#god what an old lad!!!!!!!

[laurrelise]

ah, my favorite: five + himself

[pestercide]

Decided to revisit my Minecraft spooky guy designs

Old designs here

[the-casbah-way]

i HATE you kamala harris i HATE you donald trump i HATE you liberals i HATE you republicans i HATE you america. god bless

[marclef]

art trade for @cutechan555 of this funny little guy Noah

i want to squeeze this little guy like one of those old stress toys 😊

[soli-nepenthe]

I think we need more moments where Rafayel enchants our ears with the breathy musicality that is Lemurian...I melted at that last line.💞😶

[raylangivins]

this is incredibly niche, but when i was a youth in dublin there was a phenomenon known as the tween disco which is when a group of 12-14 year olds went to some rugby or gaa club for what was essentially an under 18s clubbing experience (if you were a ne’er-do-well you would drink an awfully mixed bottle of vodka and lucozade sport beforehand). it mostly involved boys shorter than you coming up to you and asking if you would shift (dublin colloquilism for kiss with tongue) their uglier mate, and in between dancing that’s all anyone around you would do, except for the more scandalous ones who would take it further in some corner. my prevailing memory of the disco i always went to (wezz) was that if you ever touched the wall your hand would come away quite literally dripping in condensation. they’re truly disgusting places.

anyway, that’s what the planet of the bass song reminds me of.

[todayisafridaynight]

Older the berry sweeter the juice! Osamu Kashiwagi am I right? Ok but Osamu in YK1 looks older than Biden but LAD him looks like he’s got that Dilf money!

this ask reminded me i have plums in my fridge i keep forgetting to eat

[quarterlifekitty]

Lately I’ve been getting a kick outta the idea of Ghost having a girlfriend that Johnny is painfully interested in (tale as old as time). But she a lil neurodivergent and selectively mute (edit; I originally labeled reader as non-verbal, but I was made aware mutism more accurately describes this!). She’s comfortable enough with Simon that she’ll talk to him when they’re alone, but she won’t say a word to Soap (she doesn’t talk to the other guys either, but you know that Johnny chooses to take it so damned personally).

The worst part is that Soap will say shit to her, and she’ll give Simon her little signal so he can bend down and she can talk to him so fucking quietly. It’s like they speak a different language and Simon is the interpreter. And it’s so infuriating to him because shit like this will happen.

“Ain’t you looking a right picture, bonnie— that dress new? Fits ye like a damned glove, sweetheart.”

You tug on Simon’s sleeve so he can lean down. Soap is rocking back and forth on his heels, anticipating an answer. He’s down so bad, he doesn’t even care that he’ll hear it from Simon’s lips and not yours. You whisper for what feels like minutes on end.

“She says thanks.”

“God damn, L.T.— you know she fuckin’ ‘ad to ‘ave said more than that!” He whines indignantly, Simon smirking. Simon knows all about his little crush, and chooses to let the lad suffer. His time will come when you’re ready.

This goes on and on for months on end— and you know what? It’s hard for Johnny to jerk off to the image of you wedged between him and Ghost when he has no idea what you sound like, moaning or otherwise. You can probably see him half hard in his jeans every time he heads home from a movie night with you and Simon.

“G’night, L.T. Night, hen.” Soap’s almost all the way down the walkway when he hears something almost inaudible over the ambient sounds of the night.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

Now that’s gonna keep his fantasies fed for weeks.

[scoliosisgoblin]

MY ACCOUNT IS 2 YEARS OLD???? AND I'VE ONLY MADE 500 POSTS??????????

[boowritess]

simon got himself a young girlfriend. he really shouldn't be entertaining, ruining, a sweet thing like her but he can't help himself. he's depraved like that. wanting to ruin such a sweet, innocent thing. make it so they only think of him...

her parents loathe him. which is not a surprising reaction.

but simon's too big, too imposing, to make them say anything to his face, and oh, his sweet little thing has teeth that snap at her parents when they try to talk about how he's too old. too rough. he won't treat her right.

they're right, of course. but he's good at making his little girlfriend forget about his wrongdoing just by a little sweet whispering and gently coaxing her thighs apart with a rough, scared hand.

however, what he wasn't expecting was finding out about his young girlfriends older sister.

you.

there's an age gap between you and your sister. you're nearly the same age as simon. but that's not the only thing simon takes note off.

you're more fulled out, in places that simon has no business looking at, the innocent ones and the not so innocent ones. there's a couple more inches on you than your sister. not nearly as tall as he, but he thinks he likes it.

but what really gets him goin'. you don't react the same way to him like your parents did. there was no disdain, disgust or even fear in your eyes when you looked at him.

no.

instead he got a wide smile, a hair-flick over your shoulder and a hug. pulling him in, despite his rigid tenseness. patting his back.

"oh aren't you sweet?" your voice is smooth, and almost coo like when you pull away. eyes sparkling with what simon can only describe is warmth.

and while your parents avoid him when he's around. when you're home, you do the exact opposite. you hover around your sister, making sure she's eating well, looking after herself, and then you do the exact same thing to simon.

showering him in the same doting affection as your sister. making them both a plate of food, a lot of food. making sure they're warm and tucked in at night. it's giving them your card when you send your sister to the shops for something, and quieting simon when he says he has his own. doing your sisters laundry AND his.

and the praise. god the praise. it fucking wrecks him. despite most of it being innocent.

he's helping do the dishes when you come in. "oh aren't you being a good boy?" you chime, voice so warm and sweet. you pat his back, and there's a genuine smile on your face. "i'll make you a cuppa for doing so well."

"you ate all your food? aren't you a good lad? huh? c'mon then, make room for dessert for being good." you'll say, patting his stomach and moving to the fridge.

it sends him into a whirlwind.

he could be spending days with his girlfriend's parents, who act like he's not even there. too intimated by this grown man. which he liked. he likes that. imposing people. making them uncomfortable with his mere presence. it's what his little girlfriend likes.

but then you come in. being all nurturing and sweet. coddling his little girlfriend and then doing the same to him despite you and him nearly being the same age.

then he starts to realize that you're treating him like how you treat your younger sister. treating him like he's young and naive. who can't look after himself. completely helpless. praising him for the basics a human adult should not be getting praised for. treating him like a child.

you've been fucking treating him like some fresh out the womb kid this whole fucking time and he's only seeing it now.

and he really can't help it.

but he fucking likes it.

he aches for it.

in the barracks. late at night. instead of flicking through the pictures of his little girlfriend to help quell the ache in him.

he thinks about you. your warm perfume. the reassuring pats. the way praise seems to just smooth off your tongue so sweetly.

"good boy." fuck.

he stares at the mess he made, panting hard. letting out a groan of frustration when he thinks of you again. and for the third time his cock twitches, the ache returning again.

that's when he comes to the inevitable conclusion.

he's fucking ruined.

a/n: idk where i was going with this but. here u go xx love ya'll, drink water xx part 2 maybe idk.

[laurrelise]

i am absolutely not going to stop you. i am eating this shit UP.

YESSSSS. five could never get attached to material things because he never really had much TO get attached to. so it’s rare that he finds something that he really really likes and wants to collect. but mugs remind him of one of his favorite things: coffee. so he allows himself to splurge. and no one stops him because it’s a harmless sort of hobby for an old man who’s seen some pretty unimaginable horrors in his time.

tragic that even with how lackluster the umbrella academy’s final season was, we never got to see five’s house.

i want to see where the old man lives. how does he decorate? does he live in an apartment or was he able to figure out a cute little home for himself? does he have roommates? did he ever learn how to cook for himself, or does he just eat fluffernutters whenever he’s hungry? does he ever get a mr. pennycrumb of his own? (i know he doesn’t, but a girl can dream) does he ever discover a cafe near his home where a decent cup of coffee can be found?

what coffee maker does he have? where does he buy his coffee grounds? how many coffee mugs does he have? i just KNOW he collects them.

he absolutely goes into little shops downtown and finds one that says some stupid shit like “if my coffee isn’t as black as my soul, i’m not drinking it” and giggles to himself in the corner and then spends way too much money on it because it’s just too good to pass up. he’ll smile to himself on the way home and then put on a pot of coffee to try it out for the first time. he hand-washes his mugs even though they’re all dishwasher safe because he wants to make sure they’re going to be completely untarnished when he wants to use them again. he has an entire cabinet for all of his mugs and one other cabinet for the rest of his glasses and bowls and plates because he doesn’t own a whole lot but he does like mugs. and someone will ask him about his mugs and he’ll properly tell them where he got each and every one, down to exact dates and times because he remembers everything and thinking about when he found his favorite mugs makes him feel less stressed. and whoever asked will not get a single word in and they won’t try to because five is talking about his mugs and he doesn’t get a whole lot of joy from material things but it is the simple things that matter. and five likes the simple things. and five likes his mugs.

[tojisun]

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

.

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

.

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend—

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts—and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals—for more than you’d care to admit—to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give–pay–for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man—what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man itself—or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic— the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker—then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez—huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This—this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this—this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning—or until your battery dies, whichever comes first—you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

-

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[skyrigel]

Simon Riley came every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. He always bought ‘one’ of many things. One plate, one milk carton, one coffee mug, one yogurt cup, and several other one's.

It was infuriating, the mystery he possessed — hardly any word, he simply nodded and left. Came back again in his very sexy- very much left to your own devices all black attire and damn that stupid mask you'd tore from your own mouth if ever such opportunity came, that treacherous thing !

Considering how you bribed lads round the corner to get that man's name was pretty embarrassing.

But you had to do something; wondering what those arms and chest and face and thighs and inserting many immoral curiosities would look like wouldn't get you anywhere.

“You and your wife eat from the same plate or what ?”

Simon's eyes were already on you when you risked a glance up from the single ceramic plate, but you had taken him by surprise by speaking first. Well it's rare when he buys dishes, very rare, and all of them are mismatched and what a bachelor would work upon, but proof was much needed.

“I don't have a wife.” He said quietly, punctuated with the beep as you scanned other many items. You scrambled further to ask for husband, or —“or anyone.” Simon added with soft nod.

You sighed with relief, while Simon looked with widened eyes, analysing you. Fuck.

That shouldn't have made your heart flutter, and his voice — god, his voice was different from the one you presumed in your head. It was husky, and deep, but the smoothness of it strung like iyre played.

“What do you do when your friends come over ?” you asked because Mr. Riley apparently wasn't looking away, and your cheeks could've rivaled a beetroot.

“I have no friends.” He said simply, eyes locked, assessing, you felt numb and breathless — his gaze was heavy, and addictive.

Another beep. “What if someone visits you?” You swallowed hard, and Simon's jaw pulled back. Was he smirking !?

“Why would someone visit me ?”

“To check on you. To spend time with you. Be your friend or something…you know.”

Simon definitely knew, since the glint in his eyes was jolting sparks inside you, making you glitter up like confetti.

The store was empty except for two sixteen year olds who were picking through booze, one's ear was bleeding — possibly a post restroom piercing souvenir.

“Why would someone want to spend time with someone like me ?” He was asking you a question, uncertain but confident to get an answer back.

“You are a mysterious man, Mr. Riley.” You said instead, bobbling your head like a teenager as you felt so high school just by looking at him, he had you all giddy, all desperate to keep going the conversation and now it didn't seem like something was needed to keep the fire going, the flames were high on.

“Yet someone knows my name already.”

“Someone would —” you gasped, clenching your eyes shut for one brief moment, this was it, you couldn't back down now, “Someone would like to know more.”

Simon's gaze was unwavering, then wordlessly he disappeared back in the store.

You scrambled to hold on to something, almost half dashing to check over cameras and find him, or just chase after him to apologise…for being so pathetically terrible. Mindlessly with biting lips and trembling hands and tapping feet you scanned cigs and booze for the two boys with swollen lips and smug smiles, at least someone was lucky tonight.

“Fuck.” You sighed, red with embarrassment, you'd scared him off. Although no one would believe it because Simon was a pretty intimidating man. Big and strong and ghost-like.

Then out of nowhere, several cutlery and groceries and a wine bottle came by a cart and behind it stood Simon Riley, with muscular thighs and a shy smile.

Simon's hand hovered over the items you'd already scanned and billed, then blinking he unclasped his mask — revealing his jaw, and his white smirk that was dwindling to an inevitable, involuntary smile — he smiled like someone who didn't smile a lot, that needed to be changed.

“Would someone like to eat Chicken curry, and possibly drink some wine ?” Simon said with a coy smile, holding out the wine bottle to you.

You chuckled softly, taking the wine bottle and scanning it with a beep, “Someone would like that.”

Masterlist

[boobearymuch]

Their Habits —♡ LADS Scenarios

—♡Summary: Everyone has habits, but not everyone enjoys having you point them out... —♡Tags: gender-neutral, pure fluff —♡A/N: Silly thing I whipped up after being told I bounce my leg too much lolll ���♡ masterlist

—♡ Zayne

Zayne squints so much without his glasses. He insists he only needs them when his eyes get tired—but clearly—that wasn’t the case. “Zayne, look!” You eagerly pointed out a flyer posted on the door of his favorite boba spot. They were hosting an event next weekend, it read, and encouraged customers not to miss out on the opportunity. You watched his hazel eyes sharpen into a squint.

“Event…?” He still had trouble reading it, though, and absently tugged your clasped hands forward as he leaned in for a better look. After a few seconds, his eyebrows relaxed, and he hummed appreciatively, “They’re introducing new flavors. Perhaps we should…what?” 

You failed to conceal an amused smile. “You need your glasses, old man.” The nickname was not received well, by any means.

“The text is small.” He answered coolly, “The average person would also have difficulty reading it.” Then he slipped his hand around your waist, eyes narrowing, “And I’m not old.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed, “Have you considered contacts?” The look he gave you was deeply unamused, “No, no, you’re right. You look cuter in glasses, anyway.” Zayne's ears tinted pink under your playful stare. 

“...Let’s go inside before they close.” You pinched his flustered cheeks.

“Are you sure? The menu is so tiny. What if you can’t read it and order the wrong thing?” Your mouth promptly shut after his grip on you tightened in a warning. Zayne remembered to bring his glasses on your next outing (and the one after that).

—♡ Sylus

Sylus hums nonsense when it’s too quiet. It’s like he constantly needs to fill silences with some kind of noise. Even his humming is off-key…

“What song is that?” 

Sylus barely spared you a glance, “What song?” His fingers worked a microfiber cloth into the metal of his pistol. 

“The one you were just humming.”

He huffed, “Didn’t realize I was humming, sweetie.” Then he removed the cloth to admire his handiwork, “Don’t you recognize it?”

You almost felt bad for saying this but, “...No?” Sylus finally glanced up from his work to shoot you a look. A concerning one.

“Really? You had it on repeat all day, yesterday.” Horror dawned on you at the realization, “The chorus has been stuck in my head since morning…” And then a laugh sputtered from your lips. 

“Oh my god, that sounded nothing like it.” Sylus glared and returned his focus to his pistol with what you could only describe as a pout. 

“What a picky kitten.” You bit your lip to stop the smile threatening to break loose. He was a god awful singer, but the room felt emptier without his noise. Gently, you padded over to where he sat, and invited yourself onto his lap. Despite his mood, a hand wrapped around your waist without hesitation.

“Sing it again.” Sylus’ hold on you tightened, “I think I like your version better.” A soft chuckle left him, and quietly, he hummed once more.

—♡ Rafayel

Rafayel taps. All. The. Time. Taps his legs, hands, pens, pencils, anything and everything within reach. And he’ll deny the hell out of it when you ask him to stop. “I wasn’t doing anything,” The candies on his phone screen lit up and exploded with color as he scored another combo. Too engrossed in his phone to realize the arm slung around your shoulders was still tapping you. You leaned into him with a huff.

“You’re doing it now.”

Rafayel gave you a sidelong glance, frowning, “I dunno what you’re talking about, cutie.” You suddenly captured his hand to still it, and Rafayel gave you the most scandalized look, “If you wanna hold it that badly, I’m not stopping you.”

“You’re not even aware you’re doing it,” You blinked incredulously, “Are you?”

Rafayel threw his head back and groaned dramatically, “Doing whaaat?” Then he lifted his head to press his forehead against yours and huffed, “Is this your way of telling me to get off my phone?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You look like a fish up close like this.” Rafayel pulled away to roll his eyes and clicked his phone off.

“Alright, fine, you have my attention.” Then he began tapping his foot, “You know, that’s a little offensive to say to a Lemurian. You could get cancelled for that.”

Your hand drifted to his bouncing knee, and you watched as both your hand and his leg now jumped up and down. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?!”

—♡ Xavier

Xavier is always chewing on something, and it is almost always never gum. It’ll be something random, like a straw from a drink he’d long since finished. The strings of his hoodie, a toothpick. Once, it was a plastic tie. He reminded you of a teething puppy; he’d probably chew on wires if you left him alone long enough. Today, though, his chew toy of choice looked a lot like…

“Xavier, is that my pen?” 

He blinked, eyes floating from his comic book to your frown, “Yours…?” His jaw froze mid-chew. 

“Yeah,” You scooted closer on the couch, “the one from my desk at work.” 

A blush crept along his cheekbones, but he didn’t drop the pen like you expected him to, “...Are you sure?”

Your eyes fell to the pen trapped in the corner of his mouth, “The one with little stars on it? Yeah, that’s mine. I thought I lost it at work, why do you have it?”

The comic book shifted in his hands, “I found it, that’s why.” This explanation would be more convincing if he hadn’t shifted his gaze sideways. His blunt fingernails picked nervously at the corner of his book, curling the edges.

“Xavier,”

“Okay, I borrowed it.” You bit back a chuckle, and he guiltily removed the pen from his mouth. It shined with his spit, and the cap bore teeth marks, “You can have it back.”

You couldn’t hide your grimace fast enough, “...Actually, you can keep it.” Xavier merely blinked before bringing the tip back to his mouth. Then a smile curved the corner of his lips.

“My pen now, hm?”

[delicatebluebirdruins]

the gameplay for Jill is different and great in RE3R because she is trained she was in the military (in Delta force?) specialising in knife fighting and everything else we see her do so how to make that scary? put her up against some thing as quick on their feet as she is, physically stronger and larger (hoping for the Ada game where we follow her in RE2 and the time between 4 and 6 she is also quick on her feet but instead of a knife it's just her pistol)

and also have Nemesis come into one safe room and not a big one like the main hall of re2 but a small one the one by the garage where we see Nic for the first time? that one (I was always too scared to trigger Nemesis coming into there to get it done but I'm sure you can find a video I've seen it done on a livestream with Darkness)

and then the other creatures you come up against and this idea I hope comes across in the RE5 and 6 remakes but overwhemling numbers can and will get you killed like good god (in inferno i got scared at my favourite save points being taken away and I died so many times in the starting section i just treated myself and got out the rocket launcher which only does so much if you don't have the coins on you)

speaking of Inferno (and nightmare) enemy placements being different some items being different (the magnum turns up in the subway station)

make it dark and make corridors and corners you can't see down until you go down it think you clear section and when you come back running for your life more zombies have wondered in and you have to dodge those as well

I've said this before and I will do so again but the director Kiyochiko Sakata did such a good job for a directorial debut because his gaming credits are as a programmer and coder

Resident Evil 2 (1998) Resident Evil 3: Nemesis (1999) AKA THE ORIGINAL Devil May Cry (2001) Resident Evil 4 (2005) God Hand (2006) MadWorld (2009) Vanquish (2010) Anarchy Reigns (2012) The Wonderful 101 (2013) Resident Evil 3 (2020 game)

I wanted to talk about M2 studios/ inc but I can't find much on them right now but they had a huge role in RE4R and RE3R and members were part of the 1996 team i think