point—haunting thoughts that'd he already lost you—-kept him from taking that step.

So, here he was. Chasing a ghost, a vision, an illusion….a memory.

Leon closed his eyes, lulled by the sound of the TV to sleep. This time, it wasn't to forget, but to remember. He replayed the dream—the way you looked at him, held him, kissed him as though nothing else mattered. He longed for that pathetically. He longed for you desperately.

"I’m here,” you whispered, your voice softer now, like the wind itself was stealing your words.

His grip tightened, desperation welling in his chest. “Don’t go.”

Your face blurred. His pulse slowed, the warmth of your hand grew cold. He blinked, but the image of you faded, dissolving into a swirl of colors. A buzzing sound filled the space where your laughter had been.

In a sterile room far from where he sat sleeping, a monitor beeped in rhythm with Leon’s brainwaves.

“NeuroSync is holding,” a voice said calmly, devoid of emotion. A shadowed figure leaned closer to the glowing screen, eyes scanning the peaks and troughs of neural signals dancing across the display.

Splashed across different screens, Leon's apartment sat in clear view of the scientists. But the main one that they focused their attention was Leon as he lay in his bed. Every twitch, every breath, everything laid bare for their viewing pleasure. And they weren't just hearing Leon's contentment, they were seeing it.

“Subject Kennedy’s engagement has deepened. Increased attachment to the fabricated stimuli.” Another figure adjusted the feed, altering the algorithm that controlled the dream sequence. “Introduce another stimulus. Let’s push his emotional capacity further.”

A panel lit up, showing the projection of Leon’s subconscious—a simulated reality crafted from fragments of his memories, designed to feel more real than life itself. Each sensation, each longing kiss, meticulously coded.

Medical records, photos, reports all laid out on a nearby table. You, their subject of interest, in every detail of your life all cleanly noted across this table. Alongside Leon's information, no detail left to chance.

How had they managed this? Managed to get the government's top asset wrapped up in this? Oh, they'd hold that close to their chest. They couldn't let anyone else take the credit.

Still, they had to admit….Mr. Kennedy was a fascinating subject.

Most of Umbrella's enemies were just that…enemies. Nameless opposition to their main objective. But soon they became names, faces, people. People like Leon Kennedy. Chris Redfield. Jill Valentine. Many more to count.

Who forced them into the shadows. In hindsight, this was only fair.

Dr. Erickson, Dr. Morales, and an assistant Thompson huddled close together, speaking in hushed tones as their eyes scanned the screens.

"What exactly is the purpose of this? Mr. Kennedy seems to almost be…enjoying the dream presented to him," Dr. Morales pointed out just as Leon, within his dream, pulled you closer to whisper in your ear. His heart rate spiked, brain activity lighting up like a Christmas tree from just a small, intimate act. Quiet moments interlaced with sweet, tender, and increasingly passionate in nature.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Thompson asked, clearly puzzled. "I mean, he’s still vulnerable to the program’s control, right? He’s still part of the experiment. He’s just... well, living in a distorted version of reality." Both the scientists seemed to disregard the assistant's words.

"It's only been a few days and he's—he's fully immersed already. And we haven't even introduced any other aspects to this…dream," Dr. Erickson, the head scientist, explained. His face scrunched in confusion as they stared at the man on their screen. A man completely unaware of anything beyond the realm of this dream. A happy man. For Leon, it was only….you. "Let's get some more info on this Y/N," he instructed.

Leon had become addicted—for lack of a better term. Well, no, that was the best term.

His eyes would glaze over at his desk, the words of his computer screen blurring together to create their own mishmash of words. Yet, he was nothing if not professional with his work.

The waking world had become more dull than he could ever recall it being. Colors muted and lifeless. His mind already seeking ways to disconnect from this world—the missions, the government orders, the endless cycle from disaster to disaster. Despite his best efforts to put on the usual front of nonchalance, he could never escape Hunnigan's watchful eye.

He stood at the coffee machine, hoping a cup of coffee would rouse him back into the paperwork he had left to finish. Still, his mind still gave him brief visions—moments—that kept from completely being tethered to this reality. He saw you in almost crystal clear clarity leaning against the counter, a teasing smile painted on your lips, "You still drink that burnt shit?"

He glanced down at the cup of black coffee, and just before he almost slipped to answer you like you were really there. Hunnigan tapped him on his shoulder.

"Everything good, Kennedy?" She asked, curiosity in her expression. "Looks like you're trying to find all the world's answers in that cup."

Shit. He's more obvious than he thought. Get it together, Kennedy.

Leon gave her a small smile, the corner of his mouth barely moving. "Just tired. The usual."

"The usual?" Hunnigan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "The usual for you doesn't usually involve getting coffee at…" she looked at her watch,"…at three in the afternoon. What's bothering you?"

Jesus Christ, he can't hide anything from this woman. Did he want to tell her? Hunnigan had experienced quite the ordeal with him from Spain and he certainly trusted her more than any other handlers in this place. But, still, he didn't have to tell her. This was his cross to bear, so to speak. In many ways, he was a modern man but on this, his old-fashioned father came to mind, "It's impolite to burden people with your problems."

"It's nothing, really. Just had an off night is all," His voice dipped, lower and quieter, hoping that would stop her questioning for now.

Hunnigan nodded in understanding, "Alright, fair enough. I'll let you get back to your coffee then."

Leon watched as she left, a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn't over. Now all he'd managed to do is pique Hunnigan's never-ending curiosity. Great.

For once, Leon was glad when the work day was over. And even better, the weekend was coming up. Two whole days where no one would give a rat's ass what he'd be doing, except now probably Hunnigan.

He pulled on his jacket, not looking back to his office for even a moment longer than he needed. Tonight, Leon decided to grab some takeout. The cold as he walked to his usual spot was piercing his skin like needles but he pushed through.

Upon entering the diner, he was greeted with mixing scents of stale coffee, grilled onions, and hot grease. A few people sat in the booths, keeping to themselves. A family with their young child, enjoying a plate of fries and shakes. A woman reading a book over some coffee. A couple huddled close together, sharing a meal, shared laughter, shared glances of affection.

Leon could see it all from the booth as he waited for his takeout. For some reason, he couldn't take his eyes away from the couple, the lingering gazes and gentle touches. All so…easy.

For a moment, he saw the both of you instead. Leon huddling close to whisper something in your ear to make you laugh, seeing it so vividly and hearing your laugh—warm, comforting—as you placed your hand in his. It had to be insanity because he could even feel the pressure of your hand in his.

The dinging of the bell took him out of it. His food was ready. He quickly thanked the waitress as he made his way to leave. The couple still completely wrapped up in one another with no idea that Leon had stared so intensely.

A sense of yearning gripped at his chest like a vice.

He entered the same dreary apartment, tossing down his keys and hanging up his jacket. He wasn't too quick to touch the takeout. Instead, he did what he'd been doing the last few nights, watching TV.

His phone lit up, vibrating on the coffee table where it laid.

Chris Redfield.

He ignored it.

Usually, Leon would be happy to go meet Chris for a beer and catch up on how life had been treating them, but right now? Leon didn't want any time away from the sleep he knew was coming, where he could be with you. He knew he should probably at least tell the idiot he's alive but even that was a chore right now.

So, he watched the screen light up one more time before it stopped.

Chris will just have to understand.

In his dream, Leon was once again with you, the two of you sharing a quiet moment in the soft glow of the evening light. Spilling through the curtains in their shared apartment.

An euphoria washed over him, an intoxicating haze that could've lasted forever.

He again watched you as you guided him to cook a new recipe, scents of garlic and fresh herbs hanging in the air as you moved gracefully through the space. He had never been much of a cook before, but with you, it was easy. Your presence made everything feel effortless—your hands guiding his as he chopped vegetables.

Your laughter filled the spaces between their movements.

The soft crackle of an old vinyl played in the background, a tune from the '70s that was vaguely familiar to him. It only added to the atmosphere making it nostalgic and intimate. The melody wrapped around him like a warm hug, a cocoon of warmth and comfort.

You turned to him, eyes filled with mischief. "You sure you can handle this?" You teased, voice playful yet tender.

Leon chuckled, warm and full of affection. "Well, a fire hasn't started yet, so that's always a good sign, right?" He asked, giving you a lopsided grin.

You smiled back, still holding a familiar glint of love and tenderness in your eyes, and for a moment, nothing outside this kitchen existed. Just them, together in this near perfect, domestic bliss.

As you reached over to stir the pot on the stove, Leon couldn't help noticing how your hair fell softly over your shoulder, the way the light coming from above the stove made your skin glow like nothing else. He moved closer, hands running down your arms in a gentle motion. You don't pull away, instead locking eyes with him and still offering that soft smile.

Leon, not wanting a moment like this to pass, took your hand in his, pulling you gently into him. The sensation was intoxicating—a rush, a high that was exhilarating and equal parts comforting. He couldn't help but to breathe you in, the beat of your heart syncing with his.

"Take a break?" He asked, voice barely a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, still holding that playful twinkle in your eyes. "Now you're just trying to get out of cooking," you teased but you didn't stop him as he led you across the room.

As you both swayed gently, moving in rhythm to the music, the press of you against was enough to make him feel dizzy. The heat of your skin and softness of your breath as you laid your cheek against his chest.

All of his senses for the briefest moment told him this was real…you're real. No longer held back by the world of impossibilities.

He pulled back slightly, looking at you and just savoring you. He had so much he wanted to say but all it was incondite—inadequate and not all encompassing of how he felt. But as always, you'd say the same thing, from your perspective, Leon had never acted so strangely in your shared space.

Your eyes are soft, almost knowing. "You are being so strange, Leon." Your hand rested on his chest, he'd hoped you feel the beat of his heart underneath.

Instead of words, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours. Kiss slow and tender as he tasted you, the sweetness, the warmth. Lost in you.

He pulled away, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead and responded with a chuckle, "I don't care. I don't care if I'm being strange, I just want this. You."

Your fingers traced his jaw, smiling. "Well, lucky for you, you've got the real thing right in front of you," you said with a wink.

The bliss, pure unadulterated bliss of it all was fleeting just as it had been every other day. The truth seeped in quicker than he expected this time. This is not real. She wasn't here. This place wasn't theirs.

Still, Leon held onto it for as long as he could, unwilling to let go of the dream—if only a few more moments despite the edges of reality caving into this one.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

SCARED

Neighbor!Bucky Barnes X F!Reader

Word Count: 2,519 ⭐️Masterlist⭐️

Summary: I loosely based this off of a real life event of mine, so if things don’t make sense, ask God 🤣🤣

Warnings: Agegap, neighbor!bucky, adultery, 18+ not quite smut but I don’t want childen reading anything I write 🤷🏻‍♀️ suggestive or not.

Spending the summer with your aunt wasnt something you planned for when school ended. It meant church every Sunday, and Wednesday night. It meant no wifi and being stranded in a strange town on the border of Georgia and Alabama.

You’d never been to Georgia and the possibility of driving to Florida to go to the beach was enough to convince you 5 weeks wasn’t that long. The 10 hour drive there lasted longer than the summer escape.

The first few weeks were exactly what you expected. Church, shopping, eating your aunts famous fried chicken livers, talking on the porch late into the night. On the third Sunday, after church, she informs you that you’re taking a trip to Alabama. Her grandson is coming to spend the week. You both needed to go pick him up from her daughter.

It took 4 hours to get there, napping made it feel like 30 minutes. Your aunt pulled up to a trailer park, and you scan your surroundings. You were even further in the middle of nowhere, then what you were at your aunts house. You always wanted to know the way out. But here, a 2 mile dirt road separates you from the highway you turned off of. You take notice of the neighbors, one had a pool out front, some older ladies floating on pool noodles waved at your aunt, they must know her. The neighbors on the other side of your cousins house weren’t so inviting.

You saw a toddler sitting in the dirt crying. Watching up at his parents flinging spit in each others faces. You avert your gaze when the man flicks his eyes over to you. You know men like that, they’re terrifying and unpredictable. He could walk over to you and start on you just for glancing in his direction. Your aunt ushers you into her daughters house, not wanting you to see the altercation.

You hadn’t seen your cousin since you were a little girl. Now she has a little boy. It was weird. Your family was so large, it was impossible to keep up with everyone. You had many cousins you hadn’t seen since Christmas of ‘06. After a ham sandwich and barbecue chips you were ready to leave, it was more boring here, and your cousin even had cable. You aunt must’ve noticed your boredom, offering a swim in her friends pool out front.

“But I didn’t bring a bathing suit?” You say grinning, knowing you’d go naked if it meant you could swim. “Just wear your bra and I’ll go ask the neighbor if she has some shorts that will fit you.” Your aunt says, swinging open the screen door. You nod your head, quickly braiding your hair to keep it out of your face. You almost lose your spot, twisting knots into your hair when the blonde woman from next door walks in, smiling. “Hey, your aunt said you needed some shorts?”.

You hop up from the couch. “Yes, thank you, I don’t know if we’re even close to the same size but what can it hurt to try?” You give her a soft smile. She looked like a wounded animal. She was way too nice to be getting yelled at like that. You wonder what set him off. But you know better than to ask. “Tanya, your kids crying.” You both look behind her to the open door. The dark haired man was standing there, looking thoroughly disgusted. When his eyes find you again, you have nowhere to hide. “Your aunt says you guys are staying the night.” He informs you, walking away. You furrow your eyebrows, why wouldn’t your aunt tell you that herself?

“She did, James needs a ride into town tomorrow and your aunt couldn’t say no.” She gives you a tight lipped smile. She knows a young girl would rather be spending her summer somewhere else. Once you squeezed into the shorts, you bolted to the pool, with a quick introduction to Sherry and Barb, sisters who owned the park. They were nice, asked you questions and treated you like family. Your aunt must really know them, you had no clue how.

Tanya and your aunt walked across the grass and climbed into the pool. Tanya tightly held onto a bottle of Budweiser, letting you know the night was already starting. You dunk your head, wanting to wash away the sweat from your forehead. When you resurface you see James stomping towards the pool, his shirt missing and motor oil smeared on his chest. “Drinking beer but not watching your kid I wish I could be surprised.” That’s when you notice a little boy in his hands, floaties tightly wrapped around his arms and body. He snatched the brown bottle from her hands, tossing the boy into the pool. “I got shit to do.” He walked away, finishing the beer and throwing the empty bottle to the ground.

After two more hours in the pool, your cousin came out looking for your aunt, leaving you alone with the Tanya and the baby. “Are you happy?” You finally ask, only because you’re truly alone with her. Her eyes well with tears, she shakes her head no. You move across the pool grabbing the boy you’d become acquainted with. You pulled yourself out of the water, not bothering to dry off, but you wrapped the boy in a towel. The sun was setting and it wasn’t warm enough for him to be out here wet. “I’ll be right back.” You give her a firm nod, carrying him in the direction of her house. She just watched helplessly as you turn the corner out of site.

Your heart started beating faster as you walked up to the trailer, knocking on the door. You try to think of what to say as you wait for him to open the door. You hear cursing from the other side before it’s swung open. He stands there for a minute, holding the door open before you realize he’s inviting you in. You step up, still holding onto the toddler. You don’t move from the doormat, afraid of tracking water through the house. “You can lay him down on the couch.” He says, pointing toward the corner of the room. You nod, padding your feet across the cold linoleum. You didn’t even notice the boy fell asleep in your arms, swimming always tuckers out kids. You straighten your back when you feel water droplets sliding down the inside of your thigh, pooling water at your feet.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even dry off before bringing him.” You look at the ground, wondering how you could fix the wet footprints that painted his floor. “I’m not.” He says but you barely catch it. “Huh?” You ask.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s just water honey.” You look up at him, not believing his sincerity. His blue eyes are piercing into yours. “Okay, well I better get back to the pool.” He watches you as you walk out of the door, he doesn’t make room for you to slip past him, causing you to turn your body towards him, he smelled good, you don’t know how. He was covered in black dirt from under the car, and sweat. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt and his tanned skin was so smooth, save for the happy trail growing up his stomach.

He was a lot older than you, more than 15 years, you’d guess. But you couldn’t tell standing this close to him. Your brain forces you out of the door. If you stood there in the tension for a second longer you don’t know what stupid thing would come out of your mouth. When you got back to the pool everyone had rejoined Tanya, even your aunt and cousin were drinking. You escape to your cousins house, changing back into your leggings and putting on your t-shirt. You check on your baby cousin, he’s sleeping in his room, not a worry in the world. You take the chance to spend a minute alone and turn on the tv.

You don’t even care to change the channel, SpongeBob played, lulling you to sleep. You’re awoken by your aunt, handing you the neighbor boy. “Will you watch him for a minute?” You just nod, and she’s out of the house. You peak through the curtain to see blue lights out front. Why are the cops here? You rock the boy to sleep, laying him down beside your cousin in his bed. When you walk outside everyone’s gone. The cops, your aunt, the neighbors. “What the hell.” You say out loud. You go knock on Sherrys door, hoping your aunt was there. But no one answered. Walking across the grass field someone caught your attention. It’s James, yelling at his trailer. “You don’t love me anyways, bitch.” He throws another beer bottle, this one smashes against the siding of the house. “I should’ve never fucked you and let you have my kid.” You stop in your tracks when he turns around, obviously drunk. “Hey.” He says, slowly walking towards you. “Are you okay?” You ask naïve as ever.

“I’m a good person, right?” He asks. You don’t know what to say, not wanting to tip him off that you were shitting your pants right now.

“Yes, you seem like a really good dad.” You’re trying to deescalate. “I am.” His voice is a little louder than it should be. “I don’t doubt it.” You’re still standing in the same spot, too afraid to move. “You’re nice.” He says, smiling widely. You give him one back, he hadn’t done anything to you yet, you weren’t going to give him a reason to.

It was no secret that you were nervous. Your breathing was fast and your eyes kept darting past him. “You don’t have to be scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He says, stepping closer to you again. “Everyone hurts me. Treats me like I’m not worth anything.” He lets his head hang, and you start to feel guilt building inside of you, this man just needed someone to lean on. “I’m not worthless, right?” He looks up at you with tears in his eyes. You know he’s drunk, but this pain was real.

“You’re worth more than you know.” It was cliche, but a true blanket statement, no one knows their true worth. “Thank you.” He says, wiping his eyes. “I just need someone to hold me for once.” You felt that, you knew exactly what he meant. “Wanna hug?” You offer, knowing that sometimes that’s all people need, church the last three weeks had taught you that. Sometimes a smile and a handshake is all the human contact people get all week.

He just looks at you, expecting you to close the gap between you. So you do, you walk towards him, fear in the form of sweat, still dripping from you. You give him a warm smile as you lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle. His hands quickly found your hips, pulling you even closer to him. He squeezed you tightly, and you swear you hear him smell your hair. You try to pull away after an awkward silence falls over the two of you, but he won’t let you go.

“I’m sorry you’re going through stuff man, I am.” You say, patting his shoulder to tell him to let go. You feel his body go rigid against yours so you think he’s crying again. Drunk tears are never ending. “It’s okay.” You wrap your arms around him again, rubbing up and down his bare back. You try to pull away again, this time saying something “Don’t want Tanya to come out here and catch you hugging a stranger, probably best we let go now.”

His silence was a thousand words. Then he spoke, “You can’t do that.” He says lowly. You pull away and try to look at his face. “What are you talking about?” You ask, fear filling you again. He looks into your eyes, letting one of his hands slide down to the curve of your ass. You instantly put your hands on his chest and try to push him away. “You can’t be sweet to me and expect me not to like it.” His voice was different now, desperate. He presses his face into your neck, sloppily kissing up to your jaw.

Your heart is beating out of your chest now, and you stop fighting, not wanting to anger him. “You don’t want to cheat on your wife, you’re just drunk.” You try to break through to him. “You don’t know me.” He says, pulling you towards the back yard. “No I don’t, but you seem like a good man, don’t let a drunken mistake ruin what you’ve built for yourself.” You keep trying to persuade him.

“I wasn’t drunk earlier, when I watched you bend over in my living room, dripping wet. I wanted you then, just didn’t say anything.” He says, pressing you against your cousins house. He breathes in your face, and you smell more than beer on his breath, whiskey was pungently invading your nose. “So what? You like me or something?” You ask, confused on where this was going.

“Something like that.” He says, pressing his lips to yours. You’re shocked, you thought you were gonna be able to talk your way out of it. “This isn’t right.” You stop the kiss, nodding towards his trailer. You look between his eyes and try to find some common sense. “Then why does it feel right?” He grabs your hand, forcing you to cup the hard mass in his pants.

You gasp, you’d never felt one before, your virginity not up for debate, you’d never even had a boyfriend. “See, you like it too.” It’s like he’s trying to convince you. You look between him and the houses, searching for a witness. When you couldn’t find a soul, you stop fighting all together. He feels your body relax and takes it as permission to pull your leggings down. “Hey!” You say, but you guess it was too loud for his liking because he covers your mouth with his hand, looking you dead in the eye while his fingers push past your panties and dip inside of you. “You like being scared little girl?” He pulls his hand away from you, licking his fingers and tasting you.

Him reading you like a book was also a turn on. You stay silent, telling him everything he needs to know. He twist your body, pressing your face into the plastic. “Maybe you like it rough too, huh?” He slaps your bare ass, rubbing the raised red welt to soothe it.

You whimper, you’re going to let him have his way with you. If this was the only eventful thing that happens this summer, then what the hell. Tanya wasn’t happy and neither was he, who were you to interfere with destiny?

[biird-rot]

Leon Kennedy is Autistic: An Analysis by an Autistic Person

DISCLAIMER: This post and all the points I make are highly based on my OWN experiences. I often find parallels between my experiences as a disabled individual and characters I love to help me better cope with and process my feelings. Hate will not be tolerated!!!

Before I get started, I’d like to say that this is not even me scratching the SURFACE of the things I could analyze about Leon and apply to various autistic experiences, this is mostly just the things that resonate with me the most.

Parallel Play/Preferring to Work Alone

It could be attributed to trauma, and the fact he works in a government agency, but Leon has always been the flying solo type. Missions in which it would be better if multiple people worked on it (RE4) HOWEVER! Whenever he does work with others, he often goes off on his own and leaves whoever he's with to deal with what's there (DI, Leon going off immediately after being vaccinated by Rebecca)

Difficulty Communicating/Identifying Emotions

This also plays into the difficulty making friends and maintaining friendships aspect of being autistic. There isn't any direct/obvious representations of this occurring in the franchise, but it can be inferred based upon his interaction with Chris and Rebecca in RE: Vendetta when the two try to recruit Leon on their mission because of the intel he has on the type of BOWs they're dealing with. Speaking of RE: Vendetta, it can also be noted that Leon copes with his inability to cope with/regulate his emotions by drinking, and this is a habit he always had. In fact, he's essentially hung over in RE2, having drunk his feelings away after being broken up with the night before the Raccoon City incident, and he is literally drinking on the job in Damnation. Essentially, he's canonically an alcoholic. As an autistic person, sometimes I would turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with my emotional dysregulation, especially when I was unaware that I was autistic.

Leon isn't a very emotional person in general, again, It could be chalked up to trauma, but lack of emotional expression is also a common experience/trait amongst autistics.

“Inappropriate” Responses to Situations

GODDDD this one is SO prominent in RE4R (hell, even the OG), Infinite Darkness actually everything he's in, I can name at LEAST 2 examples of this. To keep this short, I'll just name ones that I relate painfully hard to, and ones that I find hilarious.

To start, WHENEVR HE JUST SAYS "ok 🧍" in response to an emotional moment. RE2R, when Claire introduces him to Sherry, in RE4R, when Ashley hugs him and expresses her relief that he's okay, and in Infinite Darkness whenever he checks up on Patrick after the White House Outbreak. It never fails to make me lose it because he's just like me fr.

Thists a sillier one, but I want to mention it because it's so mecore.

Thank you to @highball66 for doing the lord's work of translating the Death Island manga yall seriously he’s a legend🙏

When Leon sends selfies of him on missions. That's it. He just sends it to Hunnigan and I think it's great.

Sensory Issues

Okay, I KNOW LEON IS A GOVERNMENT AGENT AND NEEDS SOME LEVEL OF GEAR ON MISSIONS BUT!!!!! Half the time he isn't even wearing a full set, not even a bullet proof vest. HOWEVER, I did notice that one thing he CONSISTENTLY wears (with the exception of a few instances) is GLOVES!!! This is more of a personal headcannon, but I like to think he's sensitive to texture, especially when handling guns and such, so he wears gloves, so it doesn't feel as terrible. To further back up his sensitivity to texture, in Death Island, after the Dylan BOW explodes and splashes water everywhere, Chris doesn't seem to care about being covered in water while Leon is flicking the water off him.

Literal Thinking - Coming off as Rude/Inappropriate Unintentionally

GODDDDD this is another big one, but I’ll only cover the ones that I relate to a lot to save time. Starting with his initial encounter with Jill in Death Island, they’re being chased by lickers and…well..this interaction

Exhibit B: This scene. He’s just so nonchalant about it and I do the exact same thing without like…intentionally being a “smartass” or whatever, I’m just being honest 🧍. Jill’s “Oh😒” at the end of the scene is really what made it hit home, because that’s how people typically react when i have a similar interaction with them

ANOTHER THING!!! All of the instances in which Leon casually asks “so you wanna get dinner?” Or something along those lines. It’s often interpreted as a poor attempt at flirting, but personally, I think he genuinely just wants food, and he doesn’t understand why ppl are like 🤨 when he asks. He just wants a nice dinner with a nice lady :(

Hyper-empathy

Small disclaimer here, autism is a SPECTRUM. And our empathy levels fluctuate every day. In Leon’s case, I see him being hyper-empathetic, much like myself. And being able to empathize so easily with people is incredibly draining. Additionally, a huge thing that is common among autistics is how we tend to respond to people who are sharing their struggles with us sharing our OWN experiences that are similar to theirs, and it often comes off as egocentric and selfish to “make it about us”, but in reality, that’s our way of saying that we understand what you’re going through, and it helps us process how you may be feeling as well. There are many scenes I could pull from, but I want to talk about one specifically in Infinite Darkness since it resonates so much with me:

The scene within ID in which Jason is having a nightmare, and Leon wakes him up, immediately asking him if he wants to talk about it. Jason recalls the nightmare and his trauma about Penamstan to Leon, and says that he has no idea what it was like, and Leon responds talking about his experience in Raccoon City, and how that affected him similarly

Special Interests & Using Media to Communicate Feelings

There are many aspects of this I could talk about, but I’ve already written 10 pages worth already in this post, so I’ll speed through it.

Personally, I think Leon has a special interest in film! He makes several references throughout the franchise, many of which are overlooked. Personally, my favorite reference he makes is in RE: Vendetta to Pulp Fiction (I think) when Chris and Rebecca confront him during his “vacation”

Final Notes/Conclusion

I had to cut a LOT out from my original mini-essay I wrote about this to fit it better on here, and make it not as boring to read lmao, but I hope you enjoyed my silly little analysis! I love being able to relate my experiences to others, fictional or otherwise, as it helps me feel less alone, and be able to process and cope with what makes my disability a…well, a disability. I hope fellow autistics find some solace in this as well, and please let me know your additional thoughts about this topic if you’re a fellow autistic Leon Kennedy headcannoner!!!

[helluvagyal]

Synopsis: just some general headcanons about my favorite demon. Part 1/3, relationship headcanons coming next.

Content: general headcanons, mentions of cannibalism.

A/N: My first piece of writing for the fandom and I had to start with my murder baby. Enjoy, let me know what you think please. Don't forget to reblog! Banner and dividers by me.

— shoutout to @hellvcifer for getting me into it. Please read and reblog their work it's amazing!

Alastor is like that weird elusive sinner that you rarely see and when he does show up, it’s during drama or when he needs something.

Count on him to show out and throw hands (hooves?) for his people though.

Alastor always has a story to tell and the hotel residents’ favorites are definitely about his life before he ended up in hell.

He’s usually very tight lipped about those but if you catch him while he's making dinner, he'll turn into a chatterbox—especially if he's already got sherry or rye in him.

When he's cooking alone, that's his favorite time for contemplation and/or Hell domination.

His ever present smile has gone soft at the corners, his voice has lost its warped and static edge as he hums along to his radio, moving around the kitchen as if floating.

On the nights when it's his turn to cook, he definitely helps Niffty with the clean up after.

He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth but when those cravings kick in, it's with a vengeance.

Gingerbread cookies are his go to snack to pair with blood infused lemon tea as well as blood orange tea.

Demon ladyfingers sprinkled with powdered sugar and paired with blood infused black tea is an afternoon time favorite.

There was one week where he ate nothing but beignets, bananas foster and sweet potato pie for breakfast.

Alastor has a thirst for knowledge, prides himself on finding out everything he can, even if it's only to satisfy a mere curiosity.

He's a fashion snob. He never did care much for it when he was topside, only making sure he looked his best.

But since being in Hell, he's found himself with quite the eye and knack for Hellish threads. I mean, come on. I know ya'll saw his red bottoms!

He goes shopping with Angel occasionally, resolutely ignoring (or snickering at) how the shopkeeper cowers in fear when he asks if a powder blue fleece scarf he saw came in blood red.

With being a fashion snob, it paved the way for his stitcher's thumb.

Now, he's no expert like Rosie but she taught him a thing or two when he'd have the patience for it.

He's patched up knife holes in Niffty's dresses, sewn up tears in Angel’s sweaters and even hemmed one of Vaggie's skirts.

He'll dedicate two nights a week–if he's not busy with hotel duties–to sitting in front of his bayou and stitching or sewing.

He can play instruments; learned the sax and trumpet topside and mastered the piano down below.

Alastor actually likes the peace that comes with doing menial tasks. Instead of snapping his fingers to have the dishes washed and put away or to have his books dusted, he will do it if he has the extra time.

Getting dressed for the day is something he always does on his own, from ironing his pristine suits to shining his dress shoes.

Alastor does in fact sleep, however, he's trained himself to go long periods without needing to. He sleeps best after a feeding.

When using his abilities on particular prey, it acts as a health bar of sorts. So the stronger the prey, along with the extent of damage, determines his healing time and energy output.

Alastor is one of the many sinners who have had issues in the past coming to terms with their newly acquired anatomy.

The antlers have grown on him and so have the ears as it helps when he's flicking through frequencies.

Alastor absolutely abhors his tail, tried cutting it off but it just grew right back, bushier too.

He could never control the wretched thing, hates that it would give away his moods with a twitch or a tuck.

When he first discovered that it rapidly swishes from side to side when he's upset, he immediately went out to hunt, feeling like he had to go out and prove something.

He's started going to bed last, or at least retiring to his room when all the residents are asleep. Secretly likes to ensure the others are safe and sound.

Alastor is a huge fan of games, board, tile and card games to be specific. Yes, he's competitive but he enjoys the relaxing and occasionally heated atmosphere it provides.

For board games, he loves Scrabble (topside), Game of the World (topside), Clue (down below), and Pictionary (down below). If you value your life, please do not poke fun at his drawings in Pictionary, he gets testy.

For tile games, he loves Dominoes. His mother was the one who taught him how to play–as with most of the other games–one night when the power was out and he couldn’t listen to his radio programs or get some work done.

For card games, he likes Oh Hell, The Donkey card game and Make-A-Million.

If you couldn't tell, he prefers games where he can show off his smarts and be stimulated.

He despises Chess, Beggar-my-neighbor and Bingo.

Bonding/group sessions have grown on him, he won't admit it though. He's come to look forward to them, especially the night-time rituals, but please do not ask him to join movie night, he already put up with camping in the garden.

He's stellar at giving advice but is absolute shit at taking them sometimes, especially if he doesn't agree with it but knows it's rational

He will never tell you what you want to hear unless it's beneficial to him. Count on him to tell you what you need to hear, especially if you personally sought him out to get something off your mind.

If you aren't Rosie (and occasionally the residents), he would prefer not to prolong conversations unless he knows he's going to gain valuable information, be entertained or stimulated.

It's no secret that he has a soft spot for Niffty, his shadow does too; you can find them playing together sometimes with Alastor occasionally keeping a watchful eye.

He takes his title of 'King Roach' very seriously.

If you want some quiet time in the hotel, just seek out Alastor. If your social battery is running low but you don't necessarily want to be alone, either him or Husk would be your best bet.

If you've been invited to his room or his study to have a nightcap and a gab session, you're one of his most tolerable companions.

For the love of all that is bad and sinful, PLEASE do not ask about going up to his radio tower, especially during a broadcast; it's best if you just let him invite you.

However, he does allow Niffty up there to assist his shadow with cleaning the space.

If Alastor had a middle name, it would be Petty. It's also no secret that he's into mischief making. He and Angel got a kick out of the Prank Wars as a bonding exercise. They make a scary good team

He can dish out but he cannot take it. Don't even bother trying to get even with him because then everyone will have to hear about “the terrible slight on my honor”.

He's very chivalrous, even if his ways of showing it can be a bit twisted.

© helluvagyal ‧ all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, share, or copy my work.

[inoreuct]

drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you. 

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest. 

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t. 

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him. 

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean. 

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves. 

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.” 

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning. 

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner. 

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been. 

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough. 

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette. 

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how. 

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair. 

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath. 

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.” 

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum. 

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over. 

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

 

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

[e-vay]

I love your first date with Aurora and Shadow, it’s so cute!

But I wonder; with Aurora spending all day at the cafe and coming home late (obviously without telling her parents she was on a date) would Sonic and/or Amy do the classic ‘sitting in a dark corner waiting for their child to come home’? They flick on the lights when Aurora gets back and question where she’s been all day, and why she’s so giddy? Sonic would probably eventually get suspicious and end up being over protective, following Aurora and hiding in bushes to catch what she’s up too 😂

Aww I'm so glad you enjoyed their first date! 💖🖤

You're in luck! The fabulous @sherrydoodlez illustrated that exact scenario!

This comic is an oldie but I still think about it all the time 🥰

[moonlight-prose]

wip wednesday!

i don't think anyone tagged me in this last week (but if you did then thank you). i also just really like dropping little snippets here each wednesday so here's a big one for the one, the only, eddie alden fic.

this fic has consumed me entirely and well i've got a surprise that goes with it but that's for a different time.

hopelessly devoted to you

Trailing to the kitchen with you hot on his heels, he rummaged in the take out drawer full of old menus that needed replacements eventually. Pages were stained, ripped, and crumpled from years of use. You snatched the only pizza place one out of his grasp, eyes flicking through the selections with a grin. Predictable. He could have ordered blindly for you if he'd have known your tastes were the same.

"Lemme guess–"

"Pepperoni–" you began.

"With sausage and jalapenos," he finished.

"Fuck off Eddie."

He smiled, confident enough to have your mind falter on anything except the man before you. How did he do that? Render you a bumbling fool who could barely put the correct words in order to form a complete sentence. One day you might have to ask if that was just his Eddie charm, or if it only worked on you in particular.

"I would. But it's my place kitten." Dialing the number he knew by heart, he left you to wander spots in the apartment that hadn't been on his grand tour.

A corner table held a photo of Eddie's mother, his father nowhere to be seen in the background. You didn't blame him for avoiding the man entirely. After what occurred you were surprised that Eddie hadn't killed him; although he once came close at nineteen.

The night his mother spilled the truth over one too many glasses of sherry; the night Eddie figured out the man he once looked up to had a different family in an entirely different state.

If you trailed your fingers down the back of his neck you'd find the spot his father had slammed him into the banister of their front staircase. The fight bordered on brutal. A viscous act that left what relationship remained tattered and torn to shreds on the floor around them. Both men landed hits with no true aim, teeth bared and seeking blood through the red haze of their anger.

Eddie wanted revenge. His father wanted submission.

They'd always stood on thin ice ready to crack beneath the weight of their baggage. A horrendous cycle of push and pull—each one aware of how to tear the other down with ease. Their bond was built on torment. And to watch the tension explode, drowning them both beneath the glacial waters, left you stuck in a dark chasm of helplessness.

Stupidly you got a scar to match when you threw yourself in front of a near unconscious Eddie, attempting to stop the man from landing a final punch to his son's face. He hit you instead. The scar on your shoulder was small, barely there, but you could still feel Eddie's lips on it when he cleaned the wound. Apologies spilling from his lips until he fell asleep in your bed.

But you supposed that was Eddie. A protector above all else.

The man who would throw himself into the heat of battle before considering the consequences that came with a choice that reckless.

"They'll be here in twenty minutes." He crept up behind you, glancing at the photo of him on his Mom's birthday. "Thinking about that night?"

You jumped, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Yeah."

He nodded. "Hard not to."

"Has he ever..."

"No." The darkened shadow across his face gave you enough of a response. It was time to move onto a different subject.

"So..." You settled on his couch with a heavy sigh. "Your work."

Dragging the throw blanket his mother sewed him over your legs, he clambered onto the empty space beside you. The heater was slowly sputtering to life—radiator giving it all it had to keep the both of you warm. But beside him you felt the heat practically emanate off his body in waves.

What you wouldn't give to curl into his lap and seek it from the source.

"The drama has been exquisite," he stated, draping his arm on the top of the couch behind your head. "You remember me tellin' you about Jane?"

"Goodall?"

"The very one." He settled further into the cushions, legs spread beneath the blanket until he nudged yours. "She and Ray broke up. It's been hell in the office dealing with their confused tension."

"Wait, isn't this the guy who cheated with her?"

He nodded. "Now I'm not saying he's horrible. But you gotta at least break up with the girl before you go with another."

"Ahh you're taking my teachings to heart," you smiled, leaning your head against his arm.

"I have to Kit. Every time I don't I feel like you're gonna pop out and whack me–" Landing a weak hit to his side, he clamped his hand around your wrist, tugging you close with a laugh. "Like that!"

Attempting to free yourself was futile when he outmatched you in strength and speed. Yet you found that you enjoyed being this close to him. Laughing as you once did in the years of your youth. When all that mattered was which movie you were seeing that Friday and what school the team was playing.

Somehow—in the blink of an eye—you were two adults stuck in your own travesties. Forced to forgo the blithe energy of your childhood. You'd jump at the chance to go back; if only to get more time with Eddie. To spend a few more hours in his bedroom watching horror movies that left you both shell shocked and restless.

To cheer him on at every game with the promise of burgers and shakes at the local drive in afterwards. To watch him grow up and move to New York. Only this time...you'd follow him the second he asked.

His eyes softened as your smile slipped from your lips, fingers curling around his fist. Hazel had never been your favorite color until Eddie left. You rarely thought of it when he was home, but as his absence became a reality you could no longer suffer through you began to see the color everywhere. In the trees, in the color of your old blanket you stole off his childhood bed, in the flannel that once belonged to his grandfather.

You found traces of Eddie Alden in every little aspect of your life, except him.

"Kitten," he murmured, a fraction closer than he'd been a minute ago. His eyes dropped to the curve of your lips, how they parted so sweetly at the sound of your pet name.

"Eddie..."

All that remained was the space between your heads—your body practically leaning into him the longer you talked. He could lean in and kiss you. He could finally learn what you tasted like, figure out how you'd sound if his tongue licked along yours. Fuck he'd never wanted something more.

 The dazed glint in your eyes made his heart twist, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. Your gaze fixed on the movement immediately and Eddie felt his cock twitch in interest. One day he'd explain to you how fucking beautiful you were; how his mind went haywire at the sight of your smile. How he'd destroy himself to get you to look at him like he hung the moon and stars.

One day he'd spill his deepest darkest secrets to you.

Starting with three little words that kept him up at night tossing and turning.

He swallowed thickly. "I..."

The door buzzed loud enough to scare the shit out of you. Leaping back, you felt the breath catch in your throat painfully and like an idiot you began to cough. Eddie's eyes went wide, his hand tapping your back as you waved him off to get the pizza. Leaving you to sit there on his couch and choke...on air.

Dumbass.

"Thanks man," Eddie muttered, handing off what cash he had left in his wallet. "Keep the change."

He rushed back to the couch, pizza in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Kit, you okay? Here drink this before you die on my fuckin' couch."

"Shut up Eddie," you snipped, eyes burning with a glare. Though the smile on your lips told him something else. "Hand over the pizza before it's you dying."

"Yes ma'am," he muttered, flipping open the box and swiping the remote off the coffee table. Taking his spot by your side back with a grin.

tagging whoever wants to do it!

[tetras-stuff]

I asked my sister who knows nothing about Resident Evil to look at pictures of the characters and describe what she thinks of them. Here is what she said for each character

Jill

- massive asshole

- a little gay

- needs a haircut and a shower

- shops exclusively at thrift stores

- she looks greasy

Chris

- gay

- bottom

- likes baking cookies

- has a nicki minaj American flag

- does the white girl dance to romans revenge in the club

- would ask the DJ to play ABBA at a rave

wesker

- OOO THATS A GAY MAN

- very homophobic but he's still gay

- loves the movie mean girls and watches it religiously

- he smokes candy cigarettes

claire

- "I'm not racist but"

- makes POV tiktoks unironically

- posts thirst traps thinking she's that girl

- peaked in high school

- mean lesbian

ada

- follows you round a puppy dog if she likes you, if she doesn't like you she's a mega bitch

- "I'm not like other girls"

- watches POV tiktoks unironically and religiously

- "I'm not even wearing makeup today guys omg stop 🙈"

- says she's goth because she listens to Arctic monkeys

Luis

- gay

- Italian

- "is he gay or european" but he's both

- extremely extremely gay

- loves lego batman but only lego batman

- a flirt

- loves fashion and fragrances

- gay

- looks like he comes from what we do in the shadows

ethan

- loves Ben shapiro

- would spit on a drag queen

- is so homophobic he has to be a bit gay

- thinks men are too feminine these days

Sherry

- Russian and thinks singing Russian songs is cultural appropriation

- doesn't care about male or female attention

- loves horror movies and chick flicks

- thinks she's different because she likes earl grey tea

jake muller

- would spit on a service worker

- shoplifts but only small things like pens

- steals all his clothes from dumpsters

- acts gangster

- a bit fruity

- paints his nails and is embarrassed so wears gloves

leon kennedy

- is the drag queen ethan spits on

- loved the barbie movie and has an "I am kenough" hoodie

- can't drive

- either really gay or an over the top ally who wears "my friend is bi I don't ask why" shirts to rallies

- dog person

- would have a giant dog and a tiny dog

- he's a romantic and goes all in for relationships

- unironically finds scary movies really scary

Carlos

- was bullied in school

- would sit through a chick flick with a girl

- really feminist but also a "wheres my hug at" guy

- posts about how much he hates Andrew tate on Instagram

- loves emo girls because he was bullied for being emo

- loves guns n roses

- loves girls who don't wash

[thebrandywine]

hey Mav!! was thinking 49 (family photos) for the prompt list? would love some Chreon if you’re interested 🥰

⁴⁹⁾ family photos

The move has been a long time coming, Chris thinks. There was the requisite arguing over their jobs, and then of locations-- house versus condo versus apartment, either bought or leased. There had been serious debates over paint colors that neither of them cared too much about, in truth, but found an abnormal amount of joy in making a scene over it in the hardware store. When Chris had made the suggestion of the pictures after, almost all the boxes empty, Leon had grimaced.

The frames won't match, he'd said, and then, They're all creased.

Chris sits beside him patiently as the man finally pulls rubber-banded stacks of photo paper from under an old, ugly scarf Hunnigan had apparently knitted him a long time ago. The corners of the upper third of the stack have curled with inattention and the middles of the pictures are cramped inward from the strength of the band, though it crumbles apart at a weak point as soon as Leon peels the rubber away.

Chris doesn't know most of the people in the photos that Leon flicks through with speed. The younger man sorts them into piles without comment: left, center, right. Another pile appears beside Leon's knee at a flash of Krauser's face, but those are flipped over so the ghost can't look out at them.

"What about that one?"

It's ripped on the bottom, faded from sun exposure so that most of it is cast in that greenish tinge he remembers most from developed film out of disposable cameras. At one point, it had been folded into thirds, and the white creases are prominent even now. It's a bad picture, in truth-- Leon and Sherry fresh out of Raccoon City, Leon trying to take a picture of them both without a forward camera or twistable view finder to see where they are in the frame. It's off-center, and the grungy motel room they're in features heavily behind their appearance in the foreground.

"You want this on the wall?" Leon asks incredulously, turning to raise an eyebrow at him.

Chris bumps their shoulders together and says, "Family photos go up on the wall. Those are the rules."

Leon brushes his thumb over that tear. After a long moment, he says, "Yeah, alright."

[bitter69uk]

Recently watched: The Velvet Vampire (1971) (aka: Cemetery Girls). Tagline: “She’s waiting to love you … to death!” Hip young married couple Lee and Susan Ritter (played by Michael Blodgett - Lance Rocke from Russ Meyer’s Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) – and Sherry Miles) encounter elegant and seductive brunette Diane LeFanu (Celeste Yarnell) at an art gallery and impulsively accept her invitation to spend the weekend at her palatial, secluded home deep in the Mojave desert. “I’d love to have you both,” Diane enigmatically declares, which really should have set off alarm bells. Not to mention her strikingly drained pallor, which warrants descriptions like “consumptive”, “tubercular” and “anemic.” We’ve already seen the inscrutable Diane coolly murder a would-be rapist on the street, rinse her bloody hands in a nearby fountain and walk away, completely unruffled. Just who is this mystery woman? The Velvet Vampire updates the vampire movie template for the countercultural permissive era, finding time for open marriage bisexual swinging, copious nudity (expect bare boobage a-go go, and the glorious sun-kissed Blodgett in various stages of undress), the performance of a blues lament by Johnny Shines (“Evil-Hearted Woman”), driving around in a dune buggy, voyeurism (a two-way mirror is a crucial plot device), groovy hippie music on the soundtrack and artistic / surrealistic erotic dream sequences. Fascinatingly, The Velvet Vampire was directed by Roger Corman protegee Stephanie Rothman, one of the few female exploitation filmmakers of the period. (Her solo directorial debut was the promisingly titled It’s a Bikini World in 1967! Corman’s New World Pictures commissioned The Velvet Vampire following the success of lesbian vampire flick Daughters of Darkness (1970) and entrusted it to Rothman based on the good box office of her previous film The Student Nurses (1970)). The climactic finale set in a Los Angeles Greyhound bus station in broad daylight (reportedly shot there without permission!) is genuinely memorable. And Yarnell – wearing some truly great flowing red chiffon and pink marabou ensembles – is a haunting presence.

[k-marzolf]

Make me your Maria

Okay, I’m not sure how this will be received. I just wanted to try this idea out. That being said, I really had fun with this.

@e-dubbc11 @terry2227 @kayhi808 @firequeensposts @milea @thejanecampaign @aoi-targaryen @zz-kennedy @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @idaofinfinity @bookloverfilmoholic @cant-help-simping @firexfate @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @rosaleenablack @fictional-hooman @disneyloverjaime @oops89 @ittybxttykxttytxtty @littleblackcatinwonderland @vaguekayla

763 words.

&&&

It’s 1920.

The streets of New York are filled with new things, motor cars in particular had your interest, and it had you sticking your head out of your apartment window on the third floor, ignoring the scolding from your mother as you hung out.

“Don’t lose your pearls!” She shouted, and then you saw him standing there, smoking with Frank Castle, and wiggled your hips, sliding free and down the ivy under the window.

Your mother looked out the window, face blotchy from drinking too much sherry. “Honestly, girl, there’s a door!”

You waved your mother off, sprinting over to Billy, and grabbing his cigarette, like you knew how, taking a long drag and inhaling, coughing wildly a second later, nearly dropping the cigarette on your dress.

A smile played on his lips. “That’s not for women, don’t you know, canary?” He teased playfully, and took the cigarette back, admiring the lipstick stains.

“You should take me for a drive in your new car, mister.” You said, fixing your pinned hair.

Frank was laughing and shaking his head at your audacity. “Did you know one blew up recently?” He asked, putting his own cigarette out on the sidewalk.

You rolled your eyes, “Then I guess Billy and I will go to purgatory. He won’t be able to leave until he crochets a granny square.” You rambled, “And maybe drink a gallon of water. He doesn’t drink enough, too much whiskey. His urine must be strong.”

Billy choked as he inhaled smoke, “Jesus, canary—“ he rasped.

You wagged your finger at him. “Takin’ the Lord’s name in vain. That’s two granny squares.”

“Yeah? And what do you gotta do?”

You smiled playfully, “Babysit you.”

He scoffed, “More like stringing pearls the way you lose those things. Alright, I’ll take you for a ride, canary. I expect a kiss at the end.” He teased, leaning into your face.

You leaned closer, “If you don’t crash into cars, causing the one in front of you to crash, creating a block wide collision because you saw a bee in the car and swatted at it.”

He flicked your forehead, “Sweet girl, I wouldn’t swing at the bee. I’d let it nest in your hair.”

Frank looked back and forth between you both as you made a mountain out of a molehill. He hit Billy, “Take her in the goddamn car, Bill.” He said, voice husky from all the smoking he did. He was in a simple shirt and trousers, working the mines.

Billy came from poverty, but struck it rich, though he would not say how, and so now he lived a comfortable life. Especially after the war, and he had the scars to show for it.

But you never missed the haunted look in his eyes he sometimes got, a thing you’d never understand, living a life of comfort, never being drafted, never working with your hands. But god, he was fond of you. A reminder that the world wasn’t completely evil, that there was some good in it. That you were the thing he was fighting for.

“You make it home, Bill. You kiss her, or Maria’s boxing your ears.” Frank grunted in a trench.

Billy laughed, holding his gun. “What? She gonna resurrect me just to tell me off?”

Frank pulled Billy by his ears. “I’ll drag you home if I have to Russo. You’re my brother. My family.”

Billy had lowered his eyes. “You’re mine too, Frankie.”

“Then pick your ass up, and get ready. We got company.”

You were his soft landing after the war, an embrace against the screaming.

You grabbed Billy’s arm, dragging him to the street, and ooh’ed and ahhh’ed at it. “It’s so pretty, like onyx. Like your eyes. You have to teach me how to drive.”

He brushed hair from your neck, tenderly. “Society won’t like a woman drivin’, too free.” He said pressing his face into your hair, breath tickling your neck.

This you knew, but well behaved women didn’t make history. “Is it loud?”

He knew the argument was far from over.

He leaned over hitting the horn, making you laugh in delight. “Do it again, mister.” You demanded, the summer heat making you sweat, but you couldn’t be bothered by it, fixated on something you never dreamed could exist. But some hated the cars, and so there were still horses in the street, but as far as you knew they’d never been shmucked.

And Billy was sure he could be happy at your command for the rest of his life, and into purgatory.