#i should put my money where my mouth is and draw someone with like a tiny little hog or whatever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clockwayswrites · 1 year

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You all don't see this. Nope. Didn't write it.

WC: 1284, Masterpost CW: visit to a leath kink shop, mentions of sex work

Paulina held up her hand, looking at her freshly painted nails. “You, Nickie, are a goddess and an artist.”

“I know,” Nickie said smugly.

“Like, seriously, you could make bank,” Paulina said. She pulled out her cellphone to snap a photo. The crystals in the center of the flowers that frame the sugar skull flashed beautifully.

Nickie gave a little shrug. The muscle tank she worn slipped off her tan shoulder, revealing more of the over the top, bright red bra. “Considering it for after. Right now sex pays well, I got the body for it—”

“Hell yeah you do,” Paulina agreed.

“—and it let’s me look after my girls. But I might be putting money aside for a shop front, yeah.”

“When you open I will let anyone I know in the area to come to you,” Paulina said. “And come myself if I’m still haunting Metropolis. Got to visit my boo Danny.”

“Someone has to come keep him in line.”

“Hey!” Danny protested from where he was carefully painting Han’s nails a blinding magenta. He did just fine with himself these days.

“He’s mixed up with a bad crowed,” Nickie continued, completely ignoring Danny, “just like Han here.”

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Han protested meekly.

Paulina flipped her hair. “Who do you think helped him get his bad crowd? Danny can’t dress himself worth shit.”

“I know,” Nickie said with a sigh. “I remember what he was wearing when he moved in.”

“Again- hey!”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love your new gets.”

“That is true, I look amazing,” Danny said. He struck a pose as best as he could while sitting at a coffee table with nail polish in hand. He felt his bootleg Red Hood crop top ride up with the act, exposing a sliver of skin between it and his black joggers. “But I hate you for getting me hooked on lululemon, it’s stupidly pricey.”

“Good thing you have two sugar daddies then, ain’t it honey,” Nickie pointed out.

“Blessed life,” Danny said, finishing off the magenta polish with a flourish. He capped it before he started with the other hand to carefully remove the tape. His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he focused.

“You should get them something nice.”

Danny snorted. “What, with their own money?”

“Sure,” Nickie said, starting to clean up. “Doesn’t matter who’s dough bought it if it’s good fun for everyone.”

Danny paused in his work of revealing the highlighter yellow polish under the tape to look over to Nickie. “What? I don’t— ooh.”

Paulina just laughed at him, of course. Even Han chuckled which was frankly a little insulting.

Danny cleared his throat. “I, um, do you think they’d… like that?”

“Honey, I’ve seen how they are with you. Doesn’t have to be nothing cray either. You can start simple, just a little accessory.”

“Huh.”

“I, uh,” Han said, nervously, drawing everyone’s attention. “I know a place?”

At least Danny was able to follow how they ended up standing in a leather centric kink shop, even if it felt like a bizarre turn for his life to take. He looked at the harness wearing mannequin he was standing in front of and tilted his head.

“Who has the patience to get into that?”

“Well,” drawled the shopkeep who had appeared next to Danny so suddenly he was half tempted to think the other was a ghost, “for some people, getting their partner into the harness is half of the fun. The obedience, the touches, the control… the denial.”

Danny swallowed heavily. Huh.

“Hello my darling, bring in some friends?” the shopkeep asked and swanned over to kiss a blushing Han.

“I’m not sure what they are,” Han said with a weary sigh. They let the other pick up their hand and examine their bright nails. “But Danny here was thinking of picking up something on the… introductory side to treat his boyfriends with.”

“Oh well we can certainly help with that. I’m Liam, Han’s boyfriend,” the shopkeep said, holding out his hand.

Danny shook the hand. “Danny, like Han said.”

“He’s dating the Boss and the Boss’ boy,” Han explained.

“They’re his sugar daddies,” Paulina pipped in.

“And damn adorable,” Nickie said.

Danny released Liam’s hand to bury his face in his hands. “I hate you all.”

“No you don’t,” Paulina said. “Now, what do you have in mind for the blushing boy, Liam?”

“Well that’s something for him and I to talk about,” Liam said. He put an arm around Danny’s shoulder (though was really barely touching him) and guided him away. Over his shoulder he called, “Show them around, Han!”

When they had space and a tall display between them and the other’s, Liam stopped. “Now, best way for me to get you something good is for you to be honest with me. I promise, nothing you say to me is going to be something I haven’t heard before. I’m not going to judge you. You and your boys ever done anything like this before?”

Danny shook his head.

“So you’ve had sex but it’s been mostly vanilla?”

“Yep,” Danny said, the word coming out as a strangled squeak. He cleared his throat. “I mean, Red Hood keeps his helmet on so that’s not really… usual. We haven’t done much, in any combo.”

“But you like this idea?” Liam asked, motioning around them, “Or did they just bully you into coming? Because if that’s the case I can find you something cheap to buy you won’t feel bad about throwing away or you can come back and return it in a few days provided you keep it in it’s packaging.”

“I, um,” Danny picked at the edge of his hoodie as he glanced around the store from under his bangs. What Liam had said about the harness came back to mind. “Sometimes, like, not in bed, Jason will tell me to ‘stay’. And, um…”

“That does things for you.”

Danny nodded, feeling mortified.

“Not that odd at all. Now, there are a few ways we could go,” Liam said and started walking again. “Handcuffs and restraints are one way. Or rope, it’s an art form so one of your boys would have to be interested in learning, but it can be something special. Or, I think maybe for you… this is where we should start.”

They had stopped in front of a display of collars and leashes. There were more types than Danny could have ever dreampt up. There was leather of all colors and patterns. There were plain black and brown collars and bright colors with poppy cutouts and rich jewel tones with detailed filigree and earth tones with geometrics. They were lined with suede and velvet and fur. Danny itched to reach out and touch them.

“Yes, I do think we’re in the right area. Go ahead, you can touch. If nothing here works for you, you could always custom order something instead.”

Danny reached out and ran his fingers over one of the collars, thinking. If this was Red Hood, Danny would have to go custom order red and black. But really this was for Jason. Danny lingered on one that was lined in turquoise suede. The leather was a bold rust and turquoise patina on a delicate, detailed circle and diamond pattern. Brass circles studded across the pattern.

“You know, I think we have a leash that will match that one beautifully. Should we ring you up?”

When Jason walked in a few days later to find Danny sitting on his kitchen counter, swamped in one of Jason’s large shirts, and wearing the collar he nearly swallowed his tongue.

---

AN: So this is a thing that I've now written! Loved the response to the tease I post last night~ Danny has gotten ideas and Jason is gobsmacked. Don't worry, I'm sure he bought something for 'Red Hood' too. ^_~ (Collar 100% inspired by one of Big Cat Den Crafts)

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the mastpost.

#dp x dc #dead on main #the fic that i'm not writing

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hangesdarling · 26 days

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before i let you go — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x fem!reader SYNOPSIS. You see your lover for one last time before being betrothed to a man you don't love. CONTENT. arranged marriage, implied abuse, unwanted pregnancy, cheating, angst, implied sex, pain, me putting unnecessary symbolisms WORD COUNT. 1.9k A/N. I miss Hange sm it hurts. I miss their love and now I know no one can give me the same feeling as they are. I regret thinking I'd be happy with someone else. ANYWAYS IM BACK. IDK HOW LONG BUT I MISS HANGE SM 😭 please bear with my shitty writing, i haven't written in three months 😭

Staring at your wedding dress, you should have felt excitement and anticipation of the comfort the future holds. Of being a wife and a mother. It was what the women around you taught you should become. However, the longer you stare at your wedding dress, the more your vision seems to blur. Suddenly, the floral walls of the new home where you sat seem to melt, pouring like wax into the polished floor. The birds sing outside in the warm morning as your world crumbles. In a fortnight, you will lose your last name, your life, and your most beloved.

Your fingers clutched a nearly crumpled letter, the rim of your eyes hot with unspilled tears. Gently, you smoothened the letter in your hands, reading the words scrawled for what seemed to be the hundredth time. It read:

Let's meet again for one last time. — H

Hange.

A whisper left your mouth as if saying it louder will draw attention. It was freeing to utter their name again. Hange. Your beloved. The one you'll be leaving behind in a fortnight.

Marriage has always been a necessary insurance your family knew of. You grew up surrounded by mothers and wives telling you about security and eventualities alleviated by finding a man to marry. Usually, it will be someone from the Military Police, or a merchant. The more they tell their stories, the more their romance sounds like tragedy in your ears. A tragedy that doesn't kill you but wears you away and diverts you from loneliness by having responsibilities. You're happy. You should be happy to be with a stable man, picked and approved by your parents. He will give you everything, money, and misery. Maybe you'll have enough time to learn how to love him when you don’t have to worry about money.

However, all life has offered you so far is sadness and a growing human inside of you. It was too premature to stir yet its presence pervades your whole being, floating on the surface of your mind. The child belongs more to your fiancé’s than yours. After all, it was a product of trying to claim you, of him knowing that your heart belongs to someone else. He can do nothing about your heart so he planted something of his own inside you thus ensuring you'd stay. It hurts to think, it hurts to remember. You threw a shoal over your head and wished for any thought other than what you currently have. You just hoped that the brown of your child's eyes would be more like Hange's than its father's.

You crossed over a green field overlooking a meadow littered with pink and oranges, sometimes, red flowers. The beauty of spring. The grass dancing around your ankles. It reminds you of the beautiful springs you spent here, something you need to leave behind too.

Your footsteps grew light and slow as you reached Hange’s doorstep. Before you even knock, all you want to say is a thousand apologies for many things it'd take you ages to name. But the moment Hange saw you, there was no bitterness in their face but longing. They held you in a tight, wordless embrace. Their arms and hands spoke of how much they had longed to see you again. At that moment, you held them just as tight. You expected anger and bitterness from them. They've loved you for many years only for you to come one day at their doorstep pregnant and to be married to someone else. Their anger would have comforted you because that's what you think you deserve at every waking moment. And you felt more terrible knowing that they still care after all the pain you've caused them.

It wasn’t right.

"I'm sorry," you managed to say. No amount of apologies will take back all that hurt.

Hange didn't say a word and only pulled you inside where it was warmer. Your knees weakened, you wanted to kneel in front of them and apologize again. Your guilt was too overpowering that it didn't feel right for you to stand on the same level as they are. But as crippling as you felt, they still held you in their arms, you let them touch you the way they always used to. It felt selfish getting comforted by someone you hurt and yet you found yourself in their bed again.

Your lips found theirs, your hands holding them like they'd slip away any second. A cry bubbled from your lips from how much hunger and yearning you felt for them the time you were apart. You wanted to erase all the traces of touch imprinted on your body that weren't from their hands. You longed for the time you were theirs and no one else's. How come it went to a time where only your love belongs to them?

"You got here without trouble, right?" Hange asked as they pressed a kiss on your neck. You got what they meant and nodded. None of the people working for your fiancé followed or noticed you or so you hoped.

"That's good," Hange tucked a stray hair from your face. The pain and longing shone through their eyes. "I miss you."

I'm sorry.

All you wanted was to apologize, the heavy burden in your heart remained knocking and present every time you looked at Hange.

"I miss you too," you managed to say without crying. All the happiness that breathed life into your existence remained frozen in the past. It hurts to think that the traces of that life will vanish the moment you step out of their house. Why does your last happiness remain in a fleeting present? Gone in a blow of a wind?

You cherished each touch, each kiss that made you shudder in the sheets. Only Hange loved you despite the way you want to crawl from your skin, to love even the parts of you you're too ashamed to acknowledge.

Take me back. Take me back to what we used to be, you cried, your soul wailed.

You held Hange close, blankets thrown over your bodies. You gazed around the room, capturing the place in your memory. Their rustic furniture, papers, and books were all over their desk, both your clothes were strewn on the floor, and a purple flower sat at their bedside table. You took Hange's glasses from beside the vase and gently wiped the lenses with the blanket.

"You never clean your glasses," you said.

"You always notice when they're dirty," Hange smiled. "And overclean them."

Hange noticed your smile, not loaded with grief for once. Just like the old times.

"I wish I could always clean them for you," you muttered, checking both lenses again before putting it back near the vase.

Hange chuckled, a smile crossing their lips as they paused. A contemplative, almost painful pause. Their momentary silence retrieved your attention.

"Only if we can run away. Outside those walls and perhaps, beyond that. You can stare at flowers all day and I get to stare at you."

Their laugh sounded pained as if the happiness that should come with it got stuck in their throat.

Hange shook their head.

"What am I even saying?" Their smile remained wistful. "You'd be a lot better back there. With a family, with kids. You told me once you want a kid. And a flower shop."

Their smile grew, remembering you tending to their garden. Or how they grew your favorite flowers but never admitted so.

"You said you're opening a flower shop. How is it going?" Hange asked, the painful stirrings on their insides were masked by curiosity.

You're finding an answer somewhere in your head. But the few words you found phased out of your mind the moment you look into their eyes. Their soft, warm brown eyes gazed at you with pure, pained love. You hid in their chest, trying to bottle the tears like you used to. But the heaves and sobs came and only grew louder the moment Hange held you to face them.

"Y/N..." they muttered, wiping your tears the way they used to. They kissed you and rubbed your back to soothe you. That's all they can do despite their wishes to be more. They cannot stop time or slow it down nor they can shape both your circumstances.

"I want to be with you," you sobbed. "I love you and your little experiments. I love picking flowers in a field on a Sunday morning while you read books or pick insects to show me."

Your words gushed and spilled, the truth you wanted to deny yourself overcoming you.

"I love it when we try to eat what's left of your burnt pancakes while overseeing your garden. I love the flowers you grow for me. I love the times we sneak out like teenagers so my parents won't see us," you sobbed uncontrollably, your tears spilling past your lips as you spoke. "I love waking up next to you in the morning. And when you come home safe to me after every expedition. I love that you still care for me even when we had fights, even when I complied with that marriage, even when I'll be married to someone else."

Hange listened, their hand gently stroking your hair.

"And I hate that nothing good lasts forever because something at least should. You were my happiest infinity and yet I left you. What will I merit from a life of temporary comfort when my happiness resides with you?"

Hange wanted to comfort you but didn't know the right words to appease the hurt housed deep inside you. You were still the same girl they loved, the girl who dreamed of a quiet life with them.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed finally, uselessly wiping your tears. "I'm sorry you loved me."

"I don't regret that," Hange muttered with a kiss on your forehead.

"But I do," you told them. "You’re better off with someone else.”

They sighed, enclosing you tighter in their arms.

"I'm happy about what we had," they smiled. You can feel their voice right at your ear as you press your head against their chest. Something you've taken for granted for many years. "I know it feels miserable for us now. But it won't always be. That, at least, is comforting, isn't it? I'll be okay, knowing that you'll be happy eventually."

"I won't be," you cried.

"Then come back to me when that time comes." Hange knew it was a bold thing to say. They can't visualize a place where you'd be happy together without someone or something trying to break it apart. But they had to try. If they can battle the uncertainty residing outside the walls of Eldia, maybe they can do the same for the relationship they hold dear.

"I will," you answered. It was equally bold as their proclamation. You wonder if those promises will ever lose meaning. If coming back to your most beloved is even an option at all. Even temporarily, the hurt waned from your heart and was painted over by an irresolute hope. You pressed closer to their heart and said, "I'll see you again."

The sun filtered through the pink curtains, shining a warm hue against the sheets. You trimmed the flowers sitting by the window, the white petals complementing the purity of their surroundings along the floral patterns on the walls. You are in your new home. A place you should teach yourself how to love despite the affliction laced with every item.

Your musings were cut short as you noticed a new paper on your desk. It was a fresh sheet folded in two, the embeddings faintly showing through the back. You didn’t need to open it to know who it came from. As you sit down to open the letter, you realize that the floral patterns on your walls are pink lilies of the valley.

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

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see-arcane · 5 months

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I figured I should interrupt everyone's dash for some notes on current real life things.

This is a hefty one, so I'm tucking everything below:

A little good news. As of this writing, I’ve sold 74 copies of The Vampyres, in eBook and paperback! That’s 74 more than I thought I would ever sell! Thank you to everyone who picked up a copy or asked your library to grab some. Especially when I know I haven’t been the most stellar self-marketer. I can’t remember the last time I opened the septic tank formerly known as Twitter, so it’s all been down to this little corner here and a skinny appearance in Goodreads. Which means I owe any attention this short and sinister tale has received to you all and plain old word-of-mouth.

That said, thank you x100000 to you and any new readers yet to take a look. (And doubly so for those of you who go out of their way to leave comments and reviews around for me to reread ad infinitum.)

For those not in the know, all the info on The Vampyres can be found here, and all my author odds and ends can be found on my website here.

On a less heartening note…

As I’d already expected, the market for career writers is…rough. Copywriting—and writing in general—is technically a big open field (full of caveat descriptions about having to work with/teach AI programs to eventually swallow your job)! Tons of open positions! Most of which either pay you in pocket change while you’re working full time or expect you to singlehandedly run the entire marketing of a business for slightly more pocket change. Everything else is bloated with contract and/or freelance work*.

*Read: Gig economy schlock trying to pass for an actual job position with payment being a coin toss. I’ve also seen one too many listings on the job boards that are volunteer positions. Plenty of exposure to rake in though, right? Ha. Ha ha.

I’ve still been applying like clockwork, same as the rest of my fellow creators trying to get by in a field that seems to actively punish trying to be a professional in said field, and still no bites further than an interview. I have years of experience and a degree, but everyone’s chasing the same crumbs, so. Yeah. I’ve got to start padding things out.

Reminder that I do have a (barely peddled) Ko-Fi. It’s there for art commissions and chucking a few spare bucks at. Which is an increasingly big ask these days, I know. You can’t scroll two posts down without hitting someone else’s Ko-Fi, Patreon, GoFundMe, Kickstarter, et cetera. We’re drowning in arting starvists here. And although I have been asked before whether I would consider going full Freelance Storywriter on top of selling art, I’m still a little hesitant on it. I do occasionally send out story submissions and have even gotten published a few times, but I get nauseous thinking about:

1) Putting up a paywall on the scribbles that assail me like a baseball bat wielded by an unmerciful Muse. 2) Putting up a ‘Stories for Sale!’ sign only to wind up disappointing prospective buyers because I didn’t do their blorbos justice even after researching X background for the piece. 3) Getting duped into being a nonconsenting ghostwriter and discovering someone else has published my work under their own name.

So, still a bit iffy on that. I’ll chew on it. But what else is left?

Before you click the button!

Stop!

NOT YET!

Before you click, please know that I am being serious about this as something to potentially make 1) something of good quality and 2) earn more money than it loses. Looking around at the merch-making/selling options, there are fees involved with making an account just about anywhere in the online store game, give or take the price tweaking needed for shipping and manufacturing blah blah blah.

With that in mind, please do not automatically hit ‘yes’ because you want to be nice. I appreciate it, but this isn’t the same thing as the Ko-Fi where there’s no real loss in just leaving it up and drawing something once every few months. This will take new designs, another subscription to pay for, more logistics to untangle for quality and pricing and all the rest of the mess. Only hit ‘yes’ if you, personally, genuinely, would like to purchase some nefarious See Arcane wares beyond a book or a digital drawing.

#heaviest sigh #rolling back into my coffin #the vampyres #my art #my writing #ko-fi #merchandise #(in potentia)#dracula #polls

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

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A kiss like they're trying to convince the other to love them and/or a kiss in front of someone they hold captive

Yennskier

Here's a little bit of both, set in an alternate timeline where they managed to capture Rience during season 3, episode 1:

“We should probably talk about what happened in Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier says in what he hopes is a casual way.

Yennefer looks at him incredulously. “Does now seem like a good time for this conversation, bardling?”

“Why not?” Jaskier shrugs. “He’s not going anywhere.”

They both turn to look at Rience, who scowls back at them from the chair they’ve bound him to in dimeritium chains. Jaskier can’t help but feel a thrill of vindication at seeing the fire fucker as trussed up and helpless as he was a year ago in Oxenfurt, even as he keeps catching himself rubbing his fingers together anxiously. It helps that Yennefer is standing next to him and Geralt and Ciri are just in the other room with Yarpen.

Rience sneers at Yennefer. “What’s one of Tissaia’s girls doing, working for a witcher?”

Jaskier snorts. Even if they hadn’t already figured out that Rience isn’t the mastermind trying to capture Ciri, that would have given it away. No one with any sense would think Yennefer a lackey. Leaning closer to Yennefer, he says, “We really should talk about this.”

“About what?” She sighs, clearly realizing she’s not going to be able to evade this. “A lot happened in Kaer Morhen. Do you want to talk about Voleth Meir? All the money you still owe Ciri after all the times she trounced you at cards?”

“She did not…” Jaskier draws himself up, realizes he’s being distracted, and lets out a huff. “About our last night there.”

Yennefer doesn’t visibly react, but there’s a pointedness in the way she turns back to Rience. “Who’s your puppetmaster?”

Rience bares his teeth at her. “I’m no one’s—”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re the one calling the shots. You’re a one trick pony, aren’t you? You can harness fire, but not much else. That portal wasn’t yours.”

“I just can’t help but notice that you’re acting a bit… off,” Jaskier says carefully, because he and Yennefer may be friends now, but he still doesn’t put it past her to curse his bollocks off.

Yennefer closes her eyes. “Did you learn this interrogation technique from Phillipa?”

“Gods, no.” Jaskier barks out a laugh. “Phillipa wouldn’t let me anywhere near an interrogation.”

“I suppose that’s why Redania is still standing.”

“See? That was almost mean. That was the first mean thing you’ve said to me in three days, and it wasn’t even in your top ten best jabs! Something is clearly amiss. Are you a doppler? Are you dying? Did you hit your head in the skirmish yesterday? Melitele, are you actually plotting my demise? Is this your way of trying to lure me into a false sense of security? Because it isn’t working, Yennefer.”

“If you want him dead, you can just let me out of these chains.” Rience snaps his fingers menacingly and Jaskier can’t help but step back, even though no flames appear.

Yennefer throws out a hand and Rience’s chair flies backward, slamming against the wall and capsizing. He yelps as his head bounces off the ground and lies there, groaning.

“Yenn?” Geralt calls from the next room. “Jaskier?”

“We’re fine!” Lowering her voice, Yennefer hisses, “This isn’t the time.”

“Well, it has to be the time, because you keep avoiding me. Is this about what happened between us? Because you didn’t seem to have any regrets the next morning? In fact, you asked…” He trails off, pieces starting to slide into place.

“I asked you to come with me, Geralt, and Ciri,” she says through gritted teeth. “And you said no. Years of you popping up at the most inconvenient times, bardling, and the one time I want you to stay, you left.”

“But…” Jaskier opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words. When he recovers his wits, all he can squeak is, “I told you I was needed at Oxenfurt.”

“Bullshit. You told me yourself that the Sandpiper organization would run just fine without you. The only thing you did going back to Oxenfurt was put yourself in Phillipa and Dijkstra’s sights.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t want to come with you just to watch you and Geralt play house while I was just there so you could keep me out of trouble.”

It’s her turn to look taken aback. “What?”

“You said so yourself, you wanted me to come with you so I wouldn’t get myself killed in Oxenfurt. You, Geralt, and Ciri are a family, bound by destiny. I’m not—” He’s getting too close to all the things he doesn’t want to say to her, so he looks away. “I’m happy to play the fun Uncle Jaskier whenever you need me to. But the thing about fun uncles is they show up, let you win at cards a few times, and then they leave before the joke gets old.”

Yennefer doesn’t look exasperated anymore; she just looks sad. That’s somehow worse. “It took Geralt months before he would talk to me about anything but the weather, Ciri’s training, or telling me to duck because someone was trying to stab me. I have never once slept under the same roof as him and Ciri, even when we barely had the coin to afford one lodging, never mind two. It took until the winter before he let me inside to break bread with them. The shadow of what I did hung over us every day. We weren’t playing house, we were on the run, and you should have fucking been there.”

“Yenn—”

She talks over him. “You were the only person who could look at me when we were at Kaer Morhen. I asked you to come with us because I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” he whispers.

Her jaw clenches stubbornly, but she doesn’t answer.

Carefully, he reaches out to take her by the wrist, tugging her closer. “Watching the three of you leave Kaer Morhen was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If I had known you really wanted me there, I would have followed you in a heartbeat.”

Her lips twitch into a half-smile. “Did you really think I was asking you to come just to be nice?”

“Foolish, I know.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’ll stay this time.”

“What about the Sandpiper?”

“Vespula does most of the Sandpipering these days. I’m being watched too closely by the RSS.” Jaskier brings her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Yennefer looks like she wants to deny it, because gods forbid she or Geralt admit to being people with feelings, but she nods. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too kind to you. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank the gods. It made my skin crawl.” He leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Let me stay, Yenn.”

She doesn’t answer, but lifts her face so that he can close the gap between them and kiss her. It’s a tentative thing, not like the desperate, hungry kisses they exchanged on their last night in Kaer Morhen, as weeks of longing—well, probably years of longing, if Jaskier is being honest with himself—bubbled to the surface. There will be time for those later, once they’ve figured out who Rience is working for and ensured that Ciri is safe.

Across the room, there’s a noise of disgust. “If you’re going to make me watch this, I’d rather you just gouge my—”

Yennefer throws her hand out, not pulling her lips away from Jaskier’s. There’s a thud, a yelp, then silence.

“Don’t kill him yet,” Jaskier says, breaking the kiss to press his lips against her throat. “We haven’t gotten any answers out of him.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Geralt’s, the easily distractible fucker. He’s off chattering away with Yarpen while we do all the hard work.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes and mutters something that’s undoubtedly insulting under her breath, but she kisses Jaskier again, so that’s alright.

***

Kiss prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome @ladykardasi (sorry, it wouldn't let me tag your Witcher blog)

#the witcher #twn #yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #ghost's writing #ghost's fic

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fluffymaxsworld · 11 months

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“seven days”

monday

model!simonriley x normie!reader

[simon is a model, you’re the typical sweet girl, no smut (but planned), enemies to lovers, mutual attraction, orphanage, mention of christianity, ghost can’t basically socialize poor boy :(]

[not proof read, i’m sorry for grammar mistakes, i’m not english :))]

“If you want to improve your situation you have to take part in this volunteer project” simon riley’s manager handed him a voucher, “It’s a week-a-week job at an orphanage in a small town”

“one week should be easy” he said, “sign me up”

MONDAY

simon riley, world famous model, finally arrived at the orphanage.

lately rumors began to spread about his deep hate for children, which was half true, he wouldn’t lie, but still a bad thing for his public image.

“you should be simon, come in” a old woman greeted him, smiling weakly.

now i get why they need help, he thought.

“i’m really happy another young man has decided to help us”

another? there are other people?

“it’s such a pleasure being here, mrs…?”

“oh, sarah is fine” she began to walk towards a small, cozy room. “this is where you’ll sleep for the next few days, get comfortable!”

“thank you sarah” he smiled and dropped his suitcase on the floor, “i’ll make sure to be as quick as possible to start today”

“what a kind guy!” she said, leaving him alone in the room.

he took a glance around. it was quite different from the hotel rooms he was used to, the sunlight hitting the walls and the beds… beds?!

he didn’t noticed that there were another pair of bags on the floor, a deep shade of pink and some feminine clothes dropping out of them. one of the bed was done, light blue sheets and soft pillows. someone was going to sleep with him.

he sighed, taking out his black surgical mask (to avoid paparazzi during the whole day, his manager said) and putting it on his face, half of it now well covered.

after doing his bed and preparing the last things, he walked into the common space full of lively children and a sweet scent of baked cookies, something he missed a lot. he noticed a couple of women and men around his age helping the kids or playing with them. he sat on a chair, looking around for something to do.

a small hand reached his arm touching his hard muscles.

“are you new??” a cute voice coming out of a small kid, six years old maybe.

“i am kiddo” he replied, “what’s yer name?”

“alex!!” he smiled, “and that’s my best friend!”

he pointed at a 20 years old girl that was wearing a cute yellow dress full of sunflowers, smiling sweetly at some children that were drawing on a piece of paper. you.

“she’s the best ever! i love her so much!” the kid interrupted his thoughts, gripping his arm gently.

“alex! come back here!” your even sweeter voice called out the kid who immediately, still holding simon’s arm, ran towards you.

“hey hey, look who i found! he’s new!” alex said, smiling almost proud of his new friend.

“hello, simon riley”

“simon riley? the model?” you asked bluntly, your soft expression hardening at the thought of more problems, “what are you here for, money or something? we definitely don’t need any trouble”

“girl, relax. i wanted to help, that’s all.” he replied, getting quite annoyed by the same girl he found nearly attractive a few seconds before.

“a model? that wants to help? oh please, do you think i’m stupid?” you grunted.

“what’s your problem, girl. s’not like i’ve brought wit’ me paparazzi and fangirls”

“your stupid fangirls. how can people like celebrities they never met…” you mumbled, almost to yourself.

“i can hear you.” he groaned, “and i even thought you were sweet”

“the fu-” you covered your mouth before cursing in front of the kids, “i don’t wanna talk to you, so please leave me alone”

“tsk, s’not like i wanted to talk to ya” and with this, he walked away.

liar. he wanted to talk to you. so damn much.

lunch time. simon talked to a few guys working there that told him about how the days works and the breaks.

“you’ll choose a table for the whole week, unfortunately you can’t change it.” they explained.

simon took his food, a warm soup with a side of chicken, and sat on a half empty table.

he had small talks with the guys sitting there when suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“what are you doing here?” your voice broke the silence in his mind.

“eating?” he replied, almost sarcastically.

“eating, here?” you sat besides him, “this is my table”

“so? now it’s ours” he grunted.

i wonder how’d you look in bed sweetheart, he thought, blushing slightly under his mask.

“whatever. there’s no need to fuck around for a stupid thing like this.” you said.

“so you can swear. thought ya were some kind of church typa girl”

“what the hell is this supposed to mean? a christian girl can’t swear?” you growled.

“no no, that’s not…” he stopped, “whatever, forget it. let’s just ignore each other.”

“good idea”

simon entered his room, curios on who his roommate might be, maybe a cute girl, he thought.

well, whoever they were, they didn’t arrive yet. luckily, because he needed a shower. after taking off his sweaty clothes and bringing with him all the stuff for his model-like shower he stepped in, turning on the warm water and cleaning up.

you opened the door of your room, sarah already told you about your new roommate and you just prayed he wasn’t simon. a soapy scent filled the air so you just figured out he was probably taking a shower.

you laid on your light blue bed, enjoying the pleasant breeze, smiling softly and thinking about your day.

simon isn’t a bad guy for sure, but you just couldn’t help but imagine him like a thirsty-for-fame man. yet you couldn’t also deny his attractiveness, which made you blush softy at the only sight of him.

of course he’s handsome, he’s a model! you thought.

simon finished the shower. he wrapped around his hips a white towel. he opened the door and…

“you!?” he grunted.

“you??” you grunted back, studying his appearance, “put something on, you pervert!”

“i just took a shower, dumbass!” he growled.

“whatever, put something on anyways!” you looked away, pressing your face into the soft pillow.

he’s so damn hot!!! you thought, blushing intensely.

why does she have to be so annoying, such a waste for a cutie like her, he thought, closing the bathroom door and putting on his calvin klein boxers.

after awhile he stepped out (again) all dressed up as he saw you already sleeping on your bed. you had changed clothes too in the meantime.

so she was naked? he smirked.

“you’re so breathtaking” he whispered to himself.

“i’m what?” you muttered, sleepy voice and sleep eyes.

luckily for him, you weren’t facing him, because right now he was blushing like a school girl, covering his face.

“annoying! you’re so annoying!” he tried to correct himself.

“tsk, whatever.”

i love this concept, seven days of model!simonriley x normie!reader.

i want him to wake up with a morning erection😍😍

pt 2 coming in a few days :))

ask to join a taglist <33

#ghost x reader #simon riley #cod simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost smut #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod x reader

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miikpal · 5 months

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Heya, Milk! You got any advice for somebody who wants to start taking commissions but doesnt know where to start? I been drawing for a while (about 10 years), but I never tried selling my art before. It's kinda scary. I don't need a lot of money right now, so it's not urgent, ive just heard people say it's good experience. Is it worth trying at all rn? Sorry if you answered something like this before

no worries!! i dont think anyones asked me about this stuff before tbh... im in a similiar boat where i dont really do these out of necessity lol its definitely worth it!! if u thought about it even briefly its worth it to try

its been a hot minute since ive first started taking comms but i guess these would do for starters:

- your following might affect comm interest - i would only get very sporadic ones for the longest time unless i undersold (DO NOT DO THIS GET UR MONEYS WORTH) so dont get discouraged at first is what im saying. get ur pals to promo the announcement posts and put urself out there and eventually someone will get interested

- you can start small and lowkey. if u wanna just dip your toes in the commissions water before doing full blown pieces its absolutely ok to start with doodle or sketch comms. they tend to be cheaper and attract client bases that way anyway - so its a win win! low stakes and you can slowly figure out what works for you

- for the love of god make a TOS. having a document of things that are and arent allowed that u can point at whenever somebody tries to pull a fast one on you is a lifesaver. mines really thorough but i like to cover all the bases

- pretty much at every step where youd think 'going back to fix something after this part would be a pain in the ass' stop and send the progress to ur client and ask if anythings off or needs fixing before you keep going. better safe than sorry. in general be communicative and upfront about any info with ur commissioner - its a nice thing to do and will make both of ur lives easier!

- make sure ur comm post includes clear examples of the kind of art u can offer - this is gonna be the forefront that attracts ppls attention! they should know what theyll be getting

- set up a comm only email or a google form for taking in comms its. much easier to keep track of things this way. actual communication can go somewhere else but its good to have a single place just for the actual initial inquiries etc.

I RAN MY MOUTH LOL. if u have other specific questions feel free to ask for a follow up i suppose!! these are just the ones i wish i thought of when i first started. i hope ur commissions journey goes well, im rooting for ya !!!!!!!

#;not drawn #;answered #anon #<- RAMBLER. i teach as a day job its stronger than me

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littlestpetgoth · 1 year

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Do you think natural talent is required to be a great artist?

not at all, im sure that the rate of improvement will vary between people based on whatever it may be, but art is not a talent it’s a skill. like most skills its easier for some than it is for others, but i think if you can teach yourself to have a good mindset about learning and improving then anyone is capable of becoming a good artist.

i see a lot of people who feel stumped and frustrated that they aren’t learning or improving as quickly as other artist/ aren’t as good as artists that have been practicing for longer than them, but like working out it’s hard work and everyone’s experience is going to be different. some people have an easier time understanding shapes, colors, and volumes, those people will have an easier time understanding the. fundamentals ig! your process is never going to be the same as someone else’s so you shouldn’t compare your journey with theirs..

ive seen plenty of people create incredible things from all different kinds of backgrounds, ive seen an artist who is unable to draw with their hands so they’re forced to use their feet/mouth, their disability hasn’t stopped them because they don’t feel defeated to create..

sorry if it’s hard to understand what im saying im sure there’s a better way to word it, but if you’re ever feeling sad that you’re not where you wish you were on your art journey, just remember that as long as you don’t give up you will always improve. those improvements are slow and subtle but they are there, you just won’t notice it until you take the time to look back on your old work.

if you feel like you are stagnating, try doing studies, draw something out of your comfort zone, identify a part that you feel unsatisfied with and work on improving it.

im purely a hobbyist, so im not under any pressure to perfect the things i create for the art industry. i think its really important to prioritize your own enjoyment when creating art, because it should be fun! it should be fun to use your brain and to put out something that you felt in your creative organs.

it always breaks my heart to see people be so broken about their natural ability to create whatever their brain comes up with.. so i feel very passionately about enjoying the process..

i understand thst finding that patience is harder for people who rely on their art for money, so i have no advice for relieving that stress. unfortunately the art market is very over saturated (does not help with all of the ai art bs) and i wish you good luck..

uhh tldr i think that art, like most skills, is something that everyone learns at a different pace. one workout routine is not going to bring everyone the same results at the same time. everyone’s needs and experiences are going to be different . people need to accept that..

#ask #sorry for rambling #this topic makes me feel very .. idk passionate is the only word i can think of #good luck! i know its easier said than done #but if you are someone who feels beaten up by their current artistic skill.. please be nice to yourself…#you wont get a six pack overnight #you wont be a master artist overnight

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drivinmeinsane · 1 year

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So I can't stop thinking about when I bought my minx coat Ken and these where the frequently bought together items.

I'm left imagining a Ken left out on a dog tie only being thrown very expensive Pecans as sustenance. It's haunting me and I think someone should write it as a way to exorcise this demon from my mind (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

I now require all requests to be as delightedly weird as this one. Thank you for sending this in and making me get it done. I had a blast writing this. <3

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: He’s got no money. He’s got no car. He’s got no house. He’s got artisanal pecans.

※ Rating: G for generally upsetting all audiences

※ Word count: 853

The screen door creaks obnoxiously as you shove it open and step down onto your back porch. You barely have the time to let it shut behind you before a blond man comes barreling towards you on all fours. Ken all but tackles you in his excitement.

“Easy, Ken, easy,” you admonish.

He settles at your feet, chastised, faux mink coat spilling around him. His glittery blue collar is in sharp contrast to the gray fur. His tag jingles against the clip at the end of his tether. It’s a necessary precaution to keep him from wandering too far. Despite all his protests otherwise, you know he would be liable to set out on a three hour walk to some unknown location and take another three hours to return only with some misguided ideals in his head.

You run a gentle hand through his hair. He leans up into your touch, clearly enjoying the sensation of your nails against his scalp. He would gladly be petted all day if possible.

“I brought you something,” you say with a smile.

You give the bag of expensive pecans that you’re holding in your hand a shake, drawing the blond’s attention to it. After careful research, making sure to do a deep dive on each company, you were sure you had found the best pecans to give your hungry boy as a treat. He was so fond of dried fruit and glazed nuts that you would be shocked if he didn’t like the Sahale Snacks® pecans in the ‘Valdosta’ variety.

Ken puts his hands on your legs, forgetting himself in his delight. He’s almost panting in his eagerness for the treat in your grasp. You can’t allow bad behavior so you step back, dislodging his hold. “Off, Ken. You know better.”

He immediately pulls his hands away. He rests them against the outdoor rug, digging his fingers into short fibers in the effort to contain himself. A wide smile spreads across his face when you praise him for obeying. He loves nothing more than to make you happy. He can’t help the wiggle his body does in excitement as you open the bag and stick your hand in to grab a small handful of the mix. The crinkling noise has his rapt attention. The glaze is sticky on your fingers.

You withdraw your hand and offer him his good boy treat. He props himself on his knees and makes eye contact, he waits patiently for your permission. You give him an encouraging nod. He presses his mouth into your cupped hand and eats the pecans. His lips are soft against your palm and there’s a whiskery hint of his stubble. You feel the wet brush of his tongue as he seeks out every crumb.

He pulls back, a thoughtful look in his usually vacant, blue eyes. “Is it me or do these pecans just get dreamier and dreamier?” he asks, his tone a little congested with emotion.

“That’s because they’re Sahale Snacks® pecans. They’re a nicer brand than you’ve been getting.”

He looks stunned that you upgraded him from the Great Value™ Dried Cranberries & Candied Pecans to this new brand. From a salad topper to an actual glazed nut mix? It’s like you had just given him the world, like you respected him in a way that was beyond ordinary®.

You offer him another small handful and he all but lunges for them. The kneeling man finds a cranberry amongst the nuts and lets out a pleased groan. He vacuums up every morsel. You giggle a little at the way his eager snuffling against your skin tickles. He looks at the bag in your other hand and his eyes inexplicably start to well up with tears. Before you can reach out to give him a soothing pet, he bursts into hysterical sobs.

"Don't look at me!" He's crying. He's actually crying over the pecans.

"That good, huh?" You ask gently.

He nods, sniffling pathetically as he swallows. “They’re sublime.”

You take a seat on the patio and set the bag aside. You give your leg a coaxing pat and suddenly, Ken’s on your lap like an overzealous dog. You take it in stride.

“You’re a good boy, Ken.”

He whines at the praise. You follow up your approval with a scritch under his jaw. He squirms delightedly, almost getting tangled in his tether. He rolls over for a belly scratch and you oblige him. You almost think his foot is going to start kicking, he’s that into it. You let him lay across your legs for a while, letting him enjoy the aftertaste of the glazed mix and your affectionate petting. All things must come to and end though, and before long you’re encouraging the man off of you. He scrambles to his hands and knees and gives you a betrayed look that’s not eased by a smoothed over his head. His coat is slipping down, revealing a bare shoulder. You grasp the material and straighten it before getting ready to go back in the house.

“I’ll see you later. Be good. I know you pecan.”

#Barbie (2023)#Ken #Ken & Reader #From you #My posts #Ken fanfic #Barbie (2023) fanfic #Ken imagines #🐎

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scary-movies-on-netflix · 11 days

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THE FLESH AND THE FIENDS (1960)

This film takes place in the 1820's in Edinburgh, the spookiest of Scottish cities. Really. Two dudes dig up a recently-buried body from a cemetery. They take it to Dr. Knox (Peter Cushing), a renowned lecturer on medicine, and he promptly buys the body! (He needs the corpse for teaching purposes; he’ll dissect it to teach his students human anatomy.)

The dudes who dug up the body are called “resurrection men.” They go the tavern and spend their money, and two bullies and scoundrels, Burke and Hare, watch them. They return to Burke’s boarding house and discover that one of the boarders has died! They take the body to Dr. Knox, who buys it from them. Next, they escort a drunk older woman to their house, and Burke suffocates her to death. Dr. Knox buys her body. Hare buys himself a fancy new vest with the money. An old man arrives at the boarding house, looking for a bed. He explains that he’s come to find some work and earn money so that he “can end his days in peace.” We next see him in a box at Dr. Knox’s house. Dr. Knox isn’t there, but his assistant, Dr. Mitchell, looks over the body. He says that the man “died only a few hours ago,” and he notes a bruise on the head. Hare feigns ignorance, but Mitchell demands, “Where did he get that bruise?” Then Knox appears. He is nonplussed about how the man died and buys the corpse. Afterwards, Mitchell presses Knox, “Are you satisfied that man died a natural death?” and he asks, “You’ll continue to accept subjects from them without question?” Knox says, “I will continue to teach anatomy, using the best specimens available, to turn out doctors who will replace quacks!”

Meanwhile, we’ve also met Chris Jackson, one of Knox’s students. He’s met Mary Patterson, a local woman, and despite their different backgrounds, begin a relationship. Chris is quiet and studious, and Mary has a temper and likes to drink. He asks her not to spend time at the brothel (where she gets free booze), but one night she goes anyway. Chris returns to his flat and sees that Mary isn’t there, so he finds her at the brothel, sitting in another man’s lap. Chris says, “You’re drunk, Mary. Let me take you home.” Mary mocks him. “If you were half a man you’d drag me out of here by the roots of my hair.” She says, “I’m not gonna be bored any more by your mealy mouth talk.” Chris leaves, but, after a moment, Mary runs after him. Chris is not outside, but Burke and Hare are there. With the promise of more booze, they lead her to the boarding house, but Mary’s friend, Maggie, sees them. At the boarding house, Hare begins to sexually assault Mary. “No, please,” she cries as she tries mightily to resist him. He chokes her to death. Mrs. Burke returns home and is more perturbed by the presence of the dead woman than by the fact that Hare killed her.

The next morning Chris is studying at the academy. Someone rolls in a covered corpse. “This one’s the best we’ve had so far. Doctor wants some drawings taken before we put her in the brine.” Uneasy, Chris removes the cover and sees the dead Mary. He runs out the building. Knox is confused, but Mitchell explains that “Burke and Hare have just brought in the body of a woman … she was Jackson’s girl.” Knox seems slightly concerned, but says nothing.

Chris goes to the boarding house and attacks Burke, but Hare sneaks up behind Chris and stabs him. That night, they walk the corpse out of the building. A young man named “Daft Jamie” sees him, thinking that Chris is still alive, and Hare gives him some money to go away.

By the next morning Chris’s body has been discovered. Knox and Mitchell identify it for the local police. They don’t say anything about Hare or Burke. Later, Knox asks Mitchell why he didn’t mention the men. Mitchell explains that he’s trying to protect Knox’s reputation. Knox tells Mitchell that he should tell the police if he feels that he must, but “if you really consider that the life of a street woman is more important than the advance of surgery, then stand in the market square and scream ‘murder’ to the mob.”

Back in that market square, Daft Jamie approaches Burke and Hare and mentions that he found a ring off a corpse. The murderers sense that he’s trying to shake them down, so they tell him to come to the boarding house that night so they can buy the ring from him. Daft Jamie then speaks to Maggie, Mary’s friend, who’s been looking for Mary for two days. Daft Jamie goes to the boarding house as requested, and when he enters Burke tries to kill him. Jamie resists to the best of his ability, and he makes it outside, but Burke and Hare catch him and Burke smothers him in the mud of a pigsty. Fortunately, Maggie is hiding nearby and sees the act! Burke and Hare take the body inside and find the ring, and Maggie runs away, shouting, “Murder!”

She runs to the square. Mitchell is there and asks her what happened. She explains that Burke and Hare killed Daft Jamie. He quickly moves away. Maggie goes to the police station, and she leads an inspector to the boarding house. Burke and Hare are already gone, so Maggie then says to look at Dr. Knox’s place.

Mitchell arrives at Knox’s house and begs the doctor to not buy any body that Burke and Hare might try to sell him, “because the police know it was murdered.” Knox, however, reveals that he’s already purchased the body. He shows Mitchell the body of Daft Jamie. Mitchell explains that Burke and Mitchell know that Knox has more to lose than they do. “They’re relying on you to cover their traces.” Mitchell asks Knox to dispose of the body, but then the inspector and Maggie arrive. Maggie identifies Daft Jamie, and Knox confirms that he died a violent death.

Maggie runs to the town square and whips up a mob to find Burke and Hare. “They’ve been murdering right under our noses,” a man says. Maggie adds, “And what’s the law doing about it?” Burke and Hare flee to a warehouse, but the mob quickly breaks in. They grab Burke, and then they grab Hare. The camera floats over a huge crowd celebrating their capture. They are quickly put on trial, and Hare turns on Burke and testifies against him! Burke is found guilty, but neither Hare nor Knox are charged. Maggie shouts, about Knox, “But why should that old scoundrel get away free as air?” Knox attempts to continue his normal routine of teaching, but his number of students have dwindled, and the mob shouts outside his house.

Burke is hanged to death. Hare is free to leave the police station, but the mob is waiting for him outside. The police toss him out the rear door. Two men are waiting for him. One holds him from behind while the other presses a torch against his eyes, blinding him. For his own part, Knox is summoned by the medical council. He has to walk through the mob to get to his carriage. He faces the council, a group of fellow doctors whom he has insulted and belittled throughout the movie. “This is a heaven-sent opportunity,” he tells him. “Make the most of it.” He leaves the room, but Mitchell arrives. He faces the council and essentially accuses all of them of doing the same as Knox, in buying corpses when maybe they weren’t sure of the cause of death. The council erupts into shouting.

Knox walks home. In the central square, a little girl asks him for some coins so she can buy candy. Knox says that he has no money, “but if you come to my house I’ll give you some there.” “No, thank you,” the little girl says, “you might sell me to Dr. Knox.” Knox is suddenly crushed. He’s not a renowned doctor; he’s a monster. He arrives home and speaks to his niece: “It took a child to show me what I am now.” Knox admits that, despite his statements of working for the betterment of medicine and society, he’s been driven by “achievement, ambition.” He says that he knew how all the people died when Burke and Hare brought in their bodies. Mitchell arrives and says that the medical council has exonerated Knox, and he scoffs, “So, they’ve decided to let the world judge me.” He heads to teach his next class, which he expects will be empty, but instead the hall is packed with students (all men). He receives a standing ovation. Knox begins to talk about the Hippocratic Oath, ending with the promise to “never do harm to anyone.”

This was surprisingly good. The film was panned when it first came out, but now it’s starting to receive some notice and acclaim. I think it’s a masterpiece. The film was just … morbid, both in subject matter and tone. Burke (George Rose, a mean bully) and Hare (Donald Pleasance, conniving and greedy) were effectively portrayed as true monsters, amoral murderers. The murders were violent and brutal, long extended takes where the victims fought back as best they could before succumbing. (Before their deaths, we did get to learn a little about the victims, poor people simply trying to survive. We spent a lot of time with Charlie and Mary, both flawed in their own ways, and watch as they are killed.) On the other hand, Knox (Cushing) was cold and dispassionate, appearing to care little for the dead, removed as he was by his wealth and education. Even at the end, when he realized that these were dead people he was dissecting, he again viewed their loss only in abstract terms. He was only remorseful because his own reputation was suffering. Like the little girl said, he was a monster, too. As terrible as it may sound, the real Burke and Hare and Knox were probably even worse than these film versions. Burke and Hare killed at least sixteen people. When Knox purchased the corpse of the real Mary Paterson, she had been smothered to death by the men after passing out from drinking. Knox kept her body in a barrel of whiskey.

#the flesh and the fiends #horror movie #horror movies #movie review #the best #1960 #peter cushing

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sea-owl · 2 years

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Now has Violet learn her lesson and teach her younger daughters about sex, leave nothing out?

Is there an au where Lady Danbury or her girlfriend Portia tells her that she needs to do this or maybe they can sit in with her and help out?

Knowing Portia though, she would go "And when your husband is a stupid idiot who lost all your money and doesn't know where your clit is, you gotta light up a scented candle, create a mood and use those fingers."

My lovelies, I wish I could say Violet did learn her lesson but I don’t remember her ever giving the talk again after Daphne. The next talk we try to see her attempt is in To Sir Phillip with Love but Eloise already knows what sex is since she and Fran bribed a maid. Violet is completely relieved that she doesn’t have to tell Eloise. Now I don’t remember how Hyacinth knows if anyone told her or she found out through practice. So maybe she did it right with Hyacinth but I’m not 100% sure. Someone with a better memory than me please let us know.

The ironic part is that I just know Violet is kinky. Her kids get their scandalous sides from her. Also I know talking about sex with your kids can awkward Violet but come on. Leaving them confused as you run from the room helps nobody.

The second part though 😂

I guess it’s Violet x Portia night tonight because this is my second ask that involves an au for them. Which I’m okay with, I love being a menace and when you lovelies encourage it.

I can see an au though where Violet and Portia are lovers after both their husband’s have passed. Portia goes up to Violet one day before the season begins and tells her that she’s telling her daughters where babies come from.

Violet looks scandalized. “You are telling all of your daughters about the martial act?!”

“Not Felicity!” Portia shoots back. “Just the ones out of society. Penelope is too smart, she’ll figure it out on her own and I rather know what she knows.”

Also low key how did can’t keep a secret by her own words Eloise not tell of how babies are made to her best friend? Like I fully expected Eloise to run straight to Penelope and tell her after the maid told Eloise. Probably just a plot point used so Julia didn’t have to write Violet giving the talk again. Also with all the gossip the girl hears you’re telling me no one ever said anything about sex? I call bullshit.

ANYWAY back to the au.

Portia offers Violet to have Daphne there too since she's also out in society. Hesitantly Violet agrees. So the two women set a date and they sit the four young debutants down in the Featherington drawing room to give them the talk.

While you have to pull teeth to get Violet to talk Portia over shares. She goes into self pleasure, "If your husband is no good," and starts on kinks when Violet covers her mouth.

"You talk too much," Violet whispers to Portia.

"Didn't bother you the other the night," Portia murmured behind Violet's hand.

Violet turned red but tried to put on her best viscountess face. "Perhaps we should stick with what our mother's told us."

Portia puts on her own lady of the house face. "This is what my mother told me."

Years of practice is the only reason Violet's jaw doesn't drop.

They come to a happy medium, and the girls are better informed than they were before. Violet and Portia do have all four of them swear not to talk about it in public or discuss it with their younger siblings until they are out in society themselves.

ABC and maybe Simon nearly fall on their asses though when they overhear Penelope and Daphne quietly discussing different kinks they researched in the corner of the drawing room one day over tea.

Daphne and Penelope deny knowing anything.

#bridgerton #violet bridgerton #portia featherington #violet and portia give the talk #violet x portia #portia x violet #daphne and penlope are gonna accidently drive abc crazy #marital relations? we know nothing about marital relations #they say as they hide their copies of fanny hill

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que-serra-serra · 1 year

Text

[Serennedy] Lucky shot

Against his better judgment, Leon takes Luis to the shooting gallery. Rated Explicit | 4.2k words | ao3 link

Leon took a steadying breath and focused on the feel of the unfamiliar gun in his hands.

A row of cardboard pirates appeared and Leon shot each of them in turn, left to right; one, two, three, four…four—

“Ooh, and a miss!” Came a mocking callout from behind him.

Leon tuned it out and kept his eye on the range. This would be the wave with two of the bonus skulls, and—there!

Leon blasted the cardboard bird with his shotgun and the spread took down one of the sailors too.

“Dios mío, now he is shooting civilians? That's dirty!”

Gritting his teeth, Leon kept going. He was one of the top marksmen in his training program, had been able to snipe distances other agents could only dream of, yet this clunky shotgun and stupid, rigged game—

“Bravo, bravo!” Obnoxious clapping sounded from behind him. “You somehow managed to hit everything except the target! Such skill!”

And that was when Leon slammed the shotgun onto the bench and whipped around to glare at his companion.

“You got something to say!?” he snapped.

Luis was smiling, leaned cockily against a barrel with his pistol dangling from his hand.

“Only that you've been at this for an hour and somehow only seem to be getting worse with time,” Luis said.

Anger flashed through Leon. “Yeah? I'd like to see you try.”

“Haven’t exactly gotten a chance to, since you've been hogging all the fun for yourself…” Luis gave an exaggerated shrug.

A lightbulb went off in Leon's head. “Tell you what,” he said. “You go on and try, and I can provide the snide comments.”

Leon tried to keep the smugness out of his voice. Luis being forced to put his money where his mouth was—and subsequently failing at it—would surely knock the arrogant man down a peg.

“Oh?” Luis raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I beat your score?”

Leon scoffed: he’d seen Luis in a gunfight. That wasn’t going to happen. “Depends. How much are you willing to lose?”

“So cocky,” Luis sighed. “So, if I manage to outscore you in three tries…”

“One try,” Leon corrected. He wasn’t about to let someone else hog the whole shooting gallery when there were still prizes to be won.

“One try? Should not be a problem.” Luis smirked as he sauntered up to the range, and Leon couldn't wait to wipe that stupid grin off his face. “Then I win the bet.”

“Sure,” Leon said. “And if you lose, you’ll be shutting up for ten minutes every time I tell you to.”

“Aww, cielito, I thought you enjoyed hearing my velvety smooth voice,” Luis said.

Leon rolled his eyes in lieu of replying.

“And if I win…” Luis continued.

“Not gonna happen.”

“When I win, you’ll do a favor for me,” Luis said.

Leon frowned: he’d learned not to take anything at face value with this man. Luis had been sketchy about his past from the get go, from giving a fake identity and having inexplicable knowledge of the sickness plaguing the area, to only recently revealing that he’d been born in this village.

Leon should have known better than to trust him, and yet…

“What kind of favor?” Leon asked.

Luis grinned, leaning back against the bench and drawing Leon’s eyes downward to…

The obvious bulge tenting his jeans.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Leon spat, neck flaming hot with embarrassment. “Are you always horny?”

Luis shrugged, completely unbothered. “Most of the time, yes. But especially after watching a sexy blond handling guns for the last hour.”

Something warm stirred in Leon's gut at the compliment even as he wanted to argue that his hair wasn’t even blond.

Instead, Leon scoffed and said “You’re insane.”

“On the contrary, I am a simple man with simple pleasures.” Luis smirked. “So? Do we have a deal? One round of shooting; if I lose, you win my silence on command, and if I win, you will do me a sexual favor?”

Leon barely resisted the urge to slam his head against the nearest wall and lament what the fuck his life had become.

But it wasn’t like Luis had any chance of winning. Even if he looked good standing there, with that goddamn smirk and making bedroom eyes at Leon with an obvious hard-on, the only thing that would come out of this was Leon receiving a much-needed mute button when it came to the Spaniard’s excessive rambling.

Why Leon actually felt disappointed by that fact was a mystery.

“Fine. Deal,” Leon said.

Luis winked. “You got it, amigo.”

Luis turned to the shooting gallery while Leon took his earlier spot leaning against the barrel to watch the humiliation.

Luis pressed the button to start a new round, raising his pistol…

“Hold on,” Leon said. “You’re supposed to use the shotty.”

Luis simply laughed and called out, “Not part of our deal!”

Leon’s protest was drowned out by a series of quick shots at the row of targets that appeared. Each of the pirates went down, yet the sailors were completely unharmed.

After the first wave, Luis reloaded his pistol and glanced over his shoulder with a smirk.

Leon’s face heated. “Beginner’s luck,” he said.

Rather than reply, Luis proceeded to demolish the following wave with his pistol—even hitting the damn birds that Leon couldn’t manage despite the spread of the shotgun to help him.

Wave after wave, Luis flawlessly completed the task before him. Each time his pistol rang out, a target went down and his score kept racking up.

Leon could only lean against the barrel and stare, his earlier snark long since forgotten, as Luis stood there in his stupid leather jacket wholly unfit for combat and completed the round with perfect precision.

Once the flashing lights of the bonus time ended and the machine gleefully proclaimed a new high score, Luis turned around with a grin and raised his pistol to blow at the no doubt piping hot muzzle.

Leon’s erection—when the fuck had that happened?—twitched happily at the theatrical display.

“So, amigo…” Luis spoke up and Leon very nearly jumped. This was probably the longest he’d seen Luis go without talking. “It seems that I won our little bet."

Leon cleared his throat, not trusting his voice. “And it seems to me like you cheated.”

Luis chuckled. “The pistol? Come now, querido, we both know you would have done even worse without the shotgun.”

Annoyance flared through Leon but somehow seemed to shoot straight to his already throbbing dick. “Wanna tell me how the fuck you’re so good at this? Are you just one of those guys who gets performance issues any time there’s real combat involved?”

“Oh trust me, cariño, I can perform very well under all kinds of circumstances,” Luis said, looking up through his lashes.

Leon’s sweaty palms gripped the barrel’s edge tighter.

“But, I should probably have mentioned that I’ve been coming here for months to practice,” Luis said casually.

Leon huffed. “I knew it. Cheater.”

Luis grinned. “It’s only cheating if you break the rules.” He stalked towards Leon, then, hips swaying with every step. “And no matter how you look at it, I won our bet.”

With Leon leaned back like this, Luis was taller than him when he stepped close, almost looming over Leon. Surprisingly, Leon found he didn’t mind that in the slightest.

“Fine,” Leon said, trying to put animosity into his voice that he no longer even felt. “What do you want?”

Luis sighed and shook his head, leaning closer still. “Straight to the point, eh? You yanquis have no thoughts to romance.”

Without preamble, Luis kissed Leon, crowding him against the barrel and his hands coming up to cradle Leon’s head.

And somewhere between Luis’ tongue slipping in to caress Leon’s own and Luis’ thigh pressing between his legs, Leon groaned in both frustration and arousal alike and stopped pretending not to want it.

He brought one hand up to tangle in Luis’ greasy hair and grabbed a handful of leather jacket with the other. Luis hummed as Leon shoved his tongue between those clever lips, taking control of the kiss while holding the other man in place, lightly tugging on his hair.

“Mm,” Luis murmured against his lips and ground his thigh more firmly against Leon’s hardness. “I didn’t anticipate you to be so eager, guapo.”

“Yeah, well,” Leon huffed, pushing his hips up. “Hot dude, good with guns… you might have been onto something.”

Leon felt more than saw Luis’ smile against his mouth before they were kissing again. Affectionate pooled in his gut and mixed with the arousal already there; this was the first time Leon had openly acknowledged the—by now, obvious—attraction between them.

“Oh, corazon,” Luis said upon pulling away, before moving down to kiss at Leon’s neck. “Mi cielito, muy precioso.”

Leon swallowed a moan as Luis kept kissing at his neck and murmuring things he probably had no idea that Leon could understand. Clever hands left Leon’s face to trail down his torso, catching the hem of his t-shirt and pulling up.

“Mierda, look at you,” Luis breathed, looking down as inch upon inch of Leon’s abdomen and pecs were revealed. “So beautiful; I just want to eat you.”

Leon huffed a dry chuckle. “Get in line. I’m pretty sure some of the villagers were planning on making a soup out of me.”

“No, no, no,” Luis shook his head as he trailed his mouth down, over Leon’s shirt now bunched up under his armpits, until his face sat between naked pecs. “That would be absolutely tragic. You are much too pretty to be made into a stew.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Mm,” Luis hummed and brushed his lips over a nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” Leon cursed, arousal surging through him like lightning.

“Ah, you like that?” Luis said, then proceeded to kiss and lap at the nipple, making Leon bite back an embarrassing whimper.

When he felt the light scrape of teeth against the sensitive bud, Leon gasped and tightened the hand still resting on Luis’ nape.

“Harder,” he commanded.

“Dios mío, corazoncito,” Luis sounded out of breath, murmuring against Leon’s pec. “You drive me crazy.”

Teeth tugged sharply on Leon’s nipple and he trembled at the feeling, cock throbbing in the confines of his pants. A sinful tongue proceeded to lap at the bud trapped between teeth and Leon couldn’t suppress his noises this time. His head tilted back as he roughly squeezed around a handful of Luis’ hair and earned a husky groan, the vibrations traveling from Luis’ lips to his nipple in a delicious feedback loop.

As Luis’ mouth worked over his chest with teeth and tongue, a warm hand appeared out of nowhere to cup Leon’s erection through his pants.

“Jesus, Luis…” Leon breathed, grinding against the man’s palm to chase the much-needed friction to his cock.

Luis moaned, maybe in agreement, still nipping and kissing Leon’s nipple while his hand set to massaging Leon’s hard cock through his pants.

Leon knew he could come like this. He was too high-strung to make it last, and Luis’ mouth and hand felt way too good after days of nothing but death and violence.

It would be so easy to get lost in this simple pleasure, tucked away in the relative safety of the merchant’s basement with the man who had slowly but surely wormed his way not only into Leon’s pants but also his heart—

But this wasn’t about him.

“Luis,” Leon tried, yanking on Luis’ hair to get his attention.

That only spurred Luis on, making him moan and rub over Leon’s pants with renewed vigor.

“Hey, asshole,” Leon tried instead.

That seemed to do the trick, as Luis’ head lifted and he looked up at Leon with a crease in his brow.

“Are we suddenly moving to humiliation?” Luis asked. “Because I don’t mind; it is a little surprising, I’ll admit, but after the chain bondage and role playing earlier—”

Leon rolled his eyes and silenced the rambling by shoving his tongue down Luis’ throat.

When Leon pulled away from the kiss, Luis was blinking in confusion. “Getting some mixed signals here, amigo.”

“Just reminding you that I’m the one who owes you a favor, not the other way around,” Leon said.

And that was all it took for the smile to be back in full force.

“Ah, bonito, you almost had me frightened.” Luis leaned his head on Leon’s naked abdomen, dangerously close to where Leon was still throbbing, and looked up at him with a knowing smirk. “Has anyone told you not to look a gift Luis in the mouth? I was very much enjoying myself, and I thought you were too.”

“I was,” Leon said. “Just wanted to, you know… get our deal out of the way.”

Luis raised a thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow and Leon closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself: that was no way to speak to someone he was sharing an intimate moment with. Leon’s ruthless communication methods may have served him well in the field, but in private it always seemed to end up with him putting his foot in his mouth.

“Ah, you Americans and your insistence to kill romance,” Luis sighed. “How difficult is it to live in the moment?”

But he was still smiling, placing a kiss on Leon's abs and his hand still making acquaintances with Leon’s crotch, lightly massaging even throughout this extremely unsexy conversation.

“Sorry,” Leon offered, trying not to grind against Luis’ hand too much. “I just… Fair’s fair.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I already decided what I want for my prize,” Luis smiled, pressing more firmly on Leon’s erection.

Leon bit his lip to suppress a groan and tried to keep his focus on the conversation. “Yeah, uh… what is it?”

“This.” Luis squeezed Leon’s length through his pants. “My mouth on you.”

Leon’s horny, stupid brain took a second too long to catch up. “Huh?” he asked, but Luis only kept smiling and massaging him. “Wait—you wanna use the… sexual favor,” he grit out with some difficulty. “To blow me?”

Luis smiled as innocently as anyone with a handful of cock could. “Sí.”

“What the fuck,” Leon said. “That’s just—oh, god…”

Luis’ other hand had crept up Leon’s side and was now tweaking the earlier neglected nipple, creating a frizzling line of pleasure between his chest and his dick.

“Are you questioning my sexual preferences, querido?” Luis smirked. “Is a man not allowed to want to see a beauty like you unravel before them, to feel you pulsing in his mouth?”

“Fu—uck.” Leon wasn’t proud of the way his voice cracked at the word.

“Exactly,” Luis agreed. “Now what do you say? Can I pleasure you with my mouth? Suck you down until you are trembling your release down my throat? Hm?”

Luis twisted Leon’s nipple and rubbed over the head of his cock and Leon was dangerously close to coming on the spot.

“Yeah,” Leon panted. “God, yes, do it.”

“With pleasure,” Luis purred.

Instantly, both hands left Leon’s body and instead worked frantically over his zipper, pausing only to push at Leon's hips until Leon got the hint and hopped up to sit on the barrel.

In no time at all, Luis had Leon’s fly open and was shoving a hand into his boxers, immediately gripping hard flesh. The rough warmness of his palm contrasting with the cool metal of his rings had Leon making a strained moan.

“Oh, Leon, look at you…” Luis breathed as he pulled out Leon’s leaking cock. “Dios mío, but you are beautiful all over. So pretty and pink down here.”

The words shot a hot flash of both shame and arousal through Leon’s entire body. For a moment, Luis simply stood there between his legs, slowly pumping Leon’s cock and looking at it like he was having some sort of religious experience.

Leon’s body trembled from anticipation; soon, he’d get Luis’ mouth on him. He’d get to be inside Luis, cock enveloped in wet heat, making Luis moan and have to keep quiet, focusing on pleasuring Leon just as intently as he focused on the shooting range earlier.

Luis licked his lips and leaned in and god, this was really happening, Leon would finally get a break from all the shit that had been going on these last few days, from the cult and kidnapping and the parasite—

Shit. The parasite.

“Wait!” Leon said, grabbing Luis’ shoulder to halt him. He didn’t miss the annoyed sigh as Luis pulled back to stare up at him, unimpressed, but he had to ask—couldn’t risk hurting Luis. “Are you… will the parasite transmit to you if we…?”

Luis’ features relaxed into a smile. “Oh, but you are sweet.” He shuffled into a better position, kneeling properly on the floor. “But no, the parasite is not infectious at this stage and certainly not under the suppressant. Even then, mucous membrane contact isn’t nearly enough to transmit it. You have nothing to worry about.”

Leon sagged in relief. It was good that Luis knew so much about this stuff—maybe his history at Umbrella wasn't all bad. “Okay.”

“Now, was there anything else…? Luis said, teasingly sliding his hand up and down Leon’s cock.

“No, that’s—that was all,” Leon panted. “Shit, Luis, please—”

“I’ve got you, cariño,” Luis murmured, and then took the tip of Leon’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” Leon groaned, the hand on Luis' shoulder reflexively shooting up to grab a handful of his hair again. “Luis, fuck…”

Luis’ cocky hum was even better like this, the vibrations caressing the sensitive skin of Leon’s cock. Luis bobbed up and then back down, working over the tip and spreading spit and precum all over the head and dripping down the shaft.

“Holy shit,” Leon cursed.

He grabbed the edge of the barrel with his free hand to steady himself as Luis kept working over him. Luis was slowly but surely increasing the pace and swiping his tongue over the head each time he pulled up, moaning softly all the while—like he was the one getting off on this, and not Leon.

Leon couldn't remember the last time he felt this good; as nice as their first encounter had been, being pleasured by Luis’ hot mouth was something else entirely. It had been so long since anyone had given Leon head, and even longer since anyone had been this enthusiastic about it.

Something poked Leon in the thigh and he belatedly opened his eyes, not recalling when they’d slid shut, and looked down.

Luis smiled at getting his attention—as much as anyone could smile with their mouth full of cock—and stopped poking Leon’s leg in favor of pushing down on Leon’s hand still tangled in his hair.

Luis’ head lowered under their hands, making him take more of Leon’s cock and punching a gasp out of Leon. Luis pulled back up until only the tip of Leon’s dick rested in his mouth, looking up at him with blue eyes shimmering with meaning.

“You want me to…?” Leon said.

He pushed down on Luis’ head, forcing his mouth down Leon’s cock and earning a muffled moan. He did it again, a little further this time, before gently pulling Luis back up.

“This alright?” Leon asked.

This time, the answering groan sounded impatient. Luis glared up at him, his hand slapping back on top of Leon’s and pushing, until Leon’s cock bumped against the back of his throat and, fuck, it felt good, that pressure against his pulsing tip, but Luis was choking, his throat convulsing around Leon’s length—

Except Luis only moaned, loud and filthy and his eyelids fluttered shut even as wetness pricked by the corner of his lashes.

“Oh,” Leon breathed when Luis’ hand dropped away, giving over control to Leon. “You like this?”

He pushed Luis’ head back down, his cock sliding into the clenching throat. Luis choked out a garbled moan and reached a hand down to stroke his own recently freed erection.

Leon chuckled breathlessly and tightened his grip. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

It was surprisingly easy, falling into this new dynamic; with Luis’ enthusiastic moans and the way he was very obviously stroking himself in time with Leon fucking his mouth, Leon could let some of that carefully coiled control slip.

He guided Luis up and down over his throbbing cock, muscles flexing with the effort of as he used more and more force. He alternated between pushing Luis as deep as he could go, holding him there until he was gagging, and pulling him up to shallowly thrust the tip of his cock between slick lips, occasionally tugging roughly at his hair to coax out more of his moans.

Spit ran down Luis’ stubbled jaw and his lashes clumped together with unshed tears, his throat working around Leon’s cock every time Leon forced him deep. The sight had no business being as arousing as it was, yet Leon could only bite his lip and guide Luis faster, deeper, already feeling his orgasm fast approaching.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Leon breathed.

Luis actually whimpered at that, tightening his lips impossibly around Leon’s cock, not showing any signs of pulling away; freely offering himself for Leon’s pleasure, like he wanted Leon to come down his throat.

Leon’s cock throbbed with the reminder of just how much Luis was getting off on this, on being used by Leon, letting him fuck his mouth as he pleased and—and god, Leon wanted to claim him.

“Luis—fuck, Luis,” Leon said. “Can I come on your face?”

And when Luis only hummed his approval and looked up at Leon through his wet lashes, deep blue eyes swimming with an ocean of want, that was all it took.

Leon’s hips shot up off of the barrel and he thrust wildly into Luis’ mouth once, twice, and then pulled Luis’ head up and gushed his release over the normally smug face now wrecked with arousal. He watched his come hit Luis’ wet, open mouth, watched it land on his cheek and his chin while Luis only moaned.

It was too much. Overwhelmed, Leon squeezed his eyes shut and only faintly heard the murmurs of “Oh, Leon, so good, querido, so beautiful.”

And as the arousal slowly faded along with his orgasm, some of Leon’s brain cells finally returned. What the hell had he just done?

Reluctantly, Leon released the death grip he had on Luis’ hair and opened his eyes.

Leon's face flamed hot with shame as he saw his depravity all over Luis: the man’s face was streaked with come, some even dripping down his neck and down his jacket.

“Jesus,” Leon breathed.

“You really have an obsession with marking me, eh?” Luis grinned, his voice hoarse but thankfully not seeming terribly offended. He looked down and huffed a sigh. “Mierda, you even hit my jacket again.”

Leon swallowed his comment about how ugly he found the jacket in favor of a simple “Sorry.”

He grabbed a clean-seeming rag from a nearby shelf and wiped at Luis’ face. Luis half-heartedly swatted at him, with protests of "Come on, I can clean myself up", but then laughed as Leon accidentally poked him in the eye while wiping his drying tears.

"Stop squirming," Leon ordered.

"Fine, fine," Luis snickered but obeyed. "Didn't know you were such a mother hen."

Leon finished cleaning the mess he'd made of Luis to the best of his abilities, trying to be gentle to offset some of the roughness that had overtaken him earlier.

It was strangely…domestic. Leon was inexplicably hit by an image of Luis sprawled out on the couch in Leon’s apartment in the States, sated and lazy and laughing at something he said, until Leon yanked him into a kiss—

Leon cleared his throat and looked away, hoping that his bangs hid his reddening face. "There. That should do it."

"Such a gentleman," Luis said. "Maybe not all yanquis are hopeless with romance, hm?"

Luis smirked and buttoned his pants, and Leon only now realized that he hadn't seen him come.

“So, uh,” Leon said. “Can I… do you want a hand, or…?”

Luis cocked his head. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “No, I took care of it myself. As you can see.” He grinned and nodded to the barrel.

Leon looked down and saw a very incriminating spot of white goo dripping down the side of the barrel. He felt his face flush even more: Luis had really come from that, from having his mouth full of cock and being roughly used by Leon.

And for the first time in years, Leon wasn't sure how to proceed. He had so many things to say, about whatever this was between them, about the affection making him want to constantly be near Luis, even as the other man had the capability to get on every last of his nerves, and about how he’d caught himself thinking about Luis still being there when this was all over...

“And you didn’t think to clean it up?” Was what came out of Leon’s mouth instead.

Luis grinned lazily, occupied with collecting his tokens from the machine by the shooting gallery.

"Loser of the bet is on cleanup duty," he said, then sauntered up the stairs. "Hurry, Sancho, or you won't get to see me winning the Luis figurine for you!"

Leon huffed out a silent laugh. He’d have to tip the merchant well in exchange for his discretion once this was all over.

Now, he simply followed after the spoiled, infuriating man who had somehow managed to win Leon's affection in addition to their dumb bet.

#serennedy #luis serra #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 #re4make #re4 remake #resident evil fanfiction #que fic

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nuagederose · 1 year

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As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Forty-Three: Build God, Then We’ll Talk

ao3 link

All week long, Alex kept his eye on Christine, especially when he brought it back in to show her the framing: he also insisted on the inclusion of her signature at one point. He even gave her a brand new pen just for that, and the pressure was especially on her when she did it during class as well. She took off the cap and pressed the tip to the very bottom of the page: careful not to make the frame fall down the wall onto the floor, she lightly signed her name at that very bottom corner on the right.

“Christine has this untapped talent in art,” he explained to the class. “Hence why I've been rather intense about that in particular lately. She just... has it. You know, it's like when you meet someone and they have this utterly beautiful singing voice, and you wonder where it's been all your life. It's just like that.”

She lifted her hand and turned back towards him so everyone in the class could see the drawing as he had perched it against the blackboard. He brought it with him every day that week, and she knew that she had done something to him for him to do that.

“This should be in the Guggenheim,” he declared as he ran his fingers through his black hair. “I really mean that, too. This feels historic. It should be seen where everyone can see it.” He then tapped his pencil on the edge of the podium. “Five hundred word essay on French art! Due next Wednesday.”

“French art?” Christine asked him.

“Yeah! Go read about French art and tell me how you feel about it. Any era you'd like, be it the Renaissance or the modern era—bonus if you can get it to correlate with literature, too. Mr. Hansen offered to help me grade papers so my load's a little lighter this time around.” He rubbed his hands together and took off his glasses. “You all think you can do it?”

“Maybe,” Eric replied with a straight face.

“Oh, come on, Sluggo, it's at least five hundred words! It'll take you twenty minutes. Just tell me how you feel.” He waved his finger in the air as if to dismiss everyone.

“Does that include me?” Christine asked him in a low voice, and Alex glanced up at the drawing.

“I think what you did was plenty,” he replied to her, also in a low voice and with a wink to boot, to which she gasped.

“Alex, for real?”

“For real. A plus plus plus for Miss Peck.” She pressed a hand to her chest and mouthed “thank you” to him, and she scurried over to her book bag and scooped it off the back of her chair. Eric waited for her to put her coat back on, but then she caught a glimpse of Alex picking up the drawing and looking on at it. She hoped that he would take it home and put it in a good place where Captain Howdy wouldn't be able to find it. Christine ran her fingers through her ponytail and then she and Eric walked on out of there and to the hallway.

“I have to pick up Lou again,” he told her.

“Again?”

“Yeah. He's going to be over at Washington Square Park, though. Not that far of a drive this time around.”

“May I ask what he’s doing over there?”

“He’s got car trouble and… just enough change to get a single bus ride back to the park. He called me and said he doesn’t have that much money on him to make it all the way back to Queens. You know, with the feeder buses and whatnot.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

They walked out to the parking lot, where the clouds hung low over their heads. Christine shivered and tugged the lapels of her coat up to her ears.

“Are you cold?” he asked her.

“A little bit, yeah,” she replied with a shudder and another shiver. Eric fumbled the keys but he caught them before he dropped them on the ground; when he reached the driver’s side door, he was quick to unlock the doors for the two of them. They climbed into the car at the same time, to which Christine shivered some more.

“Goddamn,” she muttered.

“I hope Lou can boogie over to us quickly,” Eric said as he fired up the car. “It’s too cold.”

Even though they made their way back to the street and they reached the archway within no time, they still had very little heat in the actual car itself.

“Let’s get out of here,” Eric grumbled as they pulled up to the curb and climbed out onto the sidewalk together.

“Yeah, it’s actually warmer out here than it is in there,” Christine declared as she joined him on the other side of the car. The fountains were silent for the winter time, but the water still swirled around before them, and they moved around enough for Eric to pick up a few flat stones from the concrete on the way over to the outer rim. Christine shivered and tugged her hood over her head: she hoped that Louie wouldn't be long as she could feel more snow upon them.

“I can't believe he put you on the spot like that,” Eric declared as they reached the water's partially frozen edge. He held the stone between his index finger and his thumb, and he skipped it across the surface: three skips before the head of the fountain at the center of the water.

“Who?” she asked him.

“Alex. He made you sign that drawing right in front of everyone. Totally put you on the spot.”

“He didn’t put me on the spot,” Christine assured him with a shake of her head. “I promise you, I wasn’t put on the spot.”

“If he put you on the spot, you’d be cursing him out, I would think…” His voice trailed off.

“He's very particular, Alex is,” she confessed to him.

“Come to think of it, I would imagine,” Eric replied as he skipped a stone out across the water. “I would imagine you are, too.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that I am particular,” she said. “I like you with the white buttons on your shirt.”

“You like the white buttons?” He adjusted the lapels of his sweater underneath his jacket: he wore a black knit sweater with bright pearly white buttons the width of a cucumber medallion.

“Yeah. I don't know, it's a good look for you. The white buttons bring out the pale round shape of your face. It's like how I imagine Alex looking really good in a white shirt.”

“A plain white shirt or a shirt shirt? Like one that buttons up?”

“Either one,” Christine said. He showed her a little smile as he skipped the third stone, which brought four skips out before it sank on the other side of the fountain head.

“Excellent!” she decreed.

“I’ve gotten ten skips on this fountain here,” he told her. “Lou’s the skip master, though, at thirteen. No idea how he does it, either.”

“Does he like… flick his wrist really quickly or something?”

“I think so? I’ve watched him do it before and I can’t hardly watch him do it because his elbow blocks it.” He brushed off his hands and tucked them into his coat pockets, and shivered a long slow hard and deep shudder there next to her.

“Would you call yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend at all?” he then asked her.

“Who? Me and Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't know what I would call us, to be perfectly honest,” Christine reluctantly confessed. “He's got a fiancée already and I'm the other woman. But he's never called me the other woman, though.”

“But it is obvious, though.”

“Oh, yeah. Between me and him, absolutely. But neither of us have said anything about it, though—probably because we can't. Whenever we get together, we just talk about stuff, rather than relationship stuff. When there is relationship stuff, it's usually about how his wedding is coming up but he would rather be with me, but he can't make up his mind, though.”

The two of them congregated by the railing of the fountain, just so they could peer into the freezing cold dark water right beneath them. Through the sparse pockets of ice crystals, they could see their own reflections gazing back at them. The feeling of snow lingered in the air over their heads, and Christine knew it was upon them.

“How do you feel about him getting married?” Eric finally asked her.

“I don’t want him to get married,” she replied. “You know, because we’ve had the misfortune of encountering her.”

“Right, right.”

“But at the same time, there’s this huge part of me that feels like I don’t deserve him. He’s perfect and everything I could ever ask for in someone else.”

“He reminds you of Chris,” he followed along.

“He reminds me totally of Chris, yeah,” she said as a few flurries fluttered down from the cold gray sky. “Even down to the nappy, kinky, slightly curly hair and the unusual nose. I’ve also just never… felt worthy of the time and attention of other people, either. Everyone else is good-looking and interesting except me. I have to fight to gain the attention of people, like it's not enough to just be boring. No guy—especially no guy like him—would ever want to be with me, it’s crazy to even think about.”

“You know, if it’s any comfort, I often feel that way,” he assured her.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. What girl wants to be with a short stubby half-Mexican boy with long black hair halfway down his back? Like it baffles me.”

Christine turned her attention towards him and the somber look in his brown eyes.

“This girl,” she said with a point to herself. “At least, be friends with each other. You know, you and I are going to California for some time in a few months.” And his face lit up as she said that.

“Indeed we are!” he chirped. “I’ve got almost enough money saved up for our little trip, too. Just waiting for my next refund to come through.”

“Beautiful!”

Something caught her eye right then, and she gazed past him to see the black newsboy cap over the head of black hair and a black pea coat on the other side of the fountain. A part of her wondered as to why she was there, especially when she lived further up along the spine of New York, but she would have to save that question for later.

“What?” Eric turned his attention behind him.

“Valentina!” Christine called out to her. “Valentina! Hi!”

“Hey!” she called out to them. She skirted around the side of the fountain and fixed the lapels of her coat all the while. “What're you guys doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Christine declared once she came within earshot. “We're waiting for a friend to come in on the bus.”

“I'm waiting for that same bus, too,” Valentina replied. “Marlene wants me to come and help her with some things.”

Christine then glanced over to Eric, who still folded his arms over the railing around the fountain and kept his attention fixed on those cold waters. They were leaving for California in June, and Alex's wedding took place in July. Not enough time once she put some thought about it and when she realized that the gray sky overhead only lasted for so long before it turned blue again. The hourglass only had so much sand in it.

“I have to think of a plan to interrupt that wedding,” she told her, to which Valentina showed her a smile.

“You’ve come to the right person. And we’ve got time, too.”

“Not that much, though,” Eric pointed out.

“Yes, but we really do have time,” Valentina insisted as she joined the two of them there. “First things first, do either of you know if you're invited or not?”

“Not at all,” Christine replied with a shake of her head.

“Okay, that's going to be a touch more difficult. We can always sneak in—especially if it's an outdoors wedding.”

“It's going to be Fourth of July weekend, so I reckon it'll be outdoors.”

“Okay. And I assume there's going to be booze there.”

“Knowing how Alex likes his wine, absolutely,” she decreed.

“You're gonna drink him under the table?” Eric followed along with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Val's one part Ukrainian and three parts Romanian, she can do it,” Christine assured him.

“I was also think of doing it to her, but I imagine it having a better effect on him,” Valentina said with a chuckle.

“Or you could do it the night before and give him a hangover,” Eric suggested. “And one such that he won't want to partake in it.”

“Hey, yeah! The night before during his bachelor party.” “But it's going to be a bachelor party, though,” Christine pointed out. “No girls allowed.”

Valentina held onto the brim of her hat and raised her eyebrows, and Christine gaped at her.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously! Eric is going to introduce Alex to his new friend Victor.”

Christine rounded Eric with her arm outstretched.

“You're Batman,” she told her.

“I am Batman!” Valentina declared with a chuckle.

“Dude—”

“Dude.” They gave each other a high five.

“I assume the other Sundaes are going to come along, too,” Christine quipped.

“I'll ask Sabrina if she wants to partake in the fun. You know, 'cause she and I are so close. I have no idea if Marlene and Colette are going to have time then, but I'll ask them, too.”

The bus lumbered up from behind the corner behind her and she hastily gathered herself.

“Looks like that's my ride,” she told them.

“What else are we going to do once we drink Alex under the table, though?” Eric asked her.

“Chris is gonna come in and make it all better for him,” Valentina declared as the bus came closer to the back of Eric's car. “He'll be far removed from his bride to be, and he'll hopefully have his feelings invested in the right place. It's simple, but we can only hope that it's airtight.”

The bus pulled up to the curb and the door squeaked open. She held onto her hat as she neared the open doorway, and at the same time, Louie almost stumbled right out of the back half of the bus. He flashed the driver a wave as he strolled on over to Eric and Christine.

“I just think of what Nelly said about them,” she confessed to him. “How they’re trouble.”

“Who, the Sundaes? The four girls who sat behind us in Mr. Hansen’s class?”

“Yeah. I remember her distinctly telling me that, too. But it��s weird, though, it’s like she had a change of heart or something. In fact, when she came back to school the other day, I mentioned to her that I spent the night with Valentina and she never bat a lash.”

“Interesting. I also hope it can all go according to plan and you can get to Alex in time, too.”

“I hope so, too. My one fear is that he can actually see through her disguise, or that neither of you can get into that party…” Her voice trailed off as Louie entered within earshot. She also had the pervasive fear that anyone from the outside, be it Louie or anyone else, figured out as to what they were doing.

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