#theres so many things people take for granted

[iamunabletothinkofablogname]

tw vent (mostly in tags)

Ah yes, the violent thoughts of revenge are back

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

[angelwishess]

You have been invited to the Fairytale Soiree! ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔

Angel’s 100+ followers event!

a/n: Hi hi everyone! I’d like to thank everyone so, so so very much for 160 followers!! When I first started this blog about a month ago, I genuinely did NOT expect to get this much love and attention. It was such a surprise, but I’m so very thankful nonetheless! During my short time running this blog I have met so many wonderful, talented, charming, amazing people, and I appreciate all of you so much! Thank you once again for supporting me until now! ♡

Story:

Every 100 years, a group of fae gather together to host a grand party to celebrate the beginning of a new century. And tonight, once the clock hits 12 it will be the genesis of a new era once more. The stars seemed to shine brighter than usual on this evening, and magic swirled around as the faeries gathered to sing, dance, feast and party the night away.

But of course, there was one more thing they had to do. Every Soiree, the three hosting faeries summon a group of humans, beastmen and merfolk alike to join them on this joyous occasion! Once every one hundered years, it truly would be a waste not to share the joys of tonight.

It just so happened that this time, a group of students seem to be the ones that were chosen! Waking up in an unfamiliar palace-like building, lush with gorgeous flora and hues of pinks, blues and purples. Although skeptical at first, they soon joined the fae with their grand soiree.

That was, until they swiftly picked out Kyra from the crowd. Declaring her as the “Dreamer of Tonight”. They explained, that at the end of every soiree, just before the clock hits 12, all of the fae come together to grant one wish. Whether it be riches that overflow into mountains of gold, power beyond imagination, or knowledge of the unknown— whatever it is, they grant it. And it may even shape the course of the next century.

Kyra pondered this for a moment, sitting upon an elegant throne-like chair as she looked at the faces of all her friends. She frowned, and the faeries were curious. That was until she asked,

“Could I share my wish with my friends?”

Taken aback, the faeries asked why she wanted to do such a thing.

“Well… It just seems kind of unfair. They all deserve to have their wishes granted, too.”

An air of silence filled the room. Only to be broken by a rampaging laughter from all of the fae. They laughed, and laughed, until tears prickled in the corners of their eyes. No one had ever asked for something so ridiculous. The very first time anyone had asked for such a thing!

Amused, the fae agreed to let her share the wish— but with only one person. Now, its up to the rest of the group to decide whether they want to convince Kyra to share the wish with her, or simply just enjoy the party. But they better hurry up, because the clock is ticking! Either way, the faeries are expecting a good show out of tonight’s soiree.

Why, it might just be the most exciting one yet!

“Share this wish with me!”

Dress Code:

There isn’t a really stict dresscode— but of course the characters will all be wearing clothing suited for an extravagant ball!

And, if the name wasn’t obvious enough, this event is very Fairytale themed! So I suggest taking inspiration from fairytales! Whether it be characters, tropes, or items in the fairytale! Go crazy!!!

Theres not really a certain colorscheme either, Id rather you use the colors you think fit the characters you choose the most !!

Featured Characters:

Kyra Lovelace SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Floyd Leech SR (Fairytale Attire)

Ace Trappola SR (Fairytale Attire)

Vil Schoenheit SR (Fairytale Attire)

Azul Ashengrotto SR (Fairytale Attire)

Leona Kingscholar SR (Fairytale Attire)

Jamil Viper SR (Fairytale Attire)

Sebek Zigvolt R (Fairytale Attire)

Jamil Viper R (Fairytale Attire)

Jack Howl R (Fairytale Attire)

OCs:

Victor Sanderson SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yuuel “El” Mirume SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yurena Lovelace SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yuubeni Choga SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Joseph Akaba SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Yuki SSR (Fairytale Attire)

Dranav Taryn (Fairytale Attire)

Rory Queens SR (Fairytale Attire)

Shuu SR (Fairytale Attire)

Rayven Ludwig SR (Fairytale Attire)

Arlo Wake SR (Fairytale Attire)

Erice Ainsbourg SR (Fairytale Attire)

Delilah Koshkin SR (Fairytale Attire)

Kaiia Haunt SR (Fairytale Attire)

Yumi Yozakura SR (Fairytale Attire)

Reyu Carrera SR (Fairytale Attire)

Philosophy Freay R (Fairytale Attire)

Yuhua Wei (Fairytale Attire)

Asher (Fairytale Attire)

AJ (Fairytale Attire)

RULES!!!:

- Despite this being a follower milestone event, everyone is welcome to participate! ♡

- You can use any kind of character to enter into the - event! OCs, Yuusonas, and canon characters that haven’t been listed in the participants! All characters are very much welcomed !!!

- Any kind of entry is also welcomed! Art, edits, fics, ect.

- Please tag me in your post and use the tag #Fairytale Soiree! In your posts!

Strictly no NSFW or proshipping.

There is no clear deadline nor winner, this is honestly just for fun so go crazy!!

Theres no real limit on the amount of SSR cards either, so feel free to do whatever you’d like, whether you choose to make an SSR, SR or R card !

Feel free to dm me if you have any questions :3

Once again, Thank you all so very much for supporting me thus far!! (Reblogs are appreciated :3)

[d0rothydraws]

So I saw a reel on Insta theorising that Sylus is a fallen angel (very Lucifer coded)... would love to see that concept in a fic.. maybe wings could be involved 🤭 but will leave the specifics to you!

Sorry this took so long! also thank you for being my first request <3 I really appreciate it and I hope you like it

After you almost die from a surprise attack, you were saved. Waking up, you have a few questions for a certain someone.

Content: f!reader, switch!Sylus, slight praise kink, angel!Sylus. 18+

w/c: 3.7k

ao3: Here

a/n: I enjoyed writing this one! It was different than what I'm used to which was enjoyable. I wasn't quite sure where to take it so I hope its ok. Also happy kinktober! Let me know if theres any special kinks or prompts you want to see this month and I'll add it to the list.

It started off fine. Just a couple wanderers. It was a solo mission, nothing you haven't done before. It was late at night, almost 11. As the first wanderer fell to the ground in a heavy heap the second one lunged at you. Dodging, your sword caught it on its side making it cry in pain. 

You pushed it farther, digging your sword between its crystalized ribs, groaning as you turned the blade. You felt a satisfying feeling deep inside you. This would be over soon, you told yourself. Just this one and you can go home and shower. Have a warm meal, catch up on your shows and go to bed. 

Your body felt airborne. Weightless. And then, pain. Sharp paralyzing pain as your body was flung across the ground. A third wanderer appeared out of nowhere. Twice the size of the others and it was out for blood. You didn’t know if wanderers had families. But if they did, this one would most definitely be the mother of the two you just slaughtered. You felt weak, faint even. As you tried to stand, to defend yourself, a sound that you didn’t even recognize came out of your throat. An agonizing scream of pain as you tried to move your body from whatever the monster had launched you into. You didn’t know if you were impaled or crushed. All you knew is that your vision was fading fast, a vignette of black teasing the corners of your vision. 

Your chest tightened as you tried one more time. If you stayed, you would be dead. Simple as that. But when you moved, it felt like you were being ripped in two. You felt something wet against your side. Most likely blood. You moved to try and use the device around your wrist, to call for help, for backup. For anyone. The feeling was gone from your fingers. Numb. Cold. 

You never thought that your life would end like this. You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say you had no regrets. You did. More than a handful and if you were given a second chance maybe things would have been different. You would enjoy your friends more, don’t take the people you love for granted. And most importantly, tell the people those same people.. or person.. that you love him.  

A cold chill trailed through your body. You never told Sylus that you loved him. Sure, you had been early in your relationship. Maybe it was off to a rocky start but you had never felt so appreciated and cared for by any person in your life. Your hands curled into fists, your eyes burning with the realization of not only have you never told him that you loved him, but that was going to be your final thought as this wanderer rips your throat out. Tears burned your eyes as you took a shaky breath. The creature was circling you in the air. Wingspan twice as wide as you were tall. Your heart raced as you felt it begin to fly straight down to you. You closed your eyes, taking another deep breath to utter one last word. 

“Sylus.” 

A strong breeze flew past you. Your body braced for impact that never came. You opened your eyes, your vision blurry. A tall man stood in front of you. His back was to you, even in your slowly dying state it looked like… no it couldn’t be. It couldn't be because no matter how hard you focused, how many times you blinked, or squinted there was a pair of large black wings coming from the man's back. A stark contrast to the white hair that you knew so well. You heard a scream, the pained scream of the wanderer as it exploded from… whatever he did to it. You weren’t in a position to really tell or frankly care. You were dying. You felt your heart start to weaken, your body growing numb from the blood loss. 

Warmth enveloped you. Strong arms carefully lifted you as if you were a fragile doll. Soft lips brushed your forehead as you felt the wind suddenly flow past you. The last thing you remembered was the sound of his heartbeat. As fast as ever, before you passed out. 

Your eyes fluttered open.. Quickly you sat up, bracing yourself for the hot scorching pain that you remember. And yet, it never came. As your eyes adjusted to the candle lit room, oh so familiar to you. Sylus’ bedroom. Your heart raced. Why was there no pain? Was it just a vivid dream? And more importantly, where was Sylus. The memories flooded your mind. The feeling of the wind against your skin, the soft feathers that encased you in a warmth that you couldn’t describe. It felt so real. 

The sound of footsteps made you turn your head as you seen Sylus at the doorway with a plate of warm food. Your stomach growled. It felt like you haven’t eaten for days suddenly. And maybe you haven’t. Even as your body screamed for the food though you couldn’t be bothered. Not when the candle light was flickering against his face like that. Not when his eyes rivaled the fire of those same candles. Only one thought was on your mind right now. 

“What happened?” You said, trying to sound as stern as you could muster. You knew he would try to brush it under the rug. But you needed answers. To your question he only sat the tray of food on your lap, his eyes softer than usual as he looked at your face. Gently a hand cake to your cheek, brushing the softness of your skin. 

“Eat first.” He said, gentle but unwavering. “Then questions.” His hand lingered for a moment longer. Long enough for his facade to crack just slightly. Concern and worry flicker in those eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as you took a soft breath and did as he said. As you eat he sits on the end of the bed by your feet, his hand gently caressing your leg.

“You're not allowed to go off fighting on your own anymore.” His words were stern, sending a cold shiver through you. The sound of his voice though was almost strained as if he was trying to hold something back. “You are very capable, but I can't risk losing you.” He said his voice softer as his hand continued to rub your legs under the blanket. You couldn't really blame him for being so worried. You were on the brink of death. Which brought you to your next question. 

“Sylus.” You said softly, setting the food to the side as you moved to sit up more on the bed. “I was dying. I could feel it. How am i..” you paused trying to think of the words. “Not only alive, but there's not even a scratch on me.” You whispered, feeling your heart race with anticipation. 

Sylus didn't answer, as if he was trying to think of his own answer. Your mind thought back to the moments before you passed out. The fear. Your final thought being of him. And in the last second it was as if.. 

As if an angel appeared. 

As if a prayer was answered. 

Sylus must have noticed your eyes widened slightly at your thoughts. You body stiffening slightly as you looked at him. You moved to your knees, crawling over to him as if to examine him. He didn't flinch or speak. Your hands moved over his back softly. Even over his shirt it felt normal. And you've seen him shirtless enough times to know that he didn't have any outstanding scars on his back that would indicate.. 

“Are you looking for something, sweetie?” He finally said as you lifted his shirt to get a closer look. His voice was teasing and yet there was a slight edge to it. You didn't say anything as you pulled the shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless. Positioned behind him on the bed, sitting on your knees, you ran your hands over his back. Tracing where you thought you had seen the wings. Very faintly you heard Sylus take in a breath, the muscles of his back flexing. Your hands continued, beginning to trail down his spine. 

“You had wings.” You said finally, it was not a question. The tension in the room was thick enough that it was almost hard to breathe. A soft chuckle broke the long silence which didn't help.

“Kitten you were passed out by the time I found-” 

“No.” You said sternly. You weren't playing this game. Something came over you and you didn't know what. Suddenly moving from behind him, you used a hand to push him back onto the bed. In a second you were sitting on his chest looking down at him, frown on your face, eyes staring into his. The look of genuine surprise filled you with adrenaline. 

“We both know that I was awake. I know what I saw. And you had wings. Big. Black. Wings.” You said, each word enunciated. You seen a look that you never seen behind his eyes. Hesitation. It passed in a blink of an eye as he smirked, raising his eyebrows. Hands moved to your hips, fingers sinking into your skin. 

“Tell me, sweetie.” He said, his voice oozing with a condescending tone. “How exactly could I have wings? You just checked me. No wings, correct?” He said his voice confident and proud as ever. 

You looked down at him, hating the smug look on his face. You sounded insane but you knew what you had seen. Not only that, you didn't have a single scratch on you. You weren't even sore. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words. 

“You're an angel.” 

You didn't know what you expected but you really didn't expect the sound of him laughing. A deep guttural laugh. Your lips tightened into a thin line as you glared down at him. Was he mocking you? His eyes were filled with so much amusement. 

“I'm flattered, truly.” He said as he chuckled a few more times. “Humor me again kitten. Why would you think I'm an angel?” Sylus said, the laugh not reaching his eyes. Your body tensed. It felt like you said something you shouldn’t have. But you weren’t backing down. You weren’t going to let him gaslight you. Taking a deep breath you tried to not let your voice betray you. 

“First, you appeared when I called your name. Second, there isn’t a scratch on me even though I was dying. Third..” You trailed off not wavering your eyes from his. The tension was thick. Your third remark was only half a joke but you hoped it would help ease how tense everything was. “Third, you’re too pretty to be human.” You said with a half laugh but part of it truly resonated with you. It was said Lucifer was extremely handsome even after he became a fallen angel. Sylus’ eyebrow raised as he looked up at you as if processing your words. Just when you were about to think of something to say to break the silence he finally spoke. 

“I truly thought I was going to lose you.” He said softly. His expression changed as his hand moved to cup your cheek. Your breath caught softly. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t deny a single one of your words. “I never expected things to go this way, though when it comes to you, things are unpredictable.” He said sitting up, sliding you down to straddle his waist. “With how severe your injuries were, I didn’t think you would truly believe what you saw.” 

“So it’s true.” You whispered, your breath catching as you lifted a hand to caress his face. You trailed over his jaw, his cheek. “You’re an angel?” Your voice started to give away. You had dealt with the supernatural before. Wanderers, mermen, aliens, but angels? This was a new one. He leaned his cheek against your hand, his eyes soft as he chuckled, enjoying the look on your face. 

“Once I was. And now I am not. I suppose fallen angel is the correct term you would use.” He said, his thumb brushing the curve of your chin as his other hand held your waist. Tilting your head to look up at him, his voice dropped an octave, making you shiver. “Though the reason I've fallen… shall remain a secret for now.” He said as his forehead rested on yours, his breath grazing your lips. Your heart fluttered. He was so close. You couldn’t stop the temptation of closing the distance. 

The kiss was slow, tender. As if you had all of the time in the world. As you kissed him, the thumb on your chin moved to your cheek, holding you there as his lips embraced yours. Even as you kissed him though, one thought trailed through your mind. Painfully so. The memory of what you were sure was to be your final thought. Your biggest regret. Not telling Sylus that you loved him. 

You felt a rush of adrenaline rush through your body, your heart beginning to race as you broke the kiss, looking up at him. You tried to use words, your mouth opening but your brain wouldn’t cooperate. As he looked down at you, piercing red eyes staring down at you with a mix of curiosity and desire, you followed your instincts. You put your hand on his chest, gently tracing the defined muscles and skin that stretched across his body before you pushed him down onto his back. His eyes widened for a second, his hands moving to your hips as your lips found his again in a rougher, deeper kiss. 

Nails bit your sides as he gripped harder, your teeth pulling at his bottom lip before pushing your tongue into his mouth. One hand curled in his hair, pulling slightly as you made him lean his head back more so you could kiss him harder, deeper. Your hips circled against his quickly hardening cock. There weren’t many times you got to be on top like this, and you were going to take advantage of every second. You felt him groan against your lips as your hand kept a firm grip on his hair. Pulling away from this kiss, his bottom lip between your teeth as you did, you looked down at him. Panting slightly your voice dropped to a low whisper. 

“You are beautiful, aren’t you? My handsome angel.” You said as you leaned down to kiss the shell of his ear, teeth grazing the cartilage. “My own guardian angel.” You felt the shiver of his body under you, the hitch of breath. It clearly was a soft spot. One that you were going to prod and push until you couldn’t. Your lips moved down his neck, your hands trailing back over his chest as you gave a soft moan, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his body under yours. His muscles twitched as your hands caressed him, lips kissing down his neck. “You really do like when I praise you, don’t you?” You whispered against his neck. 

You felt his hands grip your hips tighter as a shiver ran down his spine. His breath caught as you circled your hips again. It was as if you could feel him start to lose his composure under your touch. His voice was strained as he finally spoke. 

“You don’t want to know what happens when you call me that.” Sylus said, his hands moving to your thighs, groaning as you moved your hips against him again. You chuckled softly against his neck, lips kissing down to his shoulder. Your hands moved down his sides, nails gently scratching along his skin. 

“Oh, and what’s that, my angel?” You purred, your body moving lower down his. Lips at his nipple as you looked up to meet his eyes that were looking down at you. Eyes that watched as your tongue flicked out against the nipple and how you smirked at his small gasp. “Relax. Let me reward my guardian angel for saving me.” You whispered against his skin. 

Your tongue flicked his nipple again, hands moving to peel off his pants. As they were discarded with a little of his help, you moved your hand to the bulge that was hard between his thighs. A low goan echoed in the room as you began to shift his boxers down next, freeing him. Gently, your hand wrapped around his cock, twitching softly in your hand. His head leaned back as he groaned again, hips thrusting against your hand. 

“Oh, you do like that, don’t you? All I’ve done is call you a pretty angel and you’re hard for me.” You said looking down at him. There has only been a handful of times that you’ve been able to see him blush like this. And each time sends adrenaline through your system like a shockwave. It was like a drug. Especially as you kept stroking his cock, thumb rubbing against the tip that was beginning to leak. 

“Of course I do, kitten.” He groaned, looking up as you sat on his thighs. His hand moved against the skin of your inner thigh, tracing the outline or your panties. “How could I not when you’re on me like this, using such pretty words?” His voice was a low timber that made your hand around his cock tighten just a little. His mouth opened in a low moan, hips buckling slightly. You grinned down at him, eyes hungry. He was putty in your hands. 

His moan distracted you from his hands moving your panties to the side. Suddenly you gasped as his fingers grazed past your lips. Wasting no time he moved a finger inside you making you gasp out a moan. He buckled into your hand as he added a second finger quickly after the first, You moved your hips against his hand, eyes half closing as his thumb pressed against your clit. 

Suddenly you moved your hand from his cock, lifting your hips away from his fingers. His eyebrows knitted as he was about to make a comment before he saw you begin to adjust yourself over him. You see a fire behind his eyes ignite. Lowering yourself onto him you cried out, you both moaning in unison at the feeling. Slowly you lowered yourself all the way until you were sitting on his lap. Circling your hips, his hands came to grab them. In a swift motion you felt yourself be lifted slightly as if you were weightless before being brought back down onto him. 

Your eyes widened as you cried out, gasping from the feeling. His hips met the movement, a low moan fell from his lips as he lifted you a few more times, hips fucking up into you. You laid your chest against his, kissing him through your moans. You loved that he could handle you like this. Like you weighed nothing. His kiss was deep, rough, hungry, matching the vigor of his movements. 

You felt a gust of wind around you, gasping you pulled back slightly, looking up at Sylus. Spread out under him on the bed were those wings. Dark as night, the feathers having a vague red undertone. His movements slowed slowly, his cock still deep inside you as you reached out to brush your hand against the feathers. He gasped softly, you felt his cock twitch inside you. And as you did it again, your back was suddenly against the bed, hands above your head as he looked down at you. The dim candle light of the room illuminates his silhouette like a painting. Wings embracing you on each side of the bed. Closing you off from the world. The only thing you could see was him and him alone. 

“It’s polite to ask before you touch, sweetie.” He said, breath heavy as he moved his free hand to reposition him against you again. Before you could say anything he thrusted back inside you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you felt the feathers brush against your skin. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the sight. His face flushed, body above yours as he fucked into you. Moaning and grunting with each thrust. You knew you wouldn’t last long but your orgasm rushed through you suddenly. Your eyes widened as you felt the coil in your stomach break, hips arching against him, his name on your lips. And then, not realizing it, another set of words followed. 

“I love you.” 

You gasped the words out in a heat of passion but you knew you genuinely believed them. But you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed that this is the first time you said it. Sylus’ thrusts slowed as he looked down at you. His eyes suddenly soft, almost curious as his hand let go of your wrists to cup your face. Your words did not go unnoticed. And you could see that they had an effect on him. 

“I know.” He said gently, his nose brushing against yours. “But it is nice to hear you finally say it.” He whispered, lips brushing against yours as he tilted your head to meet his eyes. “I love you too.” 

His hips moved slowly, deeply. You gasped as your hands moved to claw his back, brushing against the area where the wings met his skin. He groaned softly, gasping. You couldn't stop touching the area again, fingers brushing and trailing along the sensitive wings. He didn’t pin your hands above your head this time, though. He let you continue as you felt his thrusts get more and more desperate. His body tensed under your hands. 

Sylus closed his eyes, moaning as his mouth opened with the sound of your name on his lips. Hips stuttering as he released inside you. He rode it out, gasping as you continued to touch and tease this new sensitive part of his body. After a few moments his movements stopped as he rested his forehead against yours. His eyes opened, seeing yours looking up at him. 

You arched up, kissing him softly. Pulling away you smiled, a hand cupping his cheek. 

“I love you.”

[quitealotofsodapop]

Macaque, making his grand entrance wearing one of his best outfits just to flex: Now, what is all this rackets!?

The group turns to see a drop-dead gorgeous goth monkey with shouldering eyes, Wukong can feel his face heating up as he realizes that's his shirt. Luzgen realizes what his brother-in-law is doing and starts to grin. Baije is currently having a huge gay existential crisis because while he may be straight, he also has eyes!

Luzhen: Nothing of note, dear brother-in-law! Wukong's companions have come for a visit and to ask he return to the journey the Bodhisattva had task him with.

Macaque turns a regal eye over them as all of them except for Wukong, who is still shellshocked at the sight of his mate looking downright divine, have the sudden realization that Wukong didn't just have a brother. He has a husband, one who looks as though he would feed then to the lions at a moment notice: I see... well then I suppose I shall join in this conversation. Considering it involves the fate of my mate and king.

And then Macaque makes sure to kiss Wukong upon the cheek, causing the already blushing mess of a king to go into an overheated state as he stammers in a flustered manner, tail wrapping around Wukong's waist to pull him close.

Prev.

YES XD

Luzhen smiling deviously at Macaque's performance. If its one thing the two agree on, it's their sense of humor.

Wukong blushing and stuttering like a malfunctioning computer at how enchanting his mate is looking right now. This monkey has been in jail for 500 years, his brain is overheating. Only reason he aint doing something unholy rn is cus there's baby monkeys and a monk present.

The Stalwarts are smiling deviously in their own ways - you know they helped Macaque prepare for this introduction.

Each pilgrim has their own reaction.

Zhu Bajie's is the loudest. You can hear his jaw drop and the gears turning in his head as he realises "Thats a guy!?"

Tripitaka is Terrified. One cus attractive people scare him, and Two because Macaque really does look ready to toss the monk into the ocean for making Wukong sad.

Sha Wujing politely covers his eyes and says a cheery "Hello!" He does not wish to look disrespectfully.

Ao Lie doesn't even act surprised (horse or not). Brother Wukong spoke so highly of his mate that the dragon just assumed he'd be as drop-dead gorgeous in person. Lie does however giggle behind his sleeves at Wukong's love-struck expression.

As Macaque's kisses his mate's cheek and wraps his tail around him, Wukong can only reply with a sound akin to steam escape a kettle. And with the near-instinctual wrapping of his own tail around Macaque.

It all sends a very clear message to the Pilgrims that the bodyguard they took for granted has many very good reasons to drop his employment at any time if he so wished.

And that theres someone very willing to cut them all down if they ever take him for granted again.

[meruz]

i hope this hasn't been asked before. what size do you make your canvas? and do you crop it to fit other socials (like Instagram for example)? i hear that 300 dpi is standard. i never know if it's good to make my canvas big or not.

hi i think this ask is like at least 4 months old but i was scanning my sketchbooks from last year and i abruptly remembered i had gotten this ask because i had made a little chart in my sketchbook trying to figure out how to answer it

anyways theres pros and cons. and the size of your canvas is really going to depend on personal needs + preference. how good ur computer is, how complicated ur art style, how comfortable drawing feels, how much disk space you have to spare, what youre gonna end up using the art for in the end...300dpi is standard for PRINTING specifically, if you only plan to ever post things online then 72dpi works great and will save you space (fun fact a lot of professional animation files i deal with are 72dpi. and those eventually go on your tv screen). but personally i make everything i draw 300dpi because i am always printing stuff for cons, zines, etc and its nice to have the option even if i dont end up printing.

when I was a teen I used to draw on a rly shitty laptop and i made everything 800x800px 300dpi because big canvases would cause a lot of lag and also the resolution on this laptop was pretty small so 800px was a lot of the screen already. now i have a slightly better laptop with a bigger resolution and i sketch on giant 10000px-40000px canvases with the hard round brush and no shape dynamics or transfer whatsoever to minimize lag. when it comes to making a final illustration when i know ill be using a bunch of layer effects/blending modes/colors/mixing brushes etc etc ill generally crop the canvas down to the 6000px range. most illustrations i try to make sure are comfortably printable on tabloid size paper so thats pretty much anything hovering around or above 3000x5000px w 300dpi (so 11x17in). HOPE THIS HELPS?

EDIT: OH ALSO re: socials. i always ALWAYS size down my art to post on the internet. i think its crazy when other artists dont. because why would i ever let the internet have my hi-res file for free. also in general i think it looks better if you do the resizing yourself because if you don't then many social media sites will compress your file for you! a lot of people will post a hi-res file to twitter and then go "Wow twitter killed the quality of this img!!!" UH YEAH because they have an automatic image compressor. because they need to save space too lol and they dont want your image to take 248263895 years to load. same with instagram and to a lesser extent tumblr. when i post anything on social media i resize it down to 1200px-1600px on the longest side... its a little arbitrary but im kind of basing it on the smallest resolution of widely available screens. mostly because i think it looks stupid when u open up an image file fullsize and u have to scroll to see the whole thing... also iirc instagram only takes images up to 1080px before it resizes them? granted if you upload something smaller than that itll also resize it up which will look worse so I think bumping the numbers just over 1080px is pretty safe.

I should really be bringing the dpi down to 72 too when i post online but often im too lazy to do that. but it will technically help ur image load faster and stuff. and make it less likely for people to yoink it off the web and print it themselves.

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

contracts, clauses, and causes for action

It seems to me that the ball is entirely in the gods court. Like the only way for Ludinus to become compelling is if the gods leapfrog over the divine gate, rendering their word null and void.

Then there's a cause for action because the mortals will realize "hey, we have no way of keeping you honest, there's no consequence that we can enact when you fail to fulfill your oath". Like a contract is only binding if there's way to enforce it - when you pinky promise to take your kid to disneyland, is that a valid contract or just performative? because if you break a pinky promise, the only consequence is your kid loses faith in you - is that penalty enough?

and the thing is: the divine gate is proof that yeah, the gods do believe that's penalty enough. the one thing that downfall managed to reinforce (which granted we already knew but deeper context only further supports) is that the gods are capable of acknowledging their harm (however unintentional) done to mortals. And not only are they able to acknowledge it, they are able to correct themselves.

and so far, thats holding true. they are demonstrating their discipline and willingness to follow through even if the mortals remain powerless and hold no leverage against them, they can keep themselves beholden to their word because they are in fact Good.

so literally, the only way Ludinus can be proven somewhat compelling is if the gods decide to hop the divine gate. then we'll have some proof that their word is not that ironclad but even then its not to the level of "all gods must die". Thats more on the level of "all gods need to come to the table and renegotiate this contract so theres clauses to allow you exceptions". because absolute contracts tend to force people's hands anyways.

and the only implication that a god hopping the divine gate gives is to reintroduce the idea that the gods are not beholden to mortals in any way and there is no way to keep a god honest - that mortals will have to rely on a god's inherent Goodness to keep themselves honest. but again - what the fuck have the Prime Deities done in this world that has ever pointed in that direction truly? (and no, dont attest the workings of their mortal followers when the gods have banned themselves from interference).

the gods would have to break the contract twice - once to stop predathos, and a second time for less dire purposes - in order to really showcase that they arent trustworthy. thats a Fucking Lot to mess up. and again they dont seem willing to even break the divine gate for Ludinus so what is even the problem here?

the problem, narratively speaking, is that the current world is built by fairly Good gods who really havent done anything of significance to showcase tyranny. none of them is on the level of Marika, from Elden Ring, whose personal history has led to death and discrimination of innocent children - which she actively campaigned for and did to her own children. (No slander on Marika btw)

Matt has not made any of the Prime Deities bad and sure, the Betrayers are bad and sure, maybe the mortals would prefer to have them entirely eliminated. but like mortals live under so many threats with less protections against than they currently do against the Betrayers. That deprioritizes them from the level of "eliminate at all costs". There's nothing dire or urgent that hasnt been manufactured by the Big Bad himself.

the gods are traumatized yes. theyre stuck in a toxic family situation yes. but none of that toxicity has affected their desire to protect mortals. and the only time a mortal became worthy of destruction by divine hand was when those mortals nearly unleashed oblivion? like come on man.

the gods are in their lane and the mortals are thriving and ludinus needs fucking therapy plus a better hobby.

[starfieldcanvas]

hi not an expert but i thought i’d say something about the sysmed thing you posted

systems are formed by trauma at a young age causing a child’s personality to not form into one singular personality and instead split into multiple.

but theres also some people who “create” their system because they wanted to be a system, which just really isn’t possible. (or also “will” their system into being)

but i know most systems problems with the people who “create” their system (endogenic or willogenic) is the massive spreading of misinformation

i know people with did or osdd who when first realizing they were a system, and even still now, are told by endos that their trauma “isn’t enough” and that they’re endogenic too which also hurts people just discovering their a system thinking their endogenic because their trauma wasn’t enough or they don’t remember their trauma (which is a big part of did & osdd anyway, systems are typically formed to help the person deal with (by not dealing with) their trauma) and then people aren’t able to get the help they need

so, to someone pretty thoroughly outside the discourse, this largely reads like you've just got two different groups of people with similar conditions, and some people within each of those groups loudly assert that the other group cannot possibly be having the experience that group claims to be having. some traumagenic systems insist endogenic systems are "not really possible" and some endogenic systems think traumagenic systems "aren't really traumagenic" instead of both groups just taking for granted that obviously multiple kinds of experience can coexist without either invalidating the other.

it sounds strikingly similar to transmed discourse, so I understand why the "-med" language got borrowed.

about a dozen years ago I was up to date on the DID wiki page and was therefore fairly confident that so-called "multiple personalities" were all (I had to look this term up just now) iatrogenic, that is, caused by psychiatric leading. So when I came around to accepting that systems did seem to exist even in people who had never been to therapy, I assumed we were all lifting a middle finger to psychiatry's attempt to dismiss the system phenomenon. It's rather odd to learn that now there's a contingent insisting that they have psychiatric legitimacy but their endogenic "cousins" do not. like... y'all trust psychiatry to know what does and does not exist? when they largely didn't think traumagenic systems existed until very recently, and many within the institution still think it's 100% iatrogenic?

(i double checked with my local psychology graduate and indeed he was taught in school a decade ago that DID was a fringe diagnosis that did not really exist in modern practice.)

it's really just like transmeds then, isn't it? traumagenic systems have only barely gained a little bit of respect within the system and are still widely disbelieved, but instead of taking that as a sign that maybe psychiatry has only a very limited understanding of this phenomenon, some have decided to throw their endogenic cousins under the bus in a feeble, futile attempt to legitimize themselves.

whether or not endogenic systems really do "exist" in a meaningful way, i find the insistent rejection of them by people who are also frequently disbelieved by the institution to be shockingly shortsighted.

the primary objection to the possibility that endogenic systems exist cannot really be "some of them are assholes who spread misinformation". as that has literally nothing to do with whether or not they exist.

(and I feel obligated to ask if the "misinformation" in question is more often than not just "it's possible to be an endogenic system." because aphobes used to claim the statement "it's possible to be asexual as a minor" was grooming. so I don't take those kinds of accusations at face value anymore.)

or is it really just "the field of psychiatry has not agreed this experience is possible yet, so I am obligated to argue with anyone who reports their lived experience as counterevidence"? because as I have said, that just sounds like every past failure of the psychiatric imagination. advances in psychiatric research are very valuable, but if you're not familiar with the ways in which psychiatry as an institution tends to fall short of capturing reality, then you can't be trusted to wield its evidence in a responsible way.

are there contingents among the endogenic and traumagenic folks who simply believe in describing their own experience in appropriately limited terms, rather than aggressively insisting their experiences are universal for all systems???

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Spoilers for Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

I haven't actually finished the game but I was thinking, what if Zelda never returns to being a hylian and just remains a dragon forever? Who would be the next in line for the throne?

That's right.

Link. Why?

1. Link is from a long family of knights and one of the only known and confirmed nobles in the game

2. Link is one of the only people in Hyrule to know many classified secrets of the royal family (especially if he regains all his memories from his time as Zeldas personal guard and whatnot)

3. Link has saved and aided all of the different tribes on multiple occasions and united them under him.

4. He has personal friendly relationships with all the tribes leaders aka the chiefs and Zora king

5. Link is pretty good as descalating conflicts and finding middle grounds

6. Link is cononically just as compassionate and lovable as Zelda is and would be beloved as Prince

Theres more but I think you got the picture. Just imagine Prince Link, uncomfortable about this turn of events but willing to do what is best for his people.

So I propose a plot for the new DLC: Of course theres a new Big Bad (maybe a sorcerer like Vaati or something) who makes themselves a castle of thier own in the Depths and is trying to take over hyrule but in a different way than we've seen before. Sure they still create monster and cause havoc but they also do political stuff like scandal and slander

Link gathering alliances with the people of the different tribes and trying to clear his name after he's been framed for crimes he did not commit maybe? He, that doesn't really fit the vibe with what I'm going for, but what if the new Big Bad tried to make the people of Hyrule like him more and use thier love of him as a way into power?

Maybe disasters keep happening and the new guys servents/knights keeps saving the day but things keep getting worse and worse. Maybe there could be a new game mechanic where there's a ward or talisman that stops dark magic/ evil entities from entering the city and most of the disasters in that area stopping entirely and when the servent/knight tries to enter the city they hit a magic barrier and it sounds like a mosquitoe getting zapped by a bug zapper and they scream, revealing themselves to be a monster who had been the one causing all the disasters in the first place. The civilians freak out and the monster flees.

Link and the sage of that area believed in Link the whole time/was suspicious of the servant/knight follows the monster with Link and they find a maze like nest the monster has created

Cue dungeon

Cue boss battle

Rinse and repeat for all the sages people (maybe there are some previously unknown Zonai survivors that Minaru is awed and excited to find and she takes them in idk) maybe they were lost in time or something. Maybe thats where the big bad came from and the the Zonai children interrupted the Big Bads spell and thay wound up in the distant future, the children later running away in confusion and terror. So new tribe and dungeon? Just a thought

DLC features:

1. MASSIVE main quest to renovate the castle where you get to redecorate it however you want. Like you get to choose the furniture and decorations and have things restored to thier former glory. Granted you have to pay for repairs out of your own pocket (taxes can only go so far and thats going towards rebuilding the towns and stuff) and you get to put up your own pictures to replace those torn apart portraits and stuff you see around the castle in BOTW and TOTK. You can put up pictures of Hyrules former royals, the champions, the sages, ect. Or you can go the painting route where someone paints the photos you have on your Purah Pad like in your house in Terry Town. I would buy the DLC just for this to be honest

As you renovate the castle and dig out all the collaped pathways you get new memories of Links time as a soldier and get to see his family as well as memories with Zelda

I would throw so much money at Nintendo just to be able to renovate the castle to my liking. Like, so much you have no idea

2. Link getting a freaking crown and royal armor sets. One for prince and another after he's corinated as king near the end of the game

Armor sets based off of the new and old boss monsters

Armor sets based off of the mini-boss monsters including Gloom Hands (this one looks horrifying btw) and you get some kinda boost from each that represents that specific monster like a Hinox set giving you a food affect boost and Gloom Hands set boosts the power of the Phantom Ganon drops

Maybe a sage set that boosts the powers of the sages a bit

Forest dweller set that increases the durability of wooden weapons

3. Rebuilding the town ruins and creating homes for people all over hyrule like the Deya village ruins and Tabantha ruins and you can do it Lurelin Village style (I loved that side quest it was actually pretty fun)

Anyway, this is me officially releasing this idea to Nintendo it they want it so long as they credit me for the ideas they use from me. They don't even have to pay me (but hiring me would be nice)

Here's a poll to maybe help convince them this is a good idea

@nintendo :)

[the-s1lly-corner]

Uhh i request you

<-forgot everything about creepypasta after stopping reading fanfics

Uhhhhhhh

Um

...slenderman uhhhhm meeting reader who is the same.. species? Found family????? Reader being chipper and welcoming?? Artistic and calming?? Basically um. I dunno. They also live in the woods and collect poor souls, helping them cope and detach from this world??????

I am.. stoopid.

Slenderman x slender-person!artistic!reader ! (found family)

dusts out my slenderman hcs as well as my au ideas on him aheehee ahoo speed running this since i just put my first round of macarons into the oven and im too impatient to wait until theyre done baking for me to write this NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

okay but im getting this idea out of the way before i forget. imagine the reader, instead of doing paintings and stuff for the "artist" thing they make little structures and statues and stuff and have them around in your area. of course theyre all made with forest material; mud, sticks, pinecones, ect ect i dont know, i just love the nature aesthetic with this idea and rrrraaaaaAAAAH

for some reason or another, you make your home in the same woods THE slenderman lives in; or perhaps it was the otherway around? regardless, it doesnt take long for you to become aware of one another....

okay but how funny would it be if you guys bonded over your annoyances over people collecting your stuff. people taking his pages, and people taking your art projects (at least the ones that are portable). like!

though i cannot think of any lore reasons for slendermans pages in my au.... i will one day i promise, i feel like thats too much of an iconic thing to just cut out

it DOES take a long while for slenderman to get used to you, much less foster a friendship with you... but a family bond? i mean yeah sure, hes very reclusive... but thats not just with humans. he doesnt like interacting with other creatures, either

pats your shoulder

my moot

my dear moot, allow me to go on a tangent about my take on slenderman

basic summary is that he and all other demon/most nonhuman creepypasta characters were made by zalgo in my funky au; basically to bring disorder and that kind of shit. but like in a "this is just a part of this universe's nature" way. thus making slenderman himself in my take the be a simple fact of life... thinks.. and he resents his own existence, i think. i mean how cruel is it that he was made to cause issues, in fact he cant live without it (eats people) but he was granted the ability to be able to grasp the complexity of morals and emotion. like thats fucked

i love it

anyways, theres that and him just naturally being reclusive! hell even his supposed "brothers" (splendor and trender, i refuse to touch the third one) hes still.. distant

basically what i mean to say is that you guys probably arent going to be.. outwardly close... if that makes sense. like hes not going to be very affectionate; so dont expect many familial... things... and its not often that he would seek conversation out... though

as i write that, if i recall correctly i did give him the vague craving of connection, and while i usually save that for traditional x reader stuff, i think this would still apply to found family stuff! so actually, i think he WOULD eventually start seeking your company out, just for the fact of having someone else to talk to who doesnt resent his existence the same way he resents his own

sits

given my silly hc i do think he would have some understanding with your relationship with humans/lost souls. would he do it himself? i think it really depends on the situation... like if hes not actively hunting he usually just drives people out of the woods, no sense in wasting.... things... you know?

sits

im all jumbled all over the place my apolocheese im just excited to write for slenderman again

will get annoyed if you snatch away his "meal" since AGAIN, he was cursed to feed on people . like he understands why you did it, and he has mixed feelings around eating human (like not in a "im distressed and i hate it" way more so "its not totally desirable but i cant survive without doing this" way)

sits

i think

im gonna toy around with my slenderman hcs... this ended up being more of a hc dump than a x reader, my apologies

its also that as im typing this i realize how similar my takes on eyeless jack and slenderman are... which is funny because they live in the same woods in my au but they fucking HATE each other

territorial stuff you know

[lightwing-s]

the idea of food vlogger is because i want to dote jason with delicious food... and i feel like he and both reader would enjoyed being cared for, also, it would warm the batfam knowing theres someone to care for jason when he still hesitate to totally allow himself to be part of the family and let them care for him🥹🥹

for reader's part, there is someone who will appreciate them instead of taking them for goods. my idea for readers backstory is that she dont feel fitted in her high class family, like she has a sister and a younger brother who succeeds in many while she just... you know. cooking and baking and alcohol at first serve as a distraction, then it becomes other taking her love language for granted, then it became a fight, a big break away from home for college as well, a content maker for while of escapism, a job, somewhere in between...

i think how reader meets jason is when she notices her new neighbor seldom out always hiding (past!arkham knight -> red hood) and never seems to eat. and she always make lot of food as she tends to let herself follow the flows even though she cant possibly eat up. so. she left it on jasons doorstep and a note by saying a brief hello. jason at first of course was skeptical but still eat it since hes highly tolerant to drugs and who would honestly left food that is wrapped nicely in a lunchbox at someone's doorstep lol. aftet times, he would find out reader bank account and bank in a few hundred dollars and wouldn't take no for answer. (he did not include fancy dinnerware or cutlery set as well) reader... well, didn't expect it but she did need money and it also mean she can use the set to make more food for her strangely nice, grumpy neighbor.

jason and reader after sometimes both want to know more on each other. but didn't do so as afraid to freak each other. it just happen in a point when jason about to head out (buying gifts for reader) and he saw reader putting a batch of freshy baked cookies and milk on his doorstep. and... his first word is... "really? cookies and milk? what are you, a santa?" reader blink eyes, "um. no. just in mood for it... do you still want it?" jason faceplams, "about that, come in first..."

and that's how they meet! this is what i had in mind though, i would die to know how you think they would meet!! (write this i beg you honor🫂🫂!!) (seriously gonna stop myself being so talkative on askbox lol😹)

You had just moved from your hometown, family and life in general just not feeling right to stick around any longer. A new city, a new place, a new job, a fresh start. That was all you needed and things had been going… fine. Just a tidy bit lonely. 

You’d often find yourself sitting by your window and watching people roam around in your street and at the small park just in front of your building. That’s when you first noticed your quiet and quite strange neighbor, making their way in very early in the morning and looking like someone who had just put on an all nighter. And then, you started a ritual of watching him arrive every morning before going to work, and leave just as you’d return.

Mrs. Dawson from downstairs would tell you how she’d never see him bring anyone or anything around, even food. So, you decided to be a kind neighbor and just, you know, feed him. He lived on your floor, and you could just wait to hand it to him once he came home. But weirdly, that day he didn’t show up at his usual time and just decided that the next best option was to leave it at his door. So, you looked at the metal lunch box sitting on his door mat and just felt… odd.

So, you hurried up inside your apartment and got a pen and a post-it block with the intention of writing him a note. You just didn’t count on not knowing what to write at all, ending up with a ‘hi’ and an awkwardly drawn smiley face.

You did it for a few days, unsure if he was even the one taking the lunch boxes away, but finding them emptied out by your door every night. One day, he sneaked in a one hundred dollar bill that you kindly slipped under his door. But then, you’d wake up to the same bill thrown under your door, and the same thing would happen every time you tried to sneak it under his. You didn’t need his money. You weren’t doing it for that anyway.

You just liked it, and even prepared a full meal plan for him with every tiny bit of information you managed to get from his life, which really wasn’t much. You used it as content for your channel, and people would wonder who the hell you made that food for, as you couldn’t just eat it all by yourself. They swore you must have had a boyfriend.

It was sunday, and it was raining heavily and you were out of ideas of what to make that day (and out of food in your pantry as you didn’t have the time to go to the supermarket recently), so you decided to bake your comfort food: cookies. After a few batches were done, you put them in a box with a ribbon on top, and even got some warm milk in a glass bottle to go along, and headed to his front door. 

You were just putting it there, making sure to position it nicely, when a grave voice nearly made your heart jump out his chest.

“Really? Cookies and milk? It’s not even Christmas yet.” You turned to find your neighbor, the one you’d been feeding for the past month and who you hadn’t noticed looked this hot, standing right in front of you, jacket hood over his head, and said jacket dripping water on the wooden floor. You didn’t know how to or what to reply, and just stood there for a while until you noticed his eyebrow go up.

“Uhm… no? I was just in the mood for it, and it was kind of the only ingredients I had at home… Do you still want it?” you asked, unsure of what to expect next.

Jason, on the other hand, mentally slapped himself for sounding so rude to you, especially after your cooking had been the only decent source of food he’d been getting in a while. Instant ramen and fast food orders were just not it. “No! Of course I want them.” he hurried to get the cookie box, immediately opening it and stuffing a cookie in his mouth. It was delicious as usual, and he even rolled his eyes as the taste filled his tongue. “Sorry for my lack of manners,” he said, mouth still stuffed. “Your food has been the highlight of my days these past few weeks.” 

Upon his words, you felt the heat burning up your cheeks and instinctively looked at your feet. “I wished I could’ve made a real meal, I was just out of ingredients and…”

“It’s perfect!” he interrupted you, thinking that whatever you were going to say would be plain stupid. Anything you made him was enough, and he was so thankful for your meals he couldn’t even put them into words. “But if you want to make something else, for the both of us, I have a few things inside I think you could work up a meal.” he said with uncertainty, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

Recounting everything you still had at home, you gave him a shy smile, still not certain where to look, but managing to get a glimpse of his own shy smile and puppy eyes. “I’m sure I could figure something out.” You said, and entered his apartment as he held the door open for you. The two of you cooking together your first meal of many more to come.

.

a/n: don't you ever stop being talkative in my inbox, missy! I loved this. I love just creating backstories for my characters and usually not writing the story lmao, so i feel you (i’ve been obsessing with ghost riley from cod and i just had to make my own oc recently lol). and now i'm heading to bed because it's 2 am and i have to wake up at 6am. but writing again made me feel so great tonight, thank you to you all and hopefully i'll see you soon.

[transmutationisms]

sorry could you explain your chatgpt essay thing again? i get the general gist of it (who cares if they cheat) but i still cant grasp it entirely as someone who hasnt experienced the college system 💔 i had thought that essays were a foundational part of undergrad education? and so cheating on that part would essentially mean that: a) their education/understanding is "invalid" b) it discredits the work of other people in the same system/their classmates c) their future publications/written work in academia are going to be of worse quality d) in cases of people going to non academia jobs, like being a doctor or a lawyer, this would negatively impact their clients e) they have bad work ethic = will not survive job industry

my guesses are that just in general theres no direct correlation between these things but ppl assume there will be? and that if a plagiarized essay ruins everything then the system wasnt rlly that good?

the only one im rlly unsure of is the second one, but i suppose thats always been a problem with any type of academic cheating amongst peers, and will persist unless academic rankings/validation of excellence/general attitudes toward "success" r also banished. still, while i rlly dont care abt anyone i know cheating on stuff like this lol, i cant help but empathize w students struggling under that same system feeling frustrated. tho Man seeing the lack of empathy they, in turn, can have with chatgpt users. idk, is it just a lose lose situation until you get through the system?

ok sorry again and also thanks

hi, no worries. let me try to break down my position here.

i had thought that essays were a foundational part of undergrad education

i mean, this varies widely by course / degree / department. but, even when it's true, it doesn't mean that the essay is inherently a valuable or helpful exercise. undergrad essays tend to ask for one of a few very formulaic responses and ways of structuring an argument. essays also often have a specific prompt, which can be better or worse in terms of its potential to generate engagement with the course / material. often professors who are getting a lot of chatgpt essays turned in are designing essays poorly (ie, asking for the types of formulaic responses that students find unengaging and unhelpful for their own academic development), and / or failing to provide instruction and support in how to actually write an essay.

on a more fundamental level, we often take for granted that essays are and should be foundational to an undergrad education, but i simply don't think this is self-evident or always true! what are we training students to do, and why? there are certainly jobs, career paths, and academic research areas in which essay-writing is an important skill. there are others in which it's not. the assumption that all undergrads need to demonstrate the same sorts of writing skills says more about the university and what pedagogues value than it does about those students' actual chances for future career success / financial stability. if we're designing assignments that, for many students, are mere hoops to jump through, then we shouldn't be surprised that many of them find ways to make the hoop-jumping faster and easier.

so cheating on that part would essentially mean that: a) their education/understanding is "invalid"

again, what i'm trying to get at here is larger questions about what we value in education, and why. it's true that if you don't practice writing the type of essay the academy demands of you, you won't learn that skill. but, why do we assume that skill is useful, valuable, or necessary in the first place? how many people actually need to write that way outside of undergrad classrooms? even for those who are intending to pursue a career in academia, the writing taught in undergrad should be, at best, a stepping-stone on the path to more effective and interesting means of written communication. once again, if the skill being mandated by the university is not useful for students, it should not be surprising that many of them resent having to demonstrate it, and turn to tools like chatgpt instead.

b) it discredits the work of other people in the same system/their classmates

this is an argument that many educators make, and i wholeheartedly disagree with it! first of all, i simply do not believe that student a's academic performance is relevant to the assessment of student b's. if a professor is grading that way, that's terrible grading and a terrible pedagogical philosophy. if a student has learned something from their coursework, that shouldn't be undercut or devalued by anything that their classmates have or haven't done.

what this type of argument points to on a deeper level is the fact that university degrees have acquired a sort of double meaning. although the university likes to propagate high-minded rhetoric about the intrinsic value of education, the degree granted is a class barrier that serves to allow certain people access to certain (usually promised to be higher-paying) jobs, and bar others from these jobs. this is a large part of what i'm talking about when i say that the university serves to perpetuate and enforce class stratification. and their narrative about degrees being markers of individual merit and achievement is undercut by the fact that they also plainly fear losing prestige status by granting degrees to those students considered 'unworthy'. if you can make it through an undergrad education without learning the skills the university purports to teach, that's a pretty massive indictment of the university—which, remember, is collecting a lot of tuition money for these degrees.

c) their future publications/written work in academia are going to be of worse quality

lots of assumptions baked in here—that undergrad essay-writing teaches 'good' (effective / clear) writing; that many academics don't already write poorly by these metrics; that aspiring academics have no other way of learning written communication skills (eg, outside of the academy, or in grad school).

d) in cases of people going to non academia jobs, like being a doctor or a lawyer, this would negatively impact their clients

firstly, i would again point out that in many non-academic jobs, academic writing is simply not a necessary skill; secondly, in both of the examples you cite here, these are people who need to go through a lot more schooling and training after undergrad, where they pick up what written communication skills they actually do need (eg, legal writing looks nothing like standard undergrad essay-writing anyway); thirdly, MANY people getting an undergraduate degree are intending to pursue jobs for which they need neither undergrad essay-writing skills, nor further higher education—there are so many reasons a person might want / need a college degree, and so many careers in which this specific academic skillset is simply not relevant for them.

e) they have bad work ethic = will not survive job industry

again, i think this is making some pretty big unstated assumptions! in general i don't really think that 'work ethic' (or the related 'laziness') is a useful way to try to evaluate people's behaviour, and this is a good example of one way in which it fails. if, like i said, we are dealing with a system in which people are told they need to receive a degree in order to have access to jobs they want and financial stability they need; and in which many of them are being forced to demonstrate a specific writing skill they may never need again and may have no interest in; and in which they are often not even receiving adequate training and help to learn and demonstrate that skill, even if they do want to; and in which they may be working other jobs, caring for family members, dealing with disabilities the institution does not provide support for, or any number of other life circumstances that make schoolwork difficult at best to complete; and in which a tool exists that may be able to help them complete some of this work freely and quickly... like, i simply do not fault students for using that tool!

there are so many points of failure in this system long before we get to this moment: the increasing pressure to get a college degree in the first place; the poorly designed curricula that prioritise skills considered 'standard' (for whom? why?) over skills that students actually need or want to acquire; professors who don't actually teach students how to write, yet expect them to turn in essay assignments anyway; specific essay assignments that are uninteresting and / or unhelpful to students; lack of support for students who are struggling with their workload or assignments in any number of ways (and no, 'come to office hours' is not adequate support for so many students and situations).

i simply do not care about people 'cheating' a system that is so fundamentally broken and unjust. it doesn't matter. the ability to write an undergrad essay is such an incredibly trivial and specific skill, and one that most people simply do not need. it doesn't make a person generally 'smarter' (fake concept) and certainly does not make them any more competent at the vast majority of jobs, careers, or general life skills. even for those very few who do need to know this specific thing, i reject the assumption that the university is the only way to learn it, or even a particularly effective way. once again, if chatgpt is successfully completing assignments, maybe those assignments weren't very good in the first place! and even the theoretical amazing professor is simply not able to counter all of the structural issues and inequities in the university system that produce students' desire to turn to tools like chatgpt in the first place. the textbot itself is simply not the issue here.

[suffarustuffaru]

What are your least favorite ships? Not counting Subaru x one of the minors (i sadly have seen some around)

whew...... least favorite ships..... now thats a bold question HAH and i may have some. ah. Bold answers hah.

im generally pretty open to most ships, its just a matter of like. either i already liked the ship / was really into the ship or im more neutral about it and you just gotta convince me why i should at least give it a shot or be like "this could be good in certain circumstances". i dont usually care if a ship is toxic or "problematic" per say bc 1. this is rezero and sooo so many ships in this show arent 100% healthy lbr and 2. i will like a ship if its like. complex, and if theres problematic stuff, then its done for a reason - like it's not just there willy nilly. but thats just my personal feelings on it yep!! :o fiction is different from real life and all that.

more under the cut!!

that being said like. you know, kinda like you said - the obvious answers would be like subaru x any minors and just any sort of incest ships bc like. i do not see the point of it. that and you know, like a lot of people, i tend to avoid these sorts of ships with 99.999% of fandoms im in. i aint here for incest or shipping adults with minors. and i know theres like fandoms like game of thrones where this sort of thing IS relevant in the story, but with rezero - like it just is not relevant here and adds nothing unless youre into that. i do get that fictional stuff is different from real life and its not necessarily an indication of someone's character. i also definitely know this bc ive cowritten a gluttony if selfcest fic for this fandom as a very extreme crack treated seriously story hahh. but yeah like. ships between family and adult x minor are Not For Me in this fandom. i dont feel like it adds anything to the story and its also like Really out of character.

granted, i cant really say much on that bc ive written and posted selfcest for this fandom but like. in my defense, i did way too much research for that fic (..............i researched a lot of psychology stuff) and also gluttonybaru is Canonically Not Normal about subaru. the more you think about gluttonybaru the worse he gets HAH. like. dude has canonically kissed subaru via emilia's book of the dead....................

but obviously ofc i do not condone any of this ^^^^ in real life.

anyway on a lighter note!! im not a huge fan of most ships between subaru and *insert a female side character here*. like im not a big fan of like. subaru x anastasia, subaru x priscilla, subaru x elsa, subaru x yorna, subaru x pandora, like... the list can get kinda long bc people in this fandom in certain english spaces like to ship him with like any girl ever, it feels like sometimes. it gets to the point where sometimes i feel like subaru is just the self-insert to be shipped with women that people have the hots for.

like with most content about these sorts of ships, its hard for me to see much point to it - and there IS potential there. there is almost always potential in so many different tropes and ships, and theres some cool fanart in this fandom with these ships!! but you know, i hear about people suggesting ideas with these ships or writing fic about these ships and its just not my cup of tea bc it really sacrifices the characterization of all these women. and elsa is like already sexualized enough okay and its almost never nuanced and taking into account her backstory :( like i could be convinced to ship these ships with like idk 20k to 200k words of relationship and character development, but as it stands i personally really dont like them hah ;-;;; and also priscilla is clearly more into women okay (she canonically talks about how men are only allowed to fantasize about her and nothing more or she'll cut off their heads!!) and anastasia seems more into like julius and priscilla so like. HAH.

subaru x crusch is not something im a big fan of but im pretty open to it hah, i just havent seen much fancontent about them that really piques my interest :,)

anyway i also just. dont like the idea of taking a gay subaru ship and genderbending only one of them due to homophobia. and ill emphasize and underline that last part - due to homophobia - bc ive seen really good genderbend subaru content in this fandom where subarus afab and shipped with like julius or reinhard or something and there was clear effort and passion put into it!! and i do think its interesting thinking about how genderbend aus would affect this sort of thing for sure <3 i really really enjoy seeing the well made genderbend aus in this fandom!!

but i see other people suggesting fic ideas or making fics sometimes where its like fem subaru x male side character or like now-fem side character x subaru but it like its only clearly done bc some people just cant ship a gay ship, they gotta make it straight and then not put effort into thinking how this would change more things. and the female character in the duo now is Especially terribly out of character :(( the homophobia is just so so irritating to me. i go on the fic reddit thread sometimes and i see stuff like. i think once i saw a thread about someone requesting ottosuba and someone else immediately went "oh, with femotto right!!" like. ...... please. they are a gay ship :,,,))))))) let them be gay Sometimes at least!! maybe we can genderbend both of them sometimes??? :,)))

also on a less serious note HAH ok like..... ok hear me out, dont kill me for saying this either, but - fredotto. frederica and otto. and - ok dont get me wrong, i think theyd be really really interesting for multiple reasons, right. and ive seen some cute fancontent on them that i liked a lot!! so i really do think they have lots of potential!! like theres the obvious "otto had a crush on a cat as a child and frederica's a cat demihuman", then theres the other obvious fact of otto and frederica being connected via garfiel being their brother/brother figure, and also like personality/temperament wise they could bounce off of each other in interesting ways but like.

the thing with fredotto is that i feel like in english fandom its treated as the "more likely" otto ship to happen, at times. which is Absurd to me after studying otto's lore way too hard bc not only is this dude just way too obsessed with subaru (like regardless of whether you view it as platonic or romantic or not, ottos like Down Bad either way LMAO i just dont see him having eyes for anyone else at this rate)... but also otto OPENLY ADMITS that he'd be bad in a relationship with a woman. like im really sorry but frederica would probably be Too Good for him. and he would Know That.

otto………. can you specify what “the most important thing” is. like do you mean ONLY your career or—

anyway so its like. you want me to believe that otto "i could never be in a relationship with a woman as i am now" suwen. could date a woman????? right now???? i dont think so LMAOO. like i would feel BAD shipping a woman with otto bc barely anyone deserves otto, ok. idk you might be going "suffaru arent you kinda mean to otto" but like being an otto fan also means being his biggest hater and dude is just super super cringe. and even if he had a crush, the chances of him voicing it is Probably Low.

like ships like fredotto, again, need like idk maybe like a few thousand words of development At Least on both ends, bc frederica?? we barely know anything about her at the moment, so its Really hard to approach a ship like this in an in-depth manner right now. like id love to explore fredotto!! id love to learn more about frederica!! id love to go crazy with this ship!! but yeah its definitely kinda hard bc we barely know anything on frederica :< :( and yeah once again. i think shes too good for otto. i think almost every woman is too good for otto. if youre shipping a woman especially with otto you gotta jump through hoops to Really convince me on this HAH. bc i think shipping him with men is just gonna lead to two different possibilities (codependency. and/or otto trying to femme fatale his way through life 👍)

yeah anyway jokes aside. fredotto at worst feels like just a case of pairing the spares and like Clearly they must only be in a straight ship or something HAH.... like i would love to read/write extensive relationship development on them though ;-;;; they got good potential, youd just have to put in the work for me to Believe that they could happen ;-;;;; but most fredotto english fic content atm is just them already being a Thing in the background like ;-;;; this would Not Happen from either of them without development!!!

also i have some fredotto tumblr posts floating around with what i Think would be fun to do with their dynamic…. idk where they are rn hah but yep i think they got potential :,) !!

anyway HAH i hope you did not mind reading about my least favorite ships in this fandom bc this is everything thats coming to my mind now 👍

[star-on-a-beach]

Okay um. I really don't like doing this, like, ever

But

Tw for vent post, Bc idk, maybe it'll help if I talk about this where it'll be seen and not on a vent blog where I know no one sees it

So it's pretty obvious that pretty much everything right now is in kind of a shit state and I'm really at the end of my line trying to be optimistic about it. Presidential election, rp, guard, college, art, writing, all of this shit, even stuff I'm supposed to enjoy, makes me want to fucking shatter a rock because I don't want to do anything anymore other than scroll through social media on my phone which, I've probably developed an addiction, and of course that makes me feel even fucking worse bc I told myself I'd never get addicted and look at where I am now

So many things I'm unhappy with are really kind of tying back to me and I'm so angry at everything but especially myself now, but theres nothing I feel like I can do about it but try and break it all down I guess?

There's shit going on with color guard and, other than the friends I've made within it and the actual performances, I don't fucking enjoy it anymore because our coach is apparently super fucking shitty and a liar and unfair and argumentative and never sticks with the drill she writes and doesn't give us the resources to put it together correctly, WHEHN SHES LITERALLY OUR COACH AND THATS HER JOB, IVE TRIED SO HARD TO STAY KIND TO HER BUT WITH EVERYONE AROUND ME TALKING SHIT AND TALKING ABOUT WHAT A BAD PERSON SHE IS IM STARTING TO DO IT TOO AND I HATE IT

And then obviously there's the actual schoolwork that needs to get done, I thought I had not one, not two, but 3 FUCKING ESSAYS DUE ON THE 11TH, WHICH WERE ASSIGNED TO US ON WEDNESDAY, AND EACH HAD TO BE 700 WORDS LONG. Granted it doesn't actually have to be like that but teachers are talking about finals now and I'm going to have SO many essays for that and I have a whole debate too. I'm tired and sick of waking up at ridiculously different times for classes and not being able to have a goddamn nap bc I'm either working, procrastinating with the screens addiction again, or I don't have enough time because god knows I can't take power naps for SHIT, and I'm not fucking paying for coffee in this economy

I can't even relax how I normally want to because I'm so tired from everything, too. Writing big things for TAOCC or drawing feels like a chore, and then I feel obligated to draw others characters or I want to actually do so but I have no energy for it, and I can't get my art to look how I want it to perspective-wise, no matter how many tutorials I look at, and it never ends up the way I want and I haven't even finished TAOCCTOBER or Memoryquest, both of which I feel shitty for, because then they're both more things that I'm giving up on, and I give up on so much shit so easily unless I'm being pushed over and over and over and over, although rn I really wanna just say to hell with it and kill both of them entirely

And with taocc as a whole, I don't even know where to begin. I mentioned in my earlier post that I'm struggling to be assertive and actually say what I want with RP, which results in me feeling really unsatisfied with it a lot. I feel like people aren't interested in my characters and I need to be the one trying to build the characters' connections by asking questions, which. I love when other characters ask mine questions, because so much would be revealed if PEOPLE JUST ASKED. I know you guys don't mean it in this way but I feel like I'm trying to push all of this out, but I barely get anything back except for maybe one question or comment or smth, but it feels like the characters aren't interested in my characters' pasts, and that means the mods aren't either. Which, is really no fault of yours, whether you are or not, it's my fault because I can't bring myself to get off my high horse and actually say "hey, are you willing to have your characters ask about mine?" because I have the firm mentality of "if they wanted to, they would", and I'm trying to make other characters feel important while also craving mine to feel important, but the moment they do, I wonder if I'm taking the main-character roles too much and I need to even it out so I immediately divert the attention back to yours and feel shitty about it. Once again, this is no one's fault but mine, and this is partially why my relationship with my last rp partner, aka my ex bsf, ended, because I wasn't assertive enough and kept wondering if I was hogging the spotlight any time focus did switch to my characters which just isn't enjoyable for anyone. So I'm angry and terrified that these patterns which are repeating are going to lead to a similar outcome.

It isn't even just that though, I just really hate how I write as a whole rn. I used to be so poetic and good with words but now they read difficult unless I'm writing a great wall of text, and my characters aren't acting the way I want to, partially because I'm trying to morph them to get along more with other characters and diminish their flaws so they're liked by others, but it just takes away from who they were originally and I hate that as well. It's easy to get caught up in the heat of the rp but for fucks sake I expect myself to be a better writer than this.... and I haven't even gotten around to fixing the fucked-up-with-a-side-of-cheddar timelines, which have been NAGGING at my mind for FUCK KNOWS HOW LONG, but once again, I don't even want to do anything anymore and I get mad bc the only things I wanna do are just self indulgent shit and like hell I'm asking for that from anyone (see, that's part of the problem, right there.)

I think the only thing I hate more than not being assertive with rp is the fact that I'm an adult among you all. Yes, being 18 now while the majority of you are minors is a massive fucking deal to me, and I'm realizing why exactly adults generally avoid friendships like this, because I'm constantly worried about being a good example to you all. I have to have the good advice, I have to be available, I have to be good with assertiveness and boundaries, hell part of the reason I try and avoid venting so much is because you all do not fucking need to have that burden. Every time I do something like this post I immediately think "these are kids and I'm an adult, it's kids trying to help an adult who should not be saying this stuff or laying this burden on them", as if I'm some kind of weirdo. I really try my damndest to not be one of those adults who dumps all their problems on adolescents in order to feel better about their own shitty life, I don't want to be the adult who their younger friends are comforting all the time and have that burden on them (yes, I am completely aware this post contradicts that, and yes, I am very ashamed but I feel Im at rock bottom and you guys deserve to know (but don't deserve the burden of it)). I don't feel like the example I want to be to you guys, I'm incredibly dense, and half the time, I feel like an oblivious idiot for the simplest fucking things in rp even when no one says anything that implies any of you guys think that. I get so annoyed as well, and that's another part I especially hate, it's that I get annoyed with the smallest things so damn easily, whether it's someone saying something random in call and breaking silence, or someone talking about a subject after we've moved on, or a rant that's gone on for a really long time. All of those are ridiculous things to be annoyed by, and I'm completely aware of that. I'm not proud of it whatsoever. It might also be the weather, but I'm so, so, so annoyed by so many tiny, insignificant things nowadays that it's ridiculous, and I've snapped on call a few times which I feel horrible about. I'm trying so hard to be a good, strong role model for all of you, because that's what you deserve and I want to be like that for you. But, both here and in real life, my own idiocy and density and emotions make me feel like I'm never going to escape being a dense, emotional, spacy child who keeps trying to catch up. And as an adult, I'm really, really, really upset that I feel like this because once again, you guys are the minors, not me. I'm not saying you guys should feel like that (I really hope not, no one should feel like that), but it feels even worse since I'm trying to be the adult for you guys to look up to, but I'm looking up to all of you instead. And then, even worse, I get jealous. Not of the bad shit you guys go through, but like. Insignificant things. Art styles, friends, activities, actually having your family around. I really hate myself for being jealous of that and always comparing and trying to match it since it's completely hypocritical of me otherwise.

I'm closing up this vent, but tw for some darker themes in the next paragraph

I'm really just kind of sick of life as a whole. I'm done being an adult, to hell with this, just let me be the younger friend again so I don't have to see myself as an old baby. I'm tired of all of this and the dark jokes I make, they're horrible, but they're becoming more common and I think about the content of them a lot. I'm so tired of this shit and feeling like this and I'm mad and ashamed that I'm making this post because of everything I said above. I'm so done with everything. To hell with this country, to hell with my future, to hell with drawing and writing and trying to put stuff out. At the time of writing this I'm crying, because I'm really really missing my dad. I want to hug him and be with him. I want my family overall to be okay. I want to feel happy and content with myself and my life like back in summer. I'm so sorry for having to say all this but it's the truth and, again, this is my last resort for trying to feel better because hell knows I don't have the initiative to make an appointment and talk to a therapist on campus. Ik this will go away later but ffs i don't know if I can wait until later.

Ok, heavy vent part is over

I've said a lot so I'm ending it here. If you choose to ignore this, that's fine. I'd appreciate some kind of acknowlegement, tbh, whether it's a like or a comment or something, or just a kind word (whatever you do, please don't just put *hug* and leave it at that, hugs dont really feel like they have much more meaning at this point). It feels ridiculous to ask you for comfort especially after kinda dumping all of this here for you guys to see but I might as well try ig. Idk, I'm gonna just try and not delete this out of shame.

I hope you all know that I love you guys so, so, so, so much. This community has brought me so much joy and leaving is the last thing I'd ever dream of unless I had to. I hope you guys don't mind me doing this too much. Logically Ik you probably don't but, really, none of what I just vented about is based in logic regardless.

Thank you for reading, whether it was skimming or fully reading it. Kind words are appreciated but obviously not forced and I love you guys so much. Goodnight ❤️

[victoriadallonfan]

Good tidings! I was wondering what you think about Ward's world-building. I often see complaints about it, saying it's nonsensical for them to have things like an internet again so soon, but none of that has ever seemed super unrealistic to me. I am only on arc 14 though, so maybe theres something I am missing there. I am curious to see what you think about it, since you seem to be the resident Ward expert.

I think the worldbuilding of Ward is fine. I think the fandom forgets that the worldbuilding of Worm is VERY barebones. A lot of the information that they get about Brockton Bay and the world at large comes from WoG that has accumulated over the years. And heck, there's a lot of things that are mentioned in story and never expanded on. Did you know that Brockton Bay has been hit by the S9 twice in one decade? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, because only Jack Slash mentions it in throwaway lines, and no one else who is a Brockton Bay native ever brings it up in any capacity. Or that Brockton Bay used to be home to several Asian Cape Gangs? All wiped out or scared off by Lung? Or whatever is going on in Europe? How about Watchdog? Why does Brockton Bay have some many OP and world changing capes? All things glossed over or only answered in WoG. And that's fine. I accept that as part of this fandom. I think people really overblow Ward worldbuilding issues because of that though. They forget that Gimel was being built 4 years prior to the start of Ward. They forget that the Internet is shitty and takes hours to load pages sometimes. They forget that powers were used to help build things, in limited capacity, to help accelerate growth (Auzure for example). Most of all, they forget that Gimel being a haphazard mess is the point. That it's meant to be a sign of internal strife, of people who know what's best vs people who think they know whats best vs people who are in denial of reality vs people who want to grift vs people who are just lost/scared/angry. Now, I think there is a valid claim that this could have been executed better in some ways. Not all the options people suggest are good, mind you, but the critique is valid. But I think, when people complain about Ward worldbuilding, they take for granted a lot of details that were spoonfed to us post-Worm in comparison.

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

I finally read again today, chapters 34-39 this time

Usually I read these books in german while on the bus but today I forgot my book, but fortunately, I had some time to go to the library and they had it, but only in english. And since I was sitting at a table with my phone, I was able to take notes live as I read, and I'd like to share those with you rather than doing what I usually do and trying to sum up all of my thoughts a few hours later

Chapter 35:

the fact that NO ONE in the summer court recognized Feyre is absolutely ridiculous, it really is like her accomplishments from the first just vanished, no wonder so many people recommend just skipping ahead to MAF i bet that would make the reading experience wayyyyy less frustrating

shes cursing herself from being so out of shape despite Cassian's 'lessons' and that reminds me, at the start of ACOMAF her internal monologue and other characters kept remarking on how thin and frail she had become and I dont think its come up since she started staying at the NC permanently, great mental health rep girlie

"I let instinct, no doubt granted from Rhys, guide me forward." Come onnnnnnnn, can Feyre not be cool on her own for one (1) moment

"Amarathan did not break that kindness [from before UTM]." no, but Rhys sure did

Once again, Feyre is horrified at her violating Tarquin's mind, rightfully so, and yet she continues to hang out with His Majesty, The King of Violating Minds

Rhys tells Feyre that she "thinks like an Illyrian", which is very strange to me given that Illyrian women are literally not allowed to do anything other than housework and Illyrian men are seemingly all violent misogynists whom Rhys hates

Chapter 36:

"I'd bet they wouldn't have handed over that book" but you didnt ask them though??? Like, they couldve just told Tarquin about their plans, he seems reasonable enough, even if Cresseida and Varian dont agree, he as high lord should be able to override their opinions easily and if that doesnt work out THEN you can go ahead and steal it. Sure, maybe they wouldve trippled security and/or thrown them out of the SC but that should hardly be an obstacle for The Most Powerful Highlord In The History Of Prythian and his eldritch girl best friend

Okay, so Rhysand did pack illyrian leathers for her which is nice, but still, I see no reason why Feyre had to wear dresses for this (and be okay with wearkng dresses when she absolutely wasnt at the start of ACOMAF) when the NC clearly has more feminine fashion involving pants

Theres lead in this vaguely medieval fantasy world?? And theyve had for like centuries?? That seems weird to me I'll have to look into that i think

Okay, so Feyre shapeshifted into Tarquin and she says that she didnt let any part of herself that wasnt Tarquin shine through while she opened the books locks, but those shapeshifting powers are Tamlin's though. That has some very interesting implications but tbh idk if I trust sjm to have thought about it that much

"I am summer; I am sea and sun and green things" that just sounds kinda silly, also I feel like it shouldve been "I am sea and sun and golden sand" given the beach vibes that the Summer Court has

Chapter 37:

note to self: lookup what Leshon Hakodesh is exactly bc theres no way its not some random mythological term that sjm is just dropping into her world [edit: its just the jewish term for 'the Holy Tongue', im not gonna question the implications of that any more than im gonna question the existence of Nyx as a minor goddess or something in this world]

Rhysand doesnt tells anyone jackshit and Cassian is ready to stab Amren if she dares go against him, why are these jokers friends again?

Chapter 38:

granted, its been a while since I read this book and my memory isnt the best, but why exactly does Rhysand need to keep the 'why' of their mission secret? wasnt their mission just to find the cauldron before Hybern does and prevent a war with prythian and the human world?? I guess maybe Rhys doesnt wanna reveal his secret goodness or whatever, but he couldve just had Feyre act as some kind of emissary to the rest of Prythian, like, just have her pretend this is information she found out by herself at the Night Court and have her relay it to the other courts, Feyre has saved them before they have no reason not to listen to her

"'I think Tarquin wanted to be my friend.'" question, is Tarquin/Rhys a thing? Obviously Rhys doesnt deserve Tarquin but idk, there could be something there I think. they have some nice aesthetic contrasts

why would Feyre say stuff like "mother above" when thats not a deity she believed in for most of her life? Like, I already talked about how Feyre clearly had the impulse to pray in ACOTAR she just didnt do it because the names of the mortal gods have been long forgotten, but idk, I feel like her starting to embrace fae religion warrants more exploration. and fae religion in general warrants more exploration tbh

"'Its not the end of the world if you [make a mistake] every now and then'" hello??? Feyre, he made you steal from a man that has been nothing but kind to you for no reason and now theres a bounty on your heads!! And lets not forget that Rhys, Amren and Feyre are all highranking politicians in the night court, youre lucky the SC is too occupied with rebuilding itself to declare war on your asses

I keep saying this, its so infuriating how well Feyre and Rhysand already get along when theyve spent like, 2 or maybe 3 months if Im being very generous, worth of time together aside from their time UTM

god Feysand flirting is the most straight bullshit to ever straight bullshit I feel like im gonna die

Shes thinking about buying RED "lacy things" when that was meant to be a trigger for her, did no one edit this

"a sensual male voice chuckled with midnight laughter" istg the prose is so much worse in english

Feyre having to make herself focus to not look at Rhysand dick after he just had a horrible nightmare has the same energy as Bryce Crescent City thinking about how hot and muscular Hunt is while he just completely shut down because he had to kill someone

"The hole in my chest that was slowly starting to heal over" can you BE more unsubtle

Chapter 39:

Rhysand tattooing the symbol of the nightcourt onto both his knees because he "will bow for no one and nothing but his crown" is actually so funny, i wish he did more cringefail bullshit like that

I think out of all the inner circle relationships, I like Amren and Feyre the best so far and I absolutely do not believe that Cassian cares about Amren at all, much less sees her as family, that guy would kill her in a heartbeat if he could

forgive my aromanticness, but I really dont like the thing that Amren and Varian have going on, cant there be ONE character that doesnt have some stupid romance subplot in this world

Oh, so Mor telling Feyre very little of any specific plans they have is fine, but if someone from the spring court does it theyre the worst person ever

"[Cassian told me] that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females" oh but hes sooooo much better than all those other illyrians who are all sexist brutes

Why are Beron and Helion the only ones with a last name

"[Strolling through Velaris with Mor] was perhaps my favorite, and the female certainly excelled at finding ways to spend money" are you fucking kidding me, are there actually people who consider a book with this kind of blatant 'women b shopping' bullshit to be feminist?

"'I wanted to protect my people, change the perceptions of the Illyrians, and eliminate the corruption that plagued the land'" wow Rhys and youve done such a good job at all of those things in the 500 years youve been on the throne

"[Tamlin] resented being High Lord — and maybe... maybe that was part of why the court had become what it was" ???? girlie what are you talking about, the spring court is fine right now it doesnt get destroyed until ACOWAR. which is also you fault

so Feyre is once again wearing a chiffon gown for political reasons when she could very well be wearing pants and shes completely fine with that. great

And Mor is wearing red and Feyre is completely unbothered by it, why give her a trigger like that if it just stops mattering the second shes out of the spring court