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virgincels · 4 months

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BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 28 days

Note

Aita for telling my mom not to invite grandma to my dead dad’s birthday dinner?

For context, my (19M) dad (44M) died in January of ‘24. He was a dick and I don’t miss him, but he was my mom (46F)’s husband and I’ve been there for her through the grieving process. Unfortunately, Mom’s mother (80F) has taken over my mom’s grief and has made it about her.

For what I mean, it’s that Grandma wouldn’t let my mom stand next to my dad as he was dying in the hospital bed from jaundice and cancer, was praying very loudly that her son-in-law would get better and putting her hands all over my dad’s chest, kept comparing what my dad was going through to how her 7th husband died back in ‘09 (also cancer but not the same), and overall was just obnoxious during the worst moment of my Mom’s life.

This isn’t a new thing for grandma to do. Grandma is just a dick. She’s openly racist against Asian people, she’s stupidly Homophobic (but not towards me because I’m family and I’m ber favoritr grandkid because I’m not afraid to talk smack about people who get on my nerves. barf.), and any achievement that my Mom receives, Grandma has a story about how she won something even better.

It has gotten worse when my Mom’s dad (85M) moved in with us for health reasons. Grandpa was Grandma’s 3rd husband and their marriage didn’t end amicably. Still, it’s been 40 years and Mom wants a relationship with her dad. Grandma HATES him. Constantly yelling at him for forgetting things when she comes over, brags about being there for us grandkids (I have two younger sisters) when we were little, and overall is just plain rude. My dad used to be able to just tell her to leave, but now that he’s gone, he can’t.

Well, last week would have been my dad’s 45th birthday. Mom wanted to celebrate by taking me and my youngest sister (the older sister just moved out for college and is across the country) to Dad’s favorite restaurant. As we were leaving, Mom was stressing very heavily about not inviting Grandma or Grandpa. She stressed about Grandpa because he often forgets to eat dinner and she stressed about Grandma because the old bitch has flamed my mom on Facebook for not being invited to events before, even though my mom knew that Grandma wouldn’t like those events (think late night soccer games, plays where I’m not a main role/has an 18+ theme, etc. stuff an old Christian woman who hates driving at night would hate)

I told Mom not to invite either grandparent and that the three of us (me, Mom, and little sister) should just go alone and enjoy some immediate family time. We did and we had a great time, talking with my little sister about her high school classes, talking shit about my mom’s coworkers, and me getting to infodump about Fallout because my mom just watched the tv show.

Towards the end of the night, my Mom gets a text from Grandma asking what we were up to for Dad’s birthday. I tell Mom not to answer and she doesn’t. Grandma then sends Mom a screenshot of the family Life360 map and starts sending walls off texts saying how hurt she is that she wasn’t invited, how neglected she is, how awful it is that she can’t spend time with the grandkids anymore, how Mom always prioritizes Grandpa over Grandma (he wasn’t even with us?) and shit like that. I take Mom’s phone and block Grandma for her since she’s sitting next to me, frozen and locked-up.

It’s been a week now and we haven’t spoken to Grandma. That’s fine by me, but I can see that my Mom is upset and regrets how the dinner went.

Here’s where I may be the asshole:

I was the one who said not to invite Grandma

I was the one who blocked Grandma

I butted my head into my Mom and Grandma’s relationship

Here’s why I think I’m not:

My mom has never been good at standing up for herself

My mom shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit while grieving her fucking husband of 22 years

Not everything is about Grandma. She inserts herself into everything needlessly

TL;DR: Dad died. Went to dinner with my mom and sister to celebrate his birthday. Grandma found out and bitched a fit that she wasn’t invited. I took mom’s phone and blocked her. Now mom is stressing about losing her relationship with grandma. Aita?

#aita #am i the asshole

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theresivy · 3 days

Text

PLEASE HELP: SIGNAL B*OST, D*NATE, OR C*MMISSION ME!!

Listed below are the TL;DR, How to Help, and Full story/Context. I’m sorry I had to resort to this but i have no other choice.

TL;DR version

Please help a mentally disabled fan artist’s family to pay for medical debts for c*ncer, insulin, maintenance meds (for depression, anxiety, etc), and cat food

How to Help

D*nations!!! - I only have P*yPal (also thru K*-fi) and GC*sh! Please dm me for the link or QR code

C*mmission me!!! - I really hate asking for help with nothing to give in return, so preferably please c*mmission me. I havent updated my new set of c*mmission sheet samples BUT heres a short, quick version attached on my post as a pic.

B*y my let-go collection of merchandise!!! (PH-based only please and sorry) - In order to try and make up for the em*tional ab*se me and my mom have to go thru on a daily basis just by living with dad, I ended up in a downward spiral and tried to buy things impulsively since 2020. So, now, we’re paying the price and I have been deeply regretting it ever since. So, plsase please please help buy my palugi (selling for a loss) let-go merchandise, theyre mostly official and am selling for a loss, we badly need the space and especially the funds. Weve only sold less than a half of my stock and it doesnt help that my dad keeps mocking me about it.

Share and S*gnal boost!!! - Tumblr is the only site where i have somewhat of an audience. Please please please help reblog, share, and signal boost.

Full Story/Context

Hi, I’m Theresivy (Teh-reese-ivy), I have been depressed and mentally impaired (among other things) who draws art as a multifandom self-taught fan artist, As of 2020 my mom’s tumor has turned into cancer that has only been given medical attention to in 2022 onwards. And as of then, i have indefinitely become a N,E.E.T for my mom and our finance’s sake while being there by her side. As of now she has gone through FOUR surgeries because more and more unexpected complications keep popping up. She doesnt deserve this, why couldnt it have been me,

We live with my emotionally abusive and manipulative dad (her husband) and our two fur daughters Pancake and Waffles (of which my cats and mom mean more than the world to me) while being forced to live in one of the countless apartment complexes my equally abuse maternal uncle (and his wife, my maternal A-I-L) as we have no other choice. And as such, my dad has been kissing their asses since we were forced to move here more than five years ago.

Both my uncle and my A-I-L took it upon themselves to become the defacto head of my maternal family ever since my maternal grandmother passed just because he became rich thru the means of evil entrepreneur practices. We cant do anything lest we want to get kicked and live on the streets. He is a real-life mastermind as he is always a few steps ahead of us, even making it so that his eldest daughter became his perfect pawn of being his personal lawyer. He always has connections and to them we are merely insects.

My parents and the rest of our family dont really see “artist” as anything that could get money rolling in (and day by day my failed attemptes have been proving them right), and on top of that, they see me being depressed and such as being the “freeloading couch potato”. So they keep bringing up how much of a failure I am. Weve been living in such toxic conditions that my mom has developed this sort of stockholm syndrome type relationship with my dad, and her younger brother (my uncle), and his wife (my A-I-L, her S-I-L). At first i thought i could try and save mom but shes too far gone that she strictly forbids me from fending for myself whenever either of the three try to berate me and drive me to tears and breaking down for the fifth time every week.

All i wish now is to be able to pay back at least some of the debt, for my mom and my fur daughters’ sake, and hopefully my own. I have been in a downwards spiral ever since i have been tolerating being the “odd one out” kid from school. in general, and even in the family, its been literal years and my entire life, im tired of being used and tossed to the side, im tired of being the punching bag of a cosmic joke, and im tired of my disabilities. im tired of being useless to the people i care for the most. so please. help us.

My wish now is to be able to help mom and our fur daughters move away from our domestic ab*sers. everything is an endless spiral of dead ends and im sick of it. ive been self sabotaging for years but a small part of me still has hope, please. i dont want to believe that this is where it ends for us. in this world of darkness and cruelty that spits on our faces, only my mom and our fur daughters have shown me the smallest glimpse of happiness. and even then ive failed them by becoming a barely functioning patient of depression. so, please, dont take my sunshines away.

#signal boost #art ph #commissions #artists on tumblr #my art #theresivysart #paypal #gcash #mutual aid #emergency commissions #art commissions #commissions open #open commissions

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 2 months

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i wanted to invite a conversation about this because it’s genuinely been bothering me for a long time. and i in fact wasn’t immune to it either and am just now realizing this is the power of cinematic brainwashing.

but like, tgm is so many bad things. sexist, racist, ageist, to scratch the tip of the iceberg. token characters that meet the bare minimum for diversity, and sidelined women - i’d even say exploited women. a narrative that is so egocentric that it’s miraculous that some characters manage to hold their own instead of being swept under the charismatic magnetism of the reckless bad boy character who can get away with murder because deep down, he’s regretful, and he has a good heart.

what a shallow representation of the military, and what a disservice to those who were inspired to join because they thought the real life experience would mirror even a fraction of what is presented on screen. the reality is that there was never a competition to win a top gun trophy, and in fact today you have to pay 5$ at the top gun school if you even mention the film. that speaks for itself.

tom cruise being a huge part of the production process has made it impossible for me not to hold him responsible for the choices that have been made. to even subtitle the sequel movie with “Maverick”, the same protagonist as in the first one, comes across as insanely egotistical - and honestly a testament to how mav’s story manages to drown out the autonomy and validity of other characters. i’ll explain this terms of ice, penny, carole, and charlie. you’ll notice how i’m gonna be bringing up three women.

ice-

i don’t care that val kilmer gave the okay on using his cancer as a plot point. i care that cancer was not only used as a plot point, but treated like this ^

“i’m dying. you have bigger problems.”

the original script seems to peel back the layers of tgm’s intended messaging, so i’m using several examples. this is what is being communicated. i honestly don’t know what else to add. in or out of context, this is incredibly disturbing - and that it’s played as a self-aware quip from ice, even more so. the bond of wingmen goes both ways, and i just didn’t see that… if anything, that aspect leaned so heavily on the first film (the photo of them smiling at each other) that it just proves my point. it took ice’s death for mav to get up off his ass and do something to keep his career afloat besides get a cop-out from the compacflt. ice in the first movie was a compelling antagonist and voice of reason - now he’s mostly relegated to the role of babysitter, denying mav’s character the growth of accountability by simply erasing his poor choices with a phone call.

it’s why the darkstar scene pisses me off. to stop at mach 10 would have been fine, but to push it just for the sake of it is ridiculous. the fact that earlier mav states “i know what happens to everyone else if i don’t” in regards to his decision only makes this screw-up more laughable, because to me it’s the very contradiction of maverick: his intentions do not balance with his actions. costing the military millions of dollars in a few seconds somehow balances with his heartfelt desire to protect the interests of its workforce.

penny-

shortly before, during, and after this screenshot, i counted a total of 6 times that penny made it clear she would not appreciate mav’s advances. regardless, mav goes on to say “you look good”. this flirtation happens before mav is even aware of her marital status, as he asks amelia “where’s your dad?” in a later scene… which… dear god.

penny also says “it always ends the same with us, so let’s not start this time”, indicating this is a repeated pattern in which her boundaries weren’t respected and moreover, the relationship ended up failing. yet this is framed as the main romance of tgm, a wonderful and nostalgic callback to the original that ends as stereotypically as possible.

i love penny. she’s witty, caring, independent, and of course stunning. so i find her treatment in tgm a disservice to what started out as a rich and compelling character. she later ends up mav’s shoulder to cry on, more or less, comforting him after losing his wingman and his position as instructor. the song “hold my hand” is thematically suited for penny, playing in the background at the bar and in the notes of the score during her scenes - even musically, she is turned into a source of consolation first, and her own woman second. she’s his prize at the end of the film, falling for the promise “i’m never gonna leave you again”, which i don’t buy for a second. they fly into the sunset, presumably signifying a new horizon for their relationship - but i feel so dissatisfied with this arc for her and think she deserved much better.

that mav gets away with this behavior is something i’d like to see more people reflect on. it seems to be a pattern with male protagonists, in which case the function of male and protagonist in hollywood cinema needs an examination.

carole-

top gun (1986):

this is an especially crude exploitation to me. not only is carole the one consoling a young maverick (if a full-fledged 24 year old can be called young, in light of the tendency people have to dismiss his choices in ‘86) after his mistake costs her own husband his life… but her stance, even following a tragedy of that magnitude, didn’t change. goose would have flown anyway, and she knows that well enough - on top of that, it’s easy to see she would have supported him.

it came as a surprise to me that she wouldn’t in turn support her own son, who is clearly committed to a career as a pilot. in the end, i see a cheap narrative device that contradicts carole’s character, undermines her strength as a wife and mother, both in order to serve the interests of the plot. maverick in tgm needs a viable reason to hide a secret, to be tortured by his own consequences, to put further strain on his tension with bradley. there were plenty of other ways to do it, but the fact that it was this leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

charlie-

it’s my understanding that tom cruise’s personal reason (his excuse) for not bringing back charlie was that he didn’t like how their relationship ended. if there’s any source confirming or denying this, i’d appreciate a link.

anyways. yeah. this is… a huge problem with hollywood at large, which kelly mcgillis understands, but i’ll break it down. there’s a simpler reason this pisses me off more than anything. tgm’s entire subject matter is about repairing relationships. penny benjamin was dredged out of obscurity to do it. maverick and rooster’s grudge of 30+ years was used to do it. iceman’s character, as warped as he feels, is another way the film made this its theme. but charlie is out of the question?

that val kilmer could be asked to return, and make an insane amount of money for each second he’s on screen, but such an opportunity is never given to kelly mcgillis, who herself centers on the 1986 poster, speaks volumes to me. tom cruise even planted his foot when it came to reprising iceman, saying he wouldn’t do this movie without val in it.

it’s worth mentioning that viper and slider were also present at ice’s funeral, but this scene was cut out. for a film that’s quite heavy-handed with its nostalgic callbacks, this was an odd decision. until realizing, as my friend put it, that even ice’s death couldn’t be about him, whether it had brought in his own teacher or his rio - his goose. it had to revolve around mav, to catalyze a turning point for him in the plot.

also… a shoutout to the erasure of sarah kazansky, pretty much everywhere. that also tells me a lot.

…

this was just a dissection of the various character portrayals (or absences) in tgm that have bothered me since forever. this isn’t even going into how tgm accomplishes everything that propaganda sets out to do. combinations of stunning visuals, soaring music composed by masters like hans zimmer, the charismatic power of a cast packed with stars… all play a role in the blinding awesomeness of tgm, which has taken me this long to break away from.

consider the white/poc duos in the film: maverick and hondo, hangman and coyote, cyclone and warlock. who has more lines? who plays a greater role? why is that?

i don’t see this as real diversity. it masquerades as inclusion, which i find worse. and to cast an actor of asian descent, and give him the callsign yale? … wow.

framing is powerful. its influence in cinematography is unmatched. a story is being constructed and told not only through dialogue, but sound, visuals, editing… really, nothing can be dismissed as insignificant. i’m not asking for a scholarly interrogation of all media you consume, though, that would be so excellent, and so healthy… but i am trying to raise these questions in the community, of what gets lost when a main character is so overwhelmingly main. when someone like tc has so much control over the decision-making process, since it’s sort of a running joke that maverick is a tc self-insert. my focus isn’t the inclusions, but the exclusions.

and finally, since i’ve unfortunately spent a lot of life writing this post… it’s interesting to me that many viewers in hindsight seem to see top gun 1986 so differently. as kids, they sided with mav over the antagonist. an older audience returning to the first film now seem to side with iceman, seeing him as the rational one attempting to raise important points. i wonder if this will be the case with top gun: maverick in the future. in which case, i’m excited to see more cyclone fans. he’s my favorite character… unsurprisingly.

oh. one last thing.

“the man, the myth, the legend” … the word myth has two meanings:

…

happy reading.

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writingonleaves · 4 months

Text

and there are some days when i think that, somewhere, you're watching - the blue au

universe: the blue au

warnings: cancer, grief, sadness, the usual with anything to do with the blue au's premise lol

title: "chemtrails" by lizzy mcalpine

word count: 1.1k

author's note: lol hey!! there are a million other wips i should be working on but here we are! if you haven't read at least the first part of this au yet, you probs should for context. we are also manifesting here all three hughes brothers make it to the olympics. inspired by the beautiful players tribune article kevin hayes wrote for his late brother jimmy. i thought a lot about which brother would write something like this and ended up settling on quinn <3 enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

*****

The Ones We Play For

for The Players Tribune

by Quinn Hughes

Written February 4, 2026

I’ll never forget the first time I put on a USA jersey for an international competition.

It was for the 2015 World Under-17 Challenge when I had just turned 16. I didn’t think much of it at the time. The only thing I thought about was playing well, but it was an honor nonetheless.

Every time you get the opportunity to represent your country in any way, it’s an honor. I know everyone says it, but it’s true. The whole nation is looking at you and cheering you and your teammates on. The playing of the anthem means more than ever. You look at the jersey and feel like you’re part of something bigger.

Next week, hockey at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milano-Cortina will begin. I’ve always dreamed of being about to play at the Olympics, but now that it’s actually here, it’s surreal.

The team is great, and I feel lucky to even be here. As I look around at my teammates, I feel confident that we can bring home a gold medal. But it’ll take hard work. That’s nothing that we don’t know though.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to put on the jersey and who we wear it for. Of course, I think I speak for every single person at these Olympics when we say we wear it for our country and the fans watching us, whether here in Italy or back home.

But we’re all playing for someone in our own support group. The village that has brought each of us here.

First, my parents, who have been there since the very first day. My mom, who taught me how to skate and my dad, who taught me how to see the game. My extended family: my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and family who aren’t technically family but who might as well be. Everyone in my life who’s always offered support and encouraging words, who has sat in cold rinks and watched me play. Whether they’re here in Italy or watching from various parts of the world, I’m playing for them.

I’m also playing for my brothers, who will be on the ice with me. That’s still crazy for me to think about. We never could’ve imagined this when we were playing mini sticks in the basement as kids. Of course, we dreamed about it. But to see it come to reality? I feel very grateful. In the locker room, I look at Jack on my right and then Luke at my left. We’re playing for each other.

But most importantly, I’m playing for Miguel Sandoval.

I don’t talk about Miguel often, but he was one of the most important people in my life. Still is. He met my parents before I was born and automatically became a second father to me. To be honest, I don’t think I talk about him often because it still hurts to think about.

Miguel was one of my biggest cheerleaders from the beginning. The fact that he’s not alive to see me take the ice next week is, well, it’s a lot of things. Sad is the first word that pops to mind. Unfair is another. The one who was at the rink next to my father in the stands before I even really knew how to play hockey isn’t alive to see me play in the Olympics? There’s no words to describe how devastating that is.

He never got to see me play in any USA jersey, even though he was always confident I would put one on eventually. He died of pancreatic cancer on New Year’s Day, 2015.

It’s been over 11 years without him, but he’s still in everything I do. A huge part of the reason I wear 43 is because of him — his birthday is April 3. I still remember his boisterous laugh and his kind eyes. He wrote Jack, Luke and I letters before he died that were specifically addressed to be given to us on our draft days. I still carry mine with me on every road trip. That’s how long and how strongly he believed in us. Somehow, he just knew that we would be drafted long before it happened.

I have every word of that letter memorized. Sometimes, I trace over his handwriting with my thumb, and it feels like he's still with us.

During his brief battle with cancer, even when his body had almost no strength left, he always greeted us with a smile and an enthusiastic greeting. Even when he was advised not to, he made it to the games he could until his last days. To the very last day, he lived life with the biggest smile on his face.

If anyone should be here to see his “talented boys” take on the ice, it’s him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have someone like Miguel who loved them so unconditionally. I’m grateful for the time I had with him, even if I desperately wish it was more. We weren’t his sons by blood, but he treated us like family. But sometimes life is unfair, and we have to hold on to the fact that everything happens for a reason.

Here’s a reason: Miguel’s wife, Maeve, who is like a second mother to me, will be watching from Boston. Maeve is the best, always keeping it lighthearted and reminding me that life is supposed to be lived to the fullest. She has this youthful energy that’s just so infectious. She’s the one who always reminds me that hockey is supposed to be fun. I wouldn't be half the person I am today without her support.

And then their daughter, Clementine. Clem, I call her. Jack calls her Clee and Luke calls her Clemmy. Clem’s my best friend / older sister — the universal older sister, to be honest. It doesn’t matter if our last names aren’t the same. She’s been there for me ever since I could remember. Even when we were states, sometimes countries, away, I knew that if I called her, she’d always pick up. Currently on the journey to becoming a doctor, Clem is the kindest, most intelligent, most selfless and strongest woman I’ve ever met. She was the one who lost her father, but she made sure that all of us were okay. Even now, she can’t ever seem to take off the big-sister hat. But I wouldn’t have her any other way.

Miguel, wherever you are, I can tell you a few things. First, I promise that we’re taking care of your wife and daughter as best as we can. We’re gonna try our best to get to the final rounds of this tournament so that they can fly out and watch us play. We love them and they’ll always be family. Second, whenever I feel a bit lost or need to be grounded, I think of you and your calm demeanor and bear hugs. I wish I could have just one more hug. Squeeze you one more time.

Miguel, when I put on that USA jersey and step on the ice, I will be playing for you. Jack, Luke and I will all be skating for you.

We miss you.

We love you.

This is for you.

Yours,

Quinn

#the blue au #k writes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #hockey blurb #quinn hughes fic #nhl #nhl blurb #nhl writing

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jazminrhode1 · 30 days

Text

Prologue

Word Count: 711 words Trigger warning/s: suicidal ideation, drugs, sex, bullying, swearing.

Maybe I should give you some context so you can understand how I got to be sitting in a psych ward for the second time in as many years. Now, I might be fucked in the head but, I’m not crazy.

My mum, Woodsy, is the principal at Hartley High School. It’s a shit show but, she loves it and all the kids are fucking derelicts but, she loves them too.

My dad pissed off when I was a baby and we haven’t heard from him since. I guess that’s men for you - utter fucking disappointments.

I have a sister. She's got four legs and she shits on the carpet, but mum insists she's a good girl. She's definitely Mum's favourite child but, she stopped saying that after the first time I tried to off myself.

To be honest, I’ve had a good life. No, really. My mum loves the shit out of me, I’ve got great friends, and on all accounts, I lucked out not having Dad around.

Still, I have this voice in my head that tells me shit like “You’re not good enough” and “No one would care if you were dead.” It's cool when it's quiet but, it gets loud sometimes.

During the summer holidays before I turned 16, I felt like that voice consumed my every thought so I took a little trip to see Cash and swallowed enough pills to take down a herd of elephants. Lucky - or unlucky - for me, Cash told Ant, who told Mum who rushed me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped and there began my first trip to the psych ward.

I’ve apologised to Cash but, he still blames himself. He shouldn’t though. I lied my ass off to get those pills and he did the right thing by telling Ant. I don’t blame him. I wish he could accept that.

Ant has been my best friend since I threw a hardback copy of Possum Magic at his head in kindy. We have been through everything together. All of Mum’s shitty boyfriends, the death of his Nan, my endless anxiety attacks in Year 8 and his Dad’s cancer. I couldn’t do life without him. He floats through the world where I feel like I’m trudging through quicksand. Mind you, he might be floating because he’s high as fuck most of the time but, I love him anyway.

Then, there’s Spider. He joined our duo in middle school and we became a trio. He’s a dickhead but, he’s our dickhead and there’s a softer side to him that most people don’t see. We were hooking up for a while there but, those days are over… I think.

Lastly, there’s Dusty. Quick drinking game; name a person at our school that doesn’t want his dick inside them. You can’t! For someone as disgustingly good-looking as Dustin Reid, he’s alright.

Anyway, I got off track. My name is Vanessa, Ant has called me 'Vassa' since kindy because he had a lisp and this is my story.

#heartbreak high #heartbreak high fan fiction #darren rivers #amerie wadia #quinni gallagher-jones #harper mcclean #malakai mitchell #spider #missy beckett #ant vaughn #sasha so

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yellowjacketslesbian · 6 months

Note

What do you think Van's relationship with religion is like, before and after the crash?

hey!! I love this question because I actually have a whole hc for this!!!

pre-crash I hc that Van was raised catholic and went through catechism (with Nat & Laura Lee). I think she partially did confirmation because of family pressure, but also because I think she has always been someone who searches for meaning in the world around her, and I think she looked to the church as a way to find that meaning as a kid because it was all she knew. (I think Van's parents were probably more along the lines non-practicing catholics, and only really went to mass for major holidays, but they still really pushed for her to get confirmed to keep up appearances with extended family).

I think Van left the church sometime in middle school after she fully realized / came to terms with being a lesbian. (I personally hc that Van's dad left when she was 12 or 13 and her mom's issues got worse after, so she also didn't have the same family pressure to stay in the church). however, I believe she still held onto some of the mysticism of the church / saint lore, etc. she grew up with and she more was rejecting an organized religion she knew wouldn't accept her, rather than all of the beliefs (though I don't think she would necessarily admit that to herself).

as far as immediately pre-crash, I think Van probably used humor to cope and deflect from any religious trauma by high school and probably would have described herself as a recovered catholic / atheist, if it ever came up.

I also think having that common background of being raised catholic and rejecting that upbringing was something she bonded over with Taissa pre-crash (it's canon that at least Tai's grandmother was catholic). I can definitely picture them being their sarcastic selves together and making quips back and forth through an entire Christmas Eve midnight mass they both got dragged to.

I also think having that common background adds some additional context to their fight in the attic in S1E10. like if rejecting religion and supernatural explanations for the world around them, is something they bonded over, there's an added layer there when Van suddenly believes in this supernatural thing and Taissa is still firmly an atheist.

(I could write a whole thesis separate thesis here on why it makes so sense that Van believed so fervently in the supernatural element and embraced the cult practices as a way to make sense of that terrifying time in the wilderness, assuming a catholic upbringing. tldr: in my personal experience, it's fairly common for people who have dealt with specifically catholic religious trauma to be more susceptible to that type of influence because of the beliefs we were raised with).

anyway, post-crash I think Van struggled a lot to cope with the things they did in the wilderness and kind of just completely shut off all belief in anything instead of actually facing what they did. I also think she's going to go back to her belief in the wilderness after being cured of cancer in S3 because she never actually worked through any of her trauma, and therefore, is still very susceptible to falling back into that acolyte role.

also, if the crash never happened, I think Van would've been the type of recovered catholic who gets into like spirituality as a way to make sense of the world (tarot cards, astrology, etc.)

tldr: I think Van was raised catholic but is an atheist both pre and post-crash

#sorry #I could talk about this for hours #obligatory disclaimer that this is just my personally hc

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freshiegayboi · 2 months

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tldr: im having a bad time lol but im working on it!

im not a huge fan of tell-all's in regards to my personal life

a lot goes on that i really only tell a specific group of people, my partner lollipopskele, and my besties pterosaursinspace, absurdmageart, sheewolf85 and thesinbubble being some of them

but the past year and really, the past about couple days/weeks have been a special kind of hell, so i thought id open up a bit and explain, so if i drop off the face of the earth, yall know why, and know ill be back as soon as i can!

tldr (again) is my family has been dealing with a Lot of major health concerns, so tw for a lot of talk about the Big Bad C and similar bad health stuff

so... around january, february of last year, my dad found out he had cancer. its a blood/marrow cancer, but they caught it pretty early so the doctors think they can take care of it good.

he goes in june of 2023 to get a bone marrow transplant. it goes well, hes home within two months, things are looking up.

they find out... i wanna say october, the numbers arent going up like they want. that december, they know the cancer is back.

they schedule another bone marrow transplant. my dad goes in the end of february 2024, and does chemo, radiation, then the transplant. hes currently in recovery, and his numbers look even better than the first time.

fast forward to last week. my baby sister, who is for all intents and purposes my daughter, has been using the bathroom a lot. every 15 minutes this kid has to pee. shes constantly hungry, and constantly thirsty. she sweats constantly, no matter the temp or what shes doing.

now, to some of you that will sound hauntingly familiar. shes 7, my baby is, so i start worrying about diabetes. im diabetic myself, but mine is type 2. hers is looking like type 1.

so i take her to the doctor, with our mother. they ask all the questions, and schedules tests. they test for uti's twice, nothing. the tests all come back negative for anything, except her sugars. her sugars when they check it are 131. for context, a kid her age should not have blood sugars levels above 100.

so we go to the doctor again. they check her a1c (which, for reference, checks her sugar levels for the past three months). theyre at a good, normal level, so they say shes fine.

im taking her tomorrow to see my doctor, who im hoping can give me a better answer.

im officially in charge of my siblings as of right now. my mother needs to stay with my dad until hes fully released to come home, which could be soon, or could be weeks from now.

ill be making sure all the housework is taken care of, that they get to school and do their homework. ill be making sure the bills get paid, and the groceries are taken care of. ill be managing my sisters health.

so again lol

if i fall off the face of the earth, feel free to give me a shout

ill be back though, not to worry about that <3 and ill be writing on things as im able!

love you guys, thanks if you read to the end lol

#fresh babbles #medical mention #tw medical

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whatyourusherthinks · 2 months

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Arthur The King Review

Eeeey it's the Mahky Mahk dahg movie! Funnily enough, I've had the exact opposite pre-experience with Arthur the King than I've had with a movie like Imaginary. Which is to say I saw the poster, we showed the trailer, but as soon as it came out there was crickets. I haven't looked, but I also haven't heard a single thing about the movie. I was not looking forward to this, even though the trailer was good. One, I am vehemently a cat person. And two, I hate Mark Wahlberg. He's a racist asshole who can't act.

What's The Movie About?

Marky Mark is a runner who is competing in the Adventure Games in the Dominican Republic. Along the way his team finds a stray dog that follows them throughout the race.

What I Like.

The racing, mostly. If you remember that show the Amazing Race, it was kinda like that except it's in one location and all the participants are suicidal. Simu Liu plays a jerk, but he's so goddamn charismatic that I liked him despite that. The locations they shoot at are also very pretty. I liked that they didn't translate any of the Spanish in the movie, so if you didn't speak the language than you just had to pick things up through context clues.

What I Didn't Like.

Funnily enough, my two biggest problems are Mark Wahlberg and the dog. I'll say it again, Marky Mark cannot fucking act. His character is pig-headed and stubborn, and it's revealed at one point that he spent all of his wife's savings to run this super dangerous race. And she tells him at the end of the movie that she's pregnant! (Marky Mark also doesn't know what poor people are, since he's in dire financial straits but he still owns a pretty nice house in the mountains with a pool and eats steak for dinner every night.) This movie has a hilarious ego trip scene where Marky Mark carries two bikes and an adult woman across a zipline in one go like he's a goddamn super soldier or some shit. Speaking of unintended hilarity, there were several moments where something that was supposed to be dramatic was happening, and but I had to stop myself from bursting out laughing. Funnily enough, almost all the dramatic moments had the super obvious product placement happening during them. I usually don't mention product placements in movies (because that's what the companies want) but I want Nissan to be forever associated with the line, "My dad has cancer!" Both of the women characters all suck. The first is Marky Mark's wife, who not only is the breadwinner of the house, but literally just exists to support her husband as he tries to get himself killed. The other is one of the team members in the race, and her deal is daddy issues. She also weirdly gets coddled throughout the movie (She's the one who has to get saved on the zipline.) even though she's clearly the team member in the best shape. The camera work, additionally, sucks. It along with the editing are incredibly inconsistent. Sometimes it's shot in standard, sometimes it's clearly hand held, other times it's back-to-back drone shots. Sometimes you can see how the racers are running and where they are going, other times it's impossible to parse because of close-ups of Marky Mark's face and, of goddamn course, shaky cam! The structure of the movie as a whole is like that. One second everyone is buddy-buddy, then at a turn of a dime everyone is yelling at each other, then the dime turns again and its back to quips and goofs.

Finally, let's talk about that stupid dog. The dog is cute. Whatever. You might think from the trailer that the entire movie is gonna be Marky Mark's team running with this dog, but the dog doesn't even meet the team until halfway through the movie. We still see him, but's it's just shots of him wandering around the slums getting chased by other dogs in goofy scenes. Once he joins up with the team it's mostly fine, but then the ending happens. The ending was so saccharine that I got a cavity. I kinda hate that I watched with movie with other patrons in the theater, because I have never wanted to yell, "Just kill the damn dog already!" more in my life. The ending is nonsense. They pretend this dog is gonna die like three times, and he never fucking does. I know this makes me sounds like a miserable bastard, but that dog should've died. "But the dog survived in real life!" Shut up Buggnutz. Stories based on real events change things around all the time. I'm sure the real runner carried a woman and two bikes across a fucking zipline. "The ending is a tearjerker!" Is it? Because I wasn't crying. I was tapping my foot on the floor waiting for this movie to wrap up.

Final Summation.

I can see some people liking this movie. It's a feel good piece about a dog, maybe for you that makes up for the fact that Mark Wahlberg made and stars in this movie. But I wrote in my notes "If they pull a happy ending out of their ass I'm rejecting this movie", so unfortunately my hands are tied.

#Arthur the King #Rejected Movies

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lovebvni · 4 months

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the people have spoken — here’s my lore <3

hellooo!! <3 you guys said you wanted to see my lore from my main dr that i actually got from js thinking about my dr!!!

for context, this is for my main mha dr <3 i am siblings w himiko toga but she also has 2 more siblings including me, kuro (kurtis is his american name; he is also himiko a twin sibling) and himari (halo) (i just changed her name as of typing this)

i js realized how y/n this sounds but ykw it’s cool shit ok?

tw for assault (or battery idk im not a lawyer), cutting of skin, drug use of minors, getting drugged .

please stop reading if there is anything that is a trigger to you. and also know this is all FICTIONAL in this reality so please do not worry abt anyone lmfao 😭😭

im going to be as brief as possible! i dont wanna type long blog although this is interesting <3

soooo our family moved back from america when i was in ~5th grade. i was like what… 10 because i started school early (i started developing fast oopsie‼️), himiko n kurt were 14/15 idk man i can’t do math their birthday is after mine 😭 but we were all still young. halo was 6/7ish

so around the time we moved back to japan and himiko real REALLY didn’t wanna go back to japan. she had friends in the us who she felt like accepted her n whatnot, she has a girlfriend she had to break up with because of the move, etc. there was lot going on in her head — it wa as big change to move back to japan so our mom could thrive in her business.

so, himiko came up with a plan — to drug her family, run away and fly back to america to continue living her life.

now, obviously, she didn’t complete the whole thing because she felt bad. she would be without her twin and two younger siblings.

she drugged all of us at a family celebration dinner. i don’t know the details for this i didn’t think it through/didn’t get told what she used. it started with an a though, idk LMDAO 😭😭

anya ways she drugged us at this family dinner then decided, as a way to show her love, she was going to take some of all our blood and cut a heart out on a various part of all our bodies.

my mom got a heart on her outer right thigh, my dads was on his right shoulder blade, kuro’s on his left arm, mine on my left eye and kiara’s on her left hand.

i don’t quite know why she did this but obviously, right for her parents, left for her siblings. idk if it means anything to her but yeah!

anyways hospitalized stitched, blah blah medical recoveries whatever.

now with this next part i’ll be kind of brief. some of kurt’s school friends found out abt the incident and they were like “hey we got set that could help u” but he decided to bring me since i was his next closest sibling — whatever.

they were older or something so they had like drugs (😧😧😧😦😦) ( i can’t take this seriously it’s insane) anyways we went to a lot of parties like every friday n saturday night but on saturdays we wouldn’t get as high bc we have church on sundays (we watch the american one online 💀)

it was crazy tho bro!!! but anyways both kurt n i have nic addictions 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️ woopsie poopsie!

i didn’t script all of this btw. i just scripted the part abt himiko drugging us then fucking dipping. all this other shit was included.

also dw i won’t get cancer or anything serious from using anything 😭😭 js temp shit!

anyways yeah! sorry it’s shorter than u expected. i have a weird headache that keeps coming n going (along w migraines) so i tried to keep it short so i wouldn’t stress myself

anyways!!! i hope yall enjoyed! if u have my questions feel free to ask or smth idk 😭

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misschf-aisa · 4 months

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I have an epic tale that is my day yesterday. I think it would be good for me to write it all out as if someone was going to read it, but in a place where it will be lost as soon as I post it. Tumblr is the perfect black hole for this space shot.

I should provide context, but it would only make the story longer and I just don’t have the energy. Okay, maybe a little.

Friday my dad, who is 78, said he’d gotten a voicemail, his oncologist wanted to see him for a checkup at noon Monday. Bad weather was in the forecast for Monday morning, but weathermen are notoriously unreliable so I just said something about if it’s icy you’ll have to reschedule. He was like, of course, and we went about our lives.

Today is Monday and I woke up to a world covered in a good quarter inch of ice. Nothing awful, we didn’t lose power, just enough to make the dog not want to go outside to do her business. (I made her go outside against her wishes, for which I was glared at while she crouched and pooped, but it wasn’t in the house.)

It crossed my mind to check in with dad, but no one would go out in this weather, right? Yeah, you see where this is going.

I got a text around noon. Dad had skidded into a ditch and couldn’t get the car out. Help. I ground my teeth a little, but managed to refrain from texting questions about what the hell he was doing in his car on a day like today. That wouldn’t be helpful, especially after he said it had really scared him. So okay. I glance out the window and my little Fiat is encased in ice. Dad never really fit comfortably in it anyhow. I call my oldest son who just moved to town from Washington state after mustering out of the Navy. He says his 4WD truck is in the garage and he’ll come pick me up.

Oh, I forgot. I have to go because I’m the one with the AAA (thanks @l82theparty) and I’ll need to show them my card before they’ll pull him out of the ditch.

Hey, it would be smart to call AAA now and get the ball rolling since there are probably a shit ton of people in ditches today. So I call dad for a more specific location so I can tell AAA where to find him. He says his GPS just keeps giving him the street number, which is one I don’t recognize. Can he give me a cross street? No. Can he give me a landmark? The route between his house and the doctor’s office is pretty easy to recognize, we’ve done it a thousand times for two rounds of chemo and one round of radiation. No landmarks, just this street number. Okay, we’ll try sharing his location. Nope, that is way too technologically advanced. On the up side it killed time until my son showed up in his truck to collect me.

Some more questions with dad on the phone and we’re still no closer to understanding where he is. So I plug the street into the map just to get an idea and that’s when things begin to go sideways. This street shows up outside of town. Way outside of town. It’s between towns so that I can’t even tell you which little town it’s close to because it’s really just not. We follow the bouncing ball down the highway, past the casino on the outskirts of town, past the toll road, out to a place we’ve never heard of. It took us an hour to get this far, for the record.

I’ve decided my GPS has screwed us so I call dad again, confident we’re going to have to go back into town and comb the streets between the cancer center and dad’s house. But I ask him about the landscape he’s in, and he’s confirming everything sounds right. We drive up and down scary hills covered in ice, then some twisting roads also covered in ice, and Dad is on the phone saying that totally sounds right. To my son’s credit the truck only slipped on these roads a couple of times while he gritted his teeth and complained that he should have put something heavy in the truck bed.

We pass a dead end sign, and Dad doesn’t remember seeing one of those. I’m starting to believe we’re fucked. We pass another sign that says no outlet, and dad doesn’t remember it. My son gives me a look, and I shrug. Then we hit a patch of road that is a skating rink and the kid manages to slide himself onto a patch of grass as we both stare at my father’s car at the bottom of this icy hill in the middle of fucking nowhere. At least we found him, right?

Son and I slip and slide on foot down to the car where dad is fine, he’s got the heater on and the radio, just feels foolish and can’t get out because there’s a tree against the driver’s door. Because, dear reader who has made it this far, he’s not in a ditch. He skidded onto the side of the road where the land drops off into a ravine that was maybe 50 feet deep? I can’t say for sure because when I looked at his front tire and how close it was to the drop off it looked more like the Grand Canyon to me.

Okay dad, we’re not going to touch the car. You’re safe, don’t jostle yourself too much, I’m calling 911 for the first time in my life.

(Why is he in BFE? Oh, sorry, that’s Butt Fucking Egypt if you’re from around here. And I still don’t have an answer for that one.)

Meanwhile I look at the icy incline behind us and tell my son no tow truck is ever going to make it down that hill. A nice young Wagoner County Sheriff’s deputy shows up and his answer is to call a wrecker. I mention that no tow truck is ever going to make it down that hill and he gives me a look so I carefully inched my way back up the hill to sit in my son’s truck and wait.

About 20 minutes later it started to rain. About 30 minutes later it’s raining hard. Still raining hard another half hour or so later when the tow truck arrives on the scene.

Would you believe the tow truck driver said his boss won’t let him take his truck down that hill? He says he wouldn’t leave a person down there though (damn human of him) and the deputy, my son, and the tow truck driver trek down to Save Dad.

I watch from the top of the hill because they don’t need any women down there spouting truths and whatnot and getting in the way. I watch them pop the trunk and get my dad’s walker out. I’m standing in the pouring (so cold) rain watching through a layer of fog that has developed as shadowy figures hunch around the two open doors on the passenger side, I’m assuming they’re figuring out how to get dad out of the car on this side.

I can’t see, so I move over and step into a puddle of ice cold water. It’s not really integral to the story, except I was expecting to be pulling dad out of a suburban drainage ditch so I wore the wrong shoes. My nylon running shoes and my wonderful thick warm socks sucked up that icy water and held it like a lover. It was like the opposite of napalm; instead of fire sticking to my body it was ice cold water.

Meanwhile the boys have come far enough up the hill I can see they have dad sitting on the little bench on the walker and my son is walking backwards pulling it while the deputy and tow truck driver are each pushing a handlebar. My son falls down once, then gets up again. I’m not sure how, but they all manage to get back up that hill and get dad in the truck. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but now I know exactly how much cold rain is required to saturate my rain resistant coat.

The story ends with my son managing to get the truck turned around and safely off of the ice sheet it was resting on. We’re all home and dry and safe and warm. My girl cooked me dinner and made me a hot toddy and snuggled me in warm clothes and an electric blanket. Dad’s car has probably depleted its battery by now because we were all three sitting in the truck when my son asked if he should try to walk back down and turn off the hazard lights. We left it.

So, how was your day?

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