#mode of macabre | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

konigbabe · 1 year

Text

mosaic of us

Pairing: plaga!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word count: 6k

Tags/warnings: smut; no y/n; infected Leon (las plagas); p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; rough sex; creampie; manhandling; Leon's a menace and this is yet another pure filth

Summary: Hidden in the village, Leon's condition keeps deteriorating; somehow, his kiss seems to ignite something deep inside you. Something primal — savage in its roots.

A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. R is for rough sex.

I sincerely apologize for this mess. Divider is mine.

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You notice the veins around his eyes growing more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. It’s as if something inside him is struggling to break free from its confines, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.

The glow of the sun filters through the gaps in the wooden walls of the shed, illuminating the space with a warm, golden light. You stand there, hidden away from the villagers (who managed to overrun you not even an hour ago), as a gentle breeze weaves through the nearby trees. It's a sweet melody that accompanies the soft whispers of the diary's pages, its newfound freshness almost palpable as you trace your fingers along its surface.

The air still carries the scent of damp wood and earth, with a hint of mustiness. The shed’s been abandoned for too long, left to the mercy of the elements. Like a forgotten tomb, filled with the memories of a long-departed soul. Neglected in its wake.

Reading page after page – each with intriguing materials hidden inside its folds, you let the ink come alive, painting vivid pictures of his observations.

July 10, 2004

Today marks another day of failed attempts at finding a cure for the outbreak in this village. The scarce resources and limited materials available make it even more challenging to uncover a solution. However, after much experimentation and observation, I finally managed to identify the mode of transmission – horizontal transmission. The virus can replicate its DNA and spread throu–

The shadow of a figure looms over the creaky door, pulling your gaze away from the passage. Your hand slinks towards the gun holster on your thigh, fingers tapping the handle with precision, safety off. You stare at the door, alert like a hawk on the prowl.

With a soft thud, the diary shuts; your senses stir in anticipation as the door opens. The hinges groan under the weight of the door. Recognizing the person entering, an exhale leaves your lips.

Leon's silhouette is backlit by the dimming light, creating a halo effect around his head. His large frame takes up almost the whole space of the door, blocking out any remaining slivers of sunlight that had managed to seep through the cracks.

He swiftly shuts the door behind him, sealing off the outside world like a fortress protecting its treasure. With practised ease, he places a chair underneath the handle, securing it.

"Shit," you cuss as you snap the safety back on the gun, "don’t try sneakin’ up on me like that again, Leon."

Leon's eyes flicker up, scanning your tense frame, alert for any signs of aggression. He nods, a wordless apology for startling you, and steps towards you with a cautious gait.

Restarting the reading, you skip through the rest of the page, flicking to the next one.

–indicates that the virus' spread is heavily influenced by the host's behavior and their relationship with the recipient.

As Leon shuffles past, the air is infused with the heady aroma of his shirt, like the sweet, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. The mustiness of its faded blue is mixed with the sharp tang of his cologne, reminiscent of the crisp bite of a green apple. He runs a hand across his smooth-shaven face, the coolness of his skin a temporary relief from the relentless fever burning inside him.

Today's findings have shed new light on the behavior of the virus. My latest analysis has revealed that the virus has a peculiar ability to alter the composition of the host's saliva. Strikingly, I discovered that infected individuals have elevated levels of–

Your eyes dart across the page, scanning the words with lightning speed. The words blur together as you scan through them with lightning speed, eager to reach the end of the entry in hopes to find a way to help Leon.

The implications of these findings are tantalizing, and suggest that the virus may be manipulating the behavior of its hosts to facilitate its own spread.

"What’re you readin’," Leon asks, stepping to your side with the knife holster dangling from his grip like a coiled snake.

The close proximity of him allows your arm to brush against his chest, the solid mass of muscle beneath his shirt a somewhat comforting presence in the chaos you’ve found yourself in. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it gently like a reassuring pat on the back as his eyes dart towards the diary.

You don’t hesitate to show it to him, its cover slightly worn and creased from your constant handling.

"It’s some kind of a diary," you watch as Leon flips through the pages, occasionally pausing to read it, "found it in one of the houses. It’s written by–I think–a scientist who was here; Doctor Javier García."

Leon's fingers trace the faded lines, the foreign letters, as if absorbing the knowledge contained within, yet the puzzled expression on his face tells you otherwise. The rustling of pages sounds like a whisper in the quiet room as he flips through them.

"It’s in Spanish," he grumbles with a tinge of frustration, his voice breaking the tranquil atmosphere. He hands the open diary back to you before rubbing his eyes wearily.

You can't help but notice the subtle movement of dark veins around his eyes, like ink spreading across a page. They're barely perceptible, but the sight still sends a twinge of unease through you.

"Yeah, that’s why I’m here, remember? Your Spanish is shit."

Leon emits a faint chuckle, so quiet that even in the closeness of your positions, it's barely audible. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through the mass of light hair, revealing beads of sweat on his forehead. Exertion fills the air around you as he moves.

"Right," taking a step back, the soles of his shoes crunch against the first floor. You sneak a peek at his arms; the veins, network of obsidian tributaries, ripple just beneath the surface of his skin, "Right."

"Did you find out Baby Eagle’s position?" you inquire, your voice echoing through the empty space.

Leon shakes his head, causing the pushed-back hair to fall back over his face, before he speaks again in a soft, hushed tone, "No; got a call from Luis. They’re hiding in the castle." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and you strain to hear him.

Speaking of Luis–

Looking back at the book in your hand, you remember the last passage. The first thing you read when you were left alone in this shed.

"About Luis," you murmur, your fingers deftly flipping through the pages until you reach the last inked page. Leon’s eyes follow your hands as you open the page, the words there shaky, the paper wrinkled and smudged with ink. It's like a relic from another time, something that has weathered the storm of time and come out the other side. Written in a hurry; but it’s there as you read it out loud, slowly translating the foreign language:

September 18, 2004

Today, another scientist arrived in this remote village. After a brief conversation about my project, he evaded my queries about his presence here. He divulged information about a private island facility and expressed a keen interest in developing a cure for the virus. However, I couldn't help but sense an underlying malice in his intentions towards the virus. I intend to find out more about this man.

Your eyes scan the smudged ink of another passage, attempting to make sense of the faded words, but it’s no use.

Back facing Leon, you speak, "That’s gotta be Luis, right?," voice filled with suspicion, "Two weeks ago, this García met Luis and now he’s gone. His personal belongings are all here - don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

A low groan interrupts your train of thought, causing you to furrow your brow.

"Leon?"

You turn around and watch as Leon stands a mere footstep before you. Palm resting on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, you feel your heartbeat pick up; the veins now spreading like poison ivy, creating an intriguing mosaic. The ebony tendrils slither over his skin, covering his neck and sneaking inside the folds of his dirty shirt.

Another guttural growl emanates from his throat, so animalistic and raw that it sends shivers down your spine. Your hand instinctively reaches for Leon's blade, which was left on the table moments ago, while your other hand grips the wooden surface to steady yourself.

"Leon," you repeat in hopes to reach the man’s attention, "what’s wrong?"

Your attempts to reach him prove futile; you stand patiently, gaze firmly following his every movement–with a precise step, you stroll in front of him. Another guttural sound finds its way out of Leon as he moves his hands to his temples, pushing against the thin skin as if he could alleviate a headache.

As you watch, the veins around his eyes grow more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. Something inside him seems to be struggling to break free, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.

"Leon!"

You take a step back as he lunges forward, his movements erratic and uncontrolled.

Anticipating a strike, you raise the knife, its point aimed at Leon’s upper body. Your heart jackhammer in your chest, you brace yourself for the attack; muscles coiled and ready for defence. But before you can make a move, Leon's hand is already on your wrist, his grip vice-like as he twists the blade away from you. You gasp in pain, feeling the sharp sting of the metal cutting into your skin.

The ground feels gritty beneath your feet as you struggle to maintain your balance, trying to free yourself from Leon's grasp. But the man seems to be in complete control, his movements fluid and effortless. Your heart races faster as you realize the danger you're in. This man could easily overpower you, could easily harm you if he wanted to.

A pained gasp leaves your tightening throat as Leon’s hot breath fans over your face. And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

It’s messy. Needy.

Wet.

Taken by surprise, your mind races; struggling to make sense of what’s happening. The taste of his lips is familiar, certainly not the first time he kissed you. But never like that – and never when infected.

You can taste the slight tinge of mint on his tongue as it sneaks inside your mouth. His hands, strong and calloused, grip your jaw, tilting your head as his hips back you against the table. Leon’s body easily keeps yours restrained, his body heat almost scorching you. You can feel his every move, every twitch of a muscle, every shiver that runs down his spine. It's like being consumed by a wild, untamed force that you can't resist.

The dominance in his behavior, the way he takes control and leaves you powerless and vulnerable; it all makes your mind fuzzy. A blank canvas.

For a moment, everything fades away–

–until the realization hits you.

He’s infected.

Pressing your palms firmly against his chest, your body freezes momentarily upon feeling the taut muscles of his breastplates before you push with all your might. He barely budges. Yet, when your lips momentarily separate, you manage to call out to him one more time, "Leon!"

His eyes open. Now clear, back to the blue as a tranquil ocean on a sunny day, the agitated storm within them subsided. He looks back at you.

"I’m so sorry," he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. You can see the fatigue etched into his features, the bags under his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. As he meets your gaze, his eyes plead for your understanding.

The sound of his groan echoes in your ears as you watch him crumble before you, his once-strong body now appearing weak. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of what has just transpired. The dust swirls around him, adding to the already chaotic scene. You can feel your heart racing, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you try to catch your breath.

"Fuck, Leon," you hurry towards him.

You kneel beside him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of consciousness. His lips, bruised and swollen, part lightly as he takes a laboured breath. You can see the pain etched on his features, the lines on his forehead deepening with each passing second.

Minutes flow as you sit by Leon’s side, watching the dark veins fade slowly as he regains his strength. His chest rises and falls steadily now, the rest of his gear lying on the table alongside your gun. You take in the sight of him, his rugged features softened in the moonlight. His hair, disheveled and covered in dust, frames his face like a wild mane, adding to his already striking appearance.

You reach out to brush a strand away from his forehead, your fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone, tracing the areas recently covered in ebony veins.

As you sit there, the sounds of the night surround you–the chirping of crickets, the whispering of leaves in the wind. A cool breeze washes over you, the scent of earth and foliage filling your nostrils. You take a deep breath, the freshness of the air soothing your nerves.

But despite the calming surroundings, the sensation within you is like a storm raging inside, the winds tossing and turning your thoughts. Your body feels like a furnace, burning with a heat that can't be quenched. Heart beating faster, the thumping becoming almost unbearable as your body begins to ache with a deep, pulsing desire.

You try to shake it off, thinking it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your system, but the sensation only intensifies. Focusing on the sounds of the night, hoping they’ll calm down the tempest within; but even the gentle rustling of trees sounds like a deafening roar. The once refreshing gust that swept over you now feels like a tantalizing stroke, sending your nerves alight.

Confusion sets in as you start to feel an uncontrollable need for Leon, a hunger that you can't explain. You try to push it away, but the urge grows stronger with each passing moment until it consumes you completely. You begin to tremble, feeling as if you're on the brink of losing control.

You look down at Leon, feeling both embarrassed and ashamed. The urge like a vine, coiling around your body, tightening its grip with every passing second.

Hand reaching towards Leon’s, your fingers skim over his naked palm, the gloves previously protecting his hands now discarded on the table. His skin is cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that consumes your own body. Just as you’re about to give in to the fear, a twitch in Leon's hand catches your attention. His fingers curl around yours, gripping them tightly. His eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a deep shade of blue that glistens in the moonlight.

"You had me worried there for a moment," you say with a tight-lipped smile, elbows resting on your knees, fingers digging into the naked flesh there.

You feel like you’re burning. Hot coals pressed into your skin.

You take in his appearance, the way his hair’s matted and sticking to his forehead. Sweat beads on his skin, a testament to the fever that has been plaguing him. His skin’s still pale, but his eyes are no longer clouded with ferocity. They seem clear, focused, and alert.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs again, but this time his voice is stronger, more resolute, "I don’t know what that was."

"Don’t be," you reply gently. You try to comfort him with your words, hoping to ease his troubled mind.

"Let’s just find you a cure."

He nods before sitting up, his movements slow and deliberate. He looks fragile, like a delicate flower that might break with the slightest breeze.

"How long was I out?"

You let out a shaky breath, relieved that he's awake. "Not long," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze returns to him, studying his features with an intensity that you can't explain. The sharp planes of his face, the way his jaw tenses as he speaks, the curve of his lips. You try to push the thoughts away, but they persist, like a buzzing fly that won't leave you alone.

"You good to get up?"

"Yeah," Leon exhales.

Dusting the dirt off your knees, you get up and reach out, helping him prop himself up, his body leaning against yours. The heat from his skin seeps into yours, soothing the burning that has been coursing through your veins–

–which doesn’t go unnoticed.

"You’re burning up," he notes. His knuckles lightly press onto the side of your neck, against the jugular vein. Heart thumping, you swallow as you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs only intensify the longer Leon’s hand remains on your throat.

"Your heart rate’s elevated," his hand finally leaves your skin, "something’s wrong."

With a firm grasp on your upper arm and without much struggle from your side, he beckons you onto the table decorated with all your gear. Skin pricklening with sensation as he guides you onto the table – it’s old wooden surface creaking slightly underneath your weish as you settle onto its surface, feeling the rough wood groan underneath your palms.

The firm press of his hands on your ribcage is like a spark to a fuse, igniting a flame within you. The heat spreads throughout your body, intensifying with each passing moment. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the wave of desire that threatens to consume you.

"I’m alright," you assure him, trying to maintain your composure; yet you allow him his hands to roam over your body as if you were actually hurt.

Leon's eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering. His sharp gaze betrayed his concern, a worry etched into the creases of his forehead. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that he was only looking out for you.

As you gaze at him, you notice the veins slowly returning to his skin; slowly faded over, the pinkish hue underneath his eyes seems to conceal them, but only from afar. Up close, you can see the delicate tracery of veins pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin.

"Are you sure?"

There’s worry evident in his voice as he rests his palms next to yours, enclosing you in his arms.

The weight of his touch’s comforting your heating body.

Your hand moves like a feather, tracing the intricate network of veins spreading across the contours of his face; his eyes flicker down, on your legs, as you stay mesmerized (and slowly being consumed by the raw power of your desire) by the way the veins seems to gain color, fill into the same darkness they were before, underneath your touch. As if they were following your lead.

Leon’s breath quickens as you continue. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the growing tide of desire that threatens to overwhelm you, but it's no use.

Leon's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as the color regains its sickly yellow tone, thin black veins dancing inside his irises like ink on paper. You can see the concern there, the worry that something might be wrong, but you also see something else. Something that sends a thrill through you despite the situation. He's looking at you like he wants you, like he's been waiting for this moment for ages.

The air thinkens with a palpable tension as you both hold each other’s gaze, lost in the charged atmosphere between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the electricity in the air, the way your heart races in your chest.

"I’m fine," a faint breath leaves your parted lips when your thumb reaches the slightly wider black vein leading towards his lower lip.

Everything after that seems like a haze. As if you’re observing from afar. Watching a play unfold from the balcony. Detached.

Your lips lock with Leon’s with a wild, raw passion.

It’s fervent.

Intense and fueled by a primal yearning that’s been brewing inside you ever since he kissed you a mere hour ago. Your hands grip Leon’s shoulders, steadying yourself against the mass of muscle standing between your legs.

His kisses are searing – cardinal, almost animalistic and completely uncontrolled; fueled by crude desire that seems to consume him fully. He kisses you with reckless abandon, as if he can't get enough of you. His lips are hot and wet against yours, his breath ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he presses himself against you. It's like he's trying to meld his body with yours, to become one with you, and the sheer intensity of it all is almost too much to bear.

Leon’s hand roam over your body with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. Guttural, deep grunts reverberate through your body.

Hands reaching between your bodies, you tug at the shirt covering his torso – the fabric slides over his head like a curtain revealing a work of art. Taut muscles and veins ripple beneath his skin; your eyes pierce into his chest, the mosaic of black veins creating a network of rivers.

As you trace your fingertips over his skin, every nerve ending seems to come alive, humming with a primal energy that electrifies your senses. The heat emanating from his body is like a flame, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the room; his skin’s like silk, soft to the touch, but strong and sturdy underneath.

The scent of sweat and musk fills your nostrils, overwhelming and intoxicating, pulling you in even closer to him. It's like a drug, addicting and heady, and you can't seem to get enough of it. As you run your hands over his chest, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch, you can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his in the most sensuous way.

Your shirt soon follows Leon's, falling to the ground in a heap as you find yourself back in the kiss. It's like a symphony of tangled limbs, gasping breaths, and frenzied moans, each one building on the last until you're both lost in a wild, primal dance.

"Fuck–"

Everything seems brumous.

A cloud of haze covering your brain.

Feeling the wetness pool between your legs, heart beating heavy and strong against your ribcage, Leon’s name escapes your mouth as his lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake; the scrape of his teeth against your skin, nails digging into the flesh of your hips.

As Leon's fingers trace the contours of your curves, the sound of your ragged breaths fills the room, intermingling with the sound of his own. You find yourself lost in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers seem to know exactly where to go, where to press, where to tease.

Your bodies collide with a force that leaves you gasping for air. Like the collision of two stars, sending shockwaves through the universe.

Unbridled desire. Wild, untamed dance of bodies.

No longer two separate beings, but a single entity, fused together in a frenzy of passion.

Leon's hands move with a speed and precision that makes your head spin, as he undresses you with an urgency that feels primal. His lips, soft yet insistent, cover yours in a heady, dizzying kiss that leaves you breathless.

It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and all-consuming–

–addicting.

The room spins as you lose yourself in the frenzy of desire. Every touch, every kiss, every breath ignites a fire deep within you, a hunger that can only be sated by this man before you.

His fingers find your cunt–wet, completely soaked as if you’ve already being fucked; yet he hasn’t even touched you.

"Jesus Christ," Leon groans upon the feeling of your slick walls enveloping his fingers, "you’re already soaked."

Head tilted back, your hips buck into his hand as he traces the length of your cunt, pressing his thumb against your aching clit. Pain shoots up your body, spreading like venom. It's almost too much, the intensity of it all, but you find yourself craving more, unable to resist the addictive pull that Leon has over you.

Sweet as poison.

A plague.

The tension in your muscles melts away with each inch of Leon’s fingers sinking inside you; a groan escapes your lips as sense of release washes over you; the tension in your body melts away, like ice thawing under a warm sun. Eyes closed, you focus on the sensation of Leon’s fingers pushing deeper, stretching you in a way that feels both strange and satisfying.

Your mind is clouded with a dizzying cocktail of lust and desire as Leon takes control, his touch igniting a fierce hunger that you can't ignore.

Your hand grips his hair, feeling the strands slipping between your fingers like silk. You pull him towards you, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His eyes meet yours, and you see the intensity in them, a hunger that matches your own.

"Fuck me, Leon—"

The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think. Your body has taken over, consumed by a desire that you can no longer control.

—you just can't help yourself anymore.

As Leon strips down, piece by piece, you find yourself drawn to the way his body moves with such fluidity. Your eyes take in every inch of him, from the rippling muscles to the way the light dances across his skin. Leon’s body completely covered by the system of ebony veins, your eyes following the lines for a second.

It's as if his body was made to be admired, and you find yourself doing just that.

The vulnerability of the moment is not lost on you, and the thrill of it all sends a jolt of excitement racing through your veins. Here you are, both of you completely naked, with nothing to hide. It's as if you've shed your layers of clothing and your inhibitions along with it, leaving only raw desire in its wake. The air between you is charged, electrified with anticipation and lust, and you can't wait to explore every inch of him.

Leon follows your order. Hand wrapping around his throbbing cock, your legs spread wider to accomodate his hips. Your eyes fixate on the thick, pulsating vein that runs along his length, now pitch black in color; like a lightning strike, surrounded by smaller ebony veins.

With each pump of his hand, the bulging head glistens with precum, taunting your hungry cunt.

His name leaves your mouth in a gasp as the tip brushes against your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and a hint of mischief, as he teases your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His hips move forward, the tip disappearing inside you, stretching you wide with a delicious ache.

His arm reaches forward; guiding you down to lie onto the rough surface of the wooden table as he slowly splits you apart. The bark of the table scratches against your skin, adding an edge to the pleasure that courses through your body.

Once fully buried inside you, he stills.

Only momentarily.

As he sinks deeper, Leon's hand finds your collarbone, securing his grip. The roughness of his thumb grazes the sensitive skin of your throat as his hand sneaks underneath your knee to bring your legs higher – wrapping them around the narrow of his waist, you urge him deeper while wrapping your fingers around his forearm, feeling the muscles tense, veins darken.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into Leon's eyes, now obscured by the black veins that writhe across the blue irises. The intensity of his gaze burns through you, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch.

With a fierce growl, he ruts against you. Wild.

Leon’s a primal force, a beast unleashed, and you revel in the raw, savage power of his movements. His grip on your collarbone is almost painful, but you crave the sensation, the way it anchors you to the earth as he pounds into you with abandon.

Like an animal focused on breeding; there’s nothing but pure ferocity in the way his hips snaps against you–

– and you welcome it. Meeting his thrust.

The rough bark of the wooden table digs into your skin, but you barely register the pain as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Letting him absolute ravage you. Bring you to the brink of ecstasy way too soon. The smooth, velvety skin of his cock slides in and out of you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. You can feel the heat building inside you, the coil of pleasure winding tighter until it's all you can do to hold on.

The sight of him, his eyes dark and wild, the veins snaking across his skin like living things, only serves to stoke the fire inside you Moans mix with guttural noises; grunt, growls. Everything mixes together in one dance of primal breed.

Cock-drunk.

Fucked stupid.

That’s how you’d described the feeling when his thumb presses against the front of your throat, hooks underneath the necklace he gave you to your first anniversary.

String of curses, incoherent sentences and something vaguely resembling your name leaves Leon’s lips, painted over with black veins, eyes wide open and staring straight at you. His hand moves to toy with your clit; yet just the single flick, the rough touch uncoils the tightness inside your abdomen. Mouth open, back arched, a silent scream pushes itself out your throat.

But Leon doesn’t stop. The way your walls flutter, squeeze his cock only add to the primarity of it all. Securing his hand behind your neck, he lifts your body up, lips connecting with yours in a heated kiss as his thrusts increase.

A pathetic whine leaves your lips when he pulls back completely. Hands gripping your sides, you gasp when he single-handedly turns you around. Pain shoots through your body as he slams back inside you in one single thrust.

The table creaks and groans beneath the weight of your bodies as Leon relentlessly pounds into you.

His hips meet the flesh of your ass every time his cock kisses your womb – at least that’s how deep he feels. The air thick with the scent of sex, you groan when Leon’s hands grip your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his snapping hips to meet his thrust.

Slick with sweat, you can feel his body heat radiating against your own.

You reach one hand behind you in a feeble attempt to feel him underneath your palms. Nails digging into the wood, your fingers manage to sneak into his hair; grabbing a fistful, you force his face towards yours.

The muscles in your neck strain painfully as you tilt your head to the side to connect your lips in a teeth-clashing kiss – all while Leon’s hand sneak to tease your oversensitive clit while the other covers your hand on the table.

Meeting his thrusts, you stay in rhythm as you feel your high approaching again. Spreading your legs more apart, arching your back, the new angle allows Leon to hit deeper. To split you apart.

"Fuck!"

The pain mixes with pleasure, and you can't help but cry out in ecstasy.

"Oh my god–"

His teeth sink into your flesh, the stinging ache sends you over the edge. It feels almost as if he managed to break the skin atop. With each thrust, it felt like he was hammering against the tight seal of her womb, trying to break through it with sheer force.

The room echoes with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he relentlessly pounds into you. His cock feels like a battering ram, delivering a punishing blow with every thrust. You can feel the impact reverberate through your body, causing you to shudder and gasp for air. It's as if he's trying to breach the walls of your very being, to leave his mark on you in the most primal and intimate way possible.

"Fuck; Leon–’m gonna cum–gonna–"

You feel your cunt pulce around him, like a drumbeat racing against his teeth sinking into your delicate skin. A surge of ecstasy floods your veins, a heady cocktail of pleasure and victory that weighs heavily on your mind like an anchor.

You arch your back, pushing against his chest and whispering his name into the frosty night air as his thrusts become unsteady.

Leon's tongue traces the bite mark he left on you, hands gripping you tightly as he drives himself deeper into your slick heat. His groans mix with the sound of flesh smacking together, his balls slapping against your wetness with each thrust. You cry out as he sends you spiraling into another wave of pleasure.

As he moves inside you, you can feel every inch of him. His muscles ripple against your skin and his breath is hot on your neck. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you closer and deeper onto him.

You convulse around him, your body responding to his every touch. His groans intensify, as he thrusts even harder into you, giving into the raw passion between you. He pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his warmth.

"Fuck!"

As he moans out your name, his lips trace a path across your skin leaving a trail of wetness. You can feel the heat emanating from his hands as he grips you tightly, branding you with his touch. His body trembles as he savors the last remnants of pleasure, and the evidence of his desire stains your insides like a lustrous sheen of polished marble.

He’s branded you inside and out.

Infected you with his venom.

Your skin is hypersensitive to his touch, as if each nerve is its own entity, firing off signals that jolt through your entire body. The dull ache of pleasure and pain radiates from the points where he grips you, leaving you feeling like a canvas painted in shades of blue and purple–

–and black.

As his weight presses down on you, you feel a dull ache spread through your body, every nerve ending alive and sensitized from his touch. You can still feel the ghostly imprint of his fingers on your skin, branding you with his touch.

His forehead is hot against your shoulder, the dampness of his breath tickling your skin as he rides out the last waves of his release. Each thrust feels like a punch to your gut, leaving you reeling and gasping for air.

The sticky wetness between your thighs is a testament to his desire, a reminder of how deeply he claimed you as his own. You feel the pulse of his spent cock still buried inside you.

Your gaze follows the lines of black veins snaking up his forearm, a stark contrast to his now pinkish skin. You watch as they slowly fade from sight, disappearing like a memory slipping away. Each movement feels heavy, weighted down by the aftermath of his passion.

After a while, Leon finally withdraws from you, a pang of loss echoes through your body, leaving you empty and longing for more of his touch. The heat of his body lingers on yours, branding you with his mark and making it hard to differentiate where his skin ends and yours begins.

You close your eyes, still feeling the ghostly touch of his lips and fingers on your skin, as if he's imprinted himself upon you forever. The room is filled with the heavy scent of sex, a reminder of the raw passion that just transpired.

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 4 months

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Sarcasm's DPxDC rec list

{I have no else to blame but myself for how long this could have been. I don't discriminate between ships in the fandom. If I'm curious, I'll read it, but I do have a particular love for Hardcover if you haven't somehow guessed. }

Main Masterlist Regent Series Mundane Macabre

[Hardcover/Anger Management ship]

I’m Picking You Up by Clouds

Unfortunately, the Bad Guys Are Human by aggiepuff (With sequel, "Welcome to the Neighborhood" in the same series)

Premeditation by Chromatographic (With its WIP sequel, "The Mercy of the Fallen")

The Wonderous Beauty of the Statuesque Scarlet by Elizabehta_Beilschmidt Unwanted Farewells by TheStarfishAlien (Not sure if this should be in this category or in general)

When All Other Lights Go Out by suzukiblu

Slap-A-Soulmate by Bewitched_Forest

Blood On the Crown by SkylarkSky (WIP)

[Demon Twins/Damian and Danny are Twins] Phantom Assassin by Kanereader765 (WIP) (An incredible view on an assassin trained Phantom who escaped the league)

Cain and Abel Wept by Katlover98 The Fenton Twins by AceFace98 (Twist on the usual demon twin formula) Twin Stars by CrescentCyan

The Bat Trap by Threee (One of the best works I have ever had the pleasure of reading in this fandom. Still reread it every now and then because I love it so much.)

[General Recs]

Ghosts In Gotham by Sivan5733 (Technically two out of the 5 works contain Hardcover content, the fifth work is the longest and its a great series.)

Robin's Egg by Calix (WIP) (Hilarious)

TWINcognito mode by nerdpoe (Double the unasked for gremlin.)

let the mourners come by PorcelanaRota (RIP twitter)

I’m King Boo by TourettesDog

Ghostly Delivery by WeirdNCrazy

The Misadventures of Cosplay Man by Shynnohwen

Midnight Blues and Late Night Tunes by halfagone

Hatred at First Sight by Sagoberattare

If I had a nickel… by bongo_balderdash

Somebody’s Gonna Love You by DisillusionedDanny

Danny Fenton, Hero Helper Extraordinaire by aryelee

You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost by ShootingFromAfar

You’re Gonna Be Sooo Haunted by ReverseNecromancer (WIP)

Death In the Hometown by Bad_Wolf_CDS (WIP)

Who Hurt My Baby? By OneDayITooWillChallengeGod (WIP)

Raising Phantom by Imp_y (WIP)

Blood Sons by Katlover98

Bask In Our Cosmic Insignificance by DisillusionedDanny

A King’s Prerogative by SugarPhantom

[Dead Tired]

Still Into You by DisillusionedDanny

The Rebirth of Tim Drake by Bewitched_Forest (WIP)

Family Introductions by Half-dead Ham

[Dead Silent]

Full Time Hero, Full Time Disaster by halfagone

[Dead On Main]

Lightning In A Bottle by DisillusionedDanny (WIP)

Like Betta Fish Do by PaperPuffin (WIP)

Empty Graves by Binaberries (WIP)

I Killed The Who? By Petite_Phthora (WIP)

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #hardcover ship #fanfic rec #ao3 link #not even close to all of them #dead tired #dead on main #dead silent #my fanfic rec list

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stxr-bxy · 8 months

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Getting into the goth subculture

ok just to clarify, nobody asked for this but i’m making it anyway

here are some great influences for the goth music subcultures

i’ve been hyperfixated on pretty much every one except metal and grunge at one point or another so i think i’m pretty qualified to make this statement.

also some of these artists are problematic so please do your research before you promote them! also i don’t support any of their actions, they just have good music that’s very influential to the scene.

anyways…let’s get started

- siouxsie and the banshees are a really great band to start out and they’re one of the most popular goth bands. they have about 12 albums and 2 compilations. they had many members at different times but notable members are siouxsie sioux (lead vocals), jon klein (guitar), steven severin (bass + keyboards), budgie (drums), and martin mccarrick (keyboard + strings)

- another great goth band is bauhaus, they are one of the pioneers of gothic rock and are often credited with making the first goth song. they have five studio albums. members include daniel ash (guitars + saxophone + lead vocals + backing vocals), peter murphy (lead vocals + backing vocals + guitar + keyboards + melodica + congas), kevin haskins (drums + keyboards + piano + backing vocals), and david j (bass + keyboards + percussion + lead vocals + backing vocals).

- another great band to start off with is the cramps (i recommend their album psychedelic jungle). many people think of the cramps as more psychobilly or punk-ish but they are also considered gothabilly and have gothic elements. they have at least 8 (i’m not sure) studio albums, 2 EPs, 2 live albums, and 4 compilations. members include, Lux interior (lead vocals + harmonica + percussion), Poison Ivy (lead guitar + rhythm guitar + bass), Slim Chance (bass), and Nick Knox (drums + percussion)

in order for a band to be goth they must play either gothic rock, post-punk, ethereal wave, cold wave, dark wave, death rock, visual kei, gothic pop, gothic metal, gothic symphonic metal or another gothic subgenre.

some more goth bands include…

- the cure (post-punk)

- sisters of mercy

- christian death (death rock)

- she wants revenge (gothic rock)

- alien sex fiend

- sex gang children

- lebanon hanover

- type o negative (gothic metal)

- o.children

- joy division

- london after midnight

- bat nouveau

- horror vacui

- the danse society

- strawberry switchblade (gothic pop/synth pop)

- depeche mode

- cocteau twins

- switchblade symphony

- fields of the nephilium

- twin tribes

- the march violets

- xmal deutschland

- clan of xymox

- pink turns blue

- rosetta stone

- plastique noir

- mephisto walz

- corpus delicti

- 13th chime

- specimen

- skeletal family

- molchat doma

- drab majesty

- altar de fey

- inkubus sukkubus

- strawberry switchblade

- the birthday massacre

- killing joke

- this cold night

- japan

- the birthday party

- paralysed age

- the scary bitches

- scarlet’s remains

- mareux

- she past away

- bloody dead and sexy

- rose garden funeral party

- mephisto walz

- this cold night

- cold cave

and more!

edit: just a note. you do not need to dress goth to be goth. goth fashion is optional. if you choose to dress goth but don’t listen to goth music you are just alt. the only way to be goth is to agree with the beliefs behind it and listen to the music (you can also listen to other genres in addition to goth).

some beliefs of the gothic/alt community are:

- there is beauty in darkness, pain/sadness, and the macabre

- rejection of conservatism

- rejection of conformity

- anti-war

- anti-racist

- anti-fascist

- anti-authoritarian

- pro-LGBTQ

- pro-choice

- anti-capitalism

- and other leftist or anarchistic beliefs

also…

if you agree with the beliefs but nothing else you are just a leftist/anarchist

if you listen to the music or dress goth but don’t agree with the beliefs you’re not alt and/or you are considered a “poser”. right-wingers cannot be alt because they contradict eachother.

if you listen to goth music you are goth

if you agree with everything you are goth

#gothgoth #goth girl #gothic #alternative goth #goth aesthetic #goth music #baby goth #siouxsie and the banshees #siouxsie sioux #type o negative #bauhaus #the cramps #goo goo muck #sisters of mercy #the cure #alien sex fiend #sex gang children #joy division #strawberry switchblade

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97keanu · 8 months

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Dave Lizewski x Vampire!Reader

Premise: Dave finally finds the courage to go to an underground goth bar he found while scouring internet forums on how to pick up a goth girlfriend. What he doesn't realize is he may have found more than what he bargained for.

Tags/CW: nerdy!Dave, loser!Dave, Goth!Reader, Vampire!Reader, blood, drinking blood, bathroom sex, p in v, semi public sex, oral, virgin!Dave, Dom/switch!Reader, Sub!Dave.

Dave has always had a thing for goth girls, he hates to admit how much he wishes he had a one for a girlfriend in particular. He knows he's too nerdy for anyone as dark and suave as he fantasizes for. They would never be attracted to him. It's not like he could bring one back to his room either. Not with the posters of Elvira, Morticia, Raven from Teen Titans, and Abby Sciuto (he only watched NCIS for her.) that hung across his bedroom walls. And if it wasn't for that, the rest of his nerdy figurines and extensive comic book collection was sure to run them off. Dave was way too much of a Certified Virgin, as his friends called him, to pull a goth girl on his own.

So, he decided to try a different method. He searched the internet, his one true social outlet, looking for the most authentic goth bar New York City had to offer. Then he went in search of the best goth clothes he could find without looking like a total poser. He sprang for a thrift store black dress shirt and black skinny jeans. He contemplated whether or not he should ditch the studded belt(he bought it just in case.), and then he delved into goth bands and culture so he would have something to talk about.

That's how he ended up here, at an abandoned church that had had a red and black macabre makeover. Still, even with the pulsing music and plenty of goth men and women to choose from, Dave found himself a wallflower next to a fake, hung up skeleton. He could hardly talk to the skeleton, so he sat there like a dork, phone in his hands, and a sprite in his glass since he was only 18 and he didn't have the balls for a fake I.D.

That was, until, you caught sight of him from across the dancefloor. You with your midnight hair, dramatic make up, and lovely black lips. You smelled Dave's delicious blood as soon as you walked in. Now all you needed to do was reel him in. You danced hypnotically through the crowd, and soon enough, Dave glanced up and caught sight of you. Of course he laughed nervously to himself when you caught his gaze, and you could tell by his thought of "Did she really just look at me?" that he would be an easy prey. You could also tell by his basic "goth" attire he wasn't a regular. You were intrigued by such a nerdy little human...

You work your way closer, and Dave shifts nervously, unable to get his mind working for what he's supposed to do. He takes in your gorgeous body, your corsetted waist making your hips look so tantalizing, your hands moving to the music, bell sleeves whipping slowly with them. What made Dave shiver was your red contacts and pearly fangs. Of course, you were one of those vampire obsessed goths. He had to admit, that was a fantasy that turned him on most. He knew it would never be real, but even the idea of roleplaying with someone about his vampire fantasy had his cock aching. Still, he had never seen someone with such a convincing costume.

Before he could question it more, you were already before him, taking his sprite and setting it on a nearby ledge.

"Hey cutie, let's dance!" You smile, and your fangs glint in the flashing lights. You know this boy will never guess that they're actually real, and somehow that makes it so much better.

"R-really?" Dave can barely utter back before you're nodding and pulling him into the crowd.

The speakers blare Depeche Mode and for a second Dave wonders if it's you that's his "Own Personal Jesus". You truly came from nowhere, like an angel in black, and saved this night from being the most pathetic, stupid thing he's done to try to get a date. You can feel the relief wash over him as you find a spot where you two can really dance.

The music guides you, and Dave tries to keep up, his hands never knowing where to go. You place them firmly on your hips and wait for him to glide them where he sees fit, and you have to laugh a little when he nervously waits, a smile that's wholly pleased and confused on his face. You move his hands once again, letting them glide over black velvet and lace slowly until he has a hand full of your ass. Now, he can't help but squeeze, his mind reeling from the fact that he's touching such a lovely creature of the night and her soft, plump ass.

After that, Dave gets the memo, taking you grinding into his cock in stride, his care about other people fading as the dance floor becomes just you and him. The dark lighting and crowd made it so easy for him to let loose, and soon enough he's taking his hands to places he never thought he would get with a girl.

He's blushing so hard, but his grin and the adrenaline are taking over. For once, he's actually starting to feel like he fits in somewhere. Maybe goths do have the right idea...

You, on the other hand, can hear all his horny thoughts about you. You love how much he desires you, and you think it's cute how badly he wishes he could bend you over and fuck you right here. You also hear how much he feels like he truly fits in, and for a moment, you feel bad that a part of you just wants his blood.

You continue dancing and hearing his thoughts, and you decide that if you're going to satisfy your own hunger tonight, you might as well satisfy a part of Dave's hunger as well. Besides, it's not like you just picked him because he smelled so tasty. You really did have a thing for nerdy boys, and based on how hard he is in those black skinny jeans, you think he'll satisfy you more than enough.

You turn to him, your red eyes gleaming and soft.

"I want you." You say plainly, and Dave doesn't even realize you used your vampiric powers so that he could hear you so clearly in his head.

All Dave can do is nod along, helpless to your temptation. You're surprised you didn't even have to use any mind tricks to get him to go with you. He's so horny and helpless to a woman like you, that he happily comes when you tell him to follow.

This church is your typical hunting grounds, so you know exactly where to take him. You leave the sweaty, writhing crowd and head to a more private, single stall bathroom. Dave looks at you with puppy love eyes, and you feel that pang of guilt once more. You lead him inside, locking the two of you in, the yellow fluorescents not doing much to hide who you truly are.

Dave is just so happy a girl would give him any attention that he's more than willing to be here with you. The music is muffled by the walls of the bathroom, so you lean in and whisper.

"I want you to fuck me, Dave..." He looks at you with a soft smile, but a confused brow.

"How did you know my name was Dave?" Ah, you forgot you had gotten that tidbit out of his head.

No matter, your hands run down the buttons of his shirt, and you smile softly.

"You told me, remember?" And suddenly, even though Dave truly does not remember, he doesn't care.

He doesn't care because a sexy girl is slowly unbuttoning his shirt and allowing him to keep his hands gripped to her ass. You could have told him his name was anything and he would have agreed, he wants you that badly.

You undo his shirt, surprised to find a well defined body under there. He may be nerdy, but it seems like he's done some working out at least. You trail a red tipped nail down his chest until you meet his pants, pulling teasingly on the waist band with a smile.

"W-wait..." Dave says and you look up, curious.

"I just um..." He starts, and moves his glasses nervously. "This is my uh, first time and I guess I just had certain ideas about what would h-happen..."

You nod, listening, and you're surprised by yourself. You really must kind of like this nerd. Usually you would already be halfway done with dinner, but for some reason, tonight you decide to take your time.

"And how would you like to start...?" You say, softly playing with one of his curls, looking at him with understanding.

"I um...I always imagined that I would..." You see the idea in his mind before he says it and smile. "I would take care of you first..."

You're starting to really like this guy. The fact that he's not even worried about where or how it happens, just that he gets you off first has your pussy throbbing.

"We can make that happen." You pull him seductively over to the counter by the sink, hopping on and pulling him down to his knees. He is more than happy to do so, and you pull your skirt up to reveal your lack of panties. Dave let's out a nervous breath.

"Oh w-wow..." He pushes his glasses back up once more. "You came prepared..."

"Mhm..." You sigh out, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, as if to say, "Yes and?".

He's wanted this for so long, studied so hard on forums online for how to properly eat a girl out, and now here's his big shot, with only thee hottest girl in this club. Shit...He better do a good job.

He wastes no more time, pulling you close and letting you put your legs over his shoulders. You happily welcome that mess of curls between your legs, and Dave has you perfectly propped on the corner of the counter. He is already being overtaken by how badly he wants to please you, his tongue getting to work on your pussy.

He starts by lapping up all of it greedily, and to your surprise, not for the first time this night, he's actually really good at it. Maybe you will keep him around for a bit longer...

He plays with you, sucking and teasing before finally getting fed up with his foggy glasses and tossing them on the counter. Now, to get to the real work.

He slowly begins to place two fingers inside of you, and you are more than ready. You're already wetter than you thought you would be, and you begin to wonder who's seducing who. It makes it all the better that you can hear and sense how horny Dave is for this, he is already so drunk off your pussy, tasting every bit of you and fucking you just right with his fingers. For a virgin, he's so good at this.

You take a handful of his curls and pull him in deeper. He moans into you, more than happy to let you take control and use him up. He sucks on your clit, driving you mad with attention there, and hitting that perfect spot inside you with his fingers. Fuck...you might just cum that quickly. How did this dork make you this horny so soon...?

You go with it, feeling yourself clench around his fingers, looking down and seeing those lovely, desperate blue eyes looking up at you. You love how badly he wants this, and you feel so close already.

"Please..." He whispers between breathes and licks. "Cum on my face..."

The fact that he's asking for it sends shivers down your spine, and you feel yourself unwinding. You pull him in deeply, finishing and shaking with Dave between your thighs. You can hardly stop your legs from closing on his head he makes you cum so hard.

And when you're done, you slowly let him up, his mouth wet from you, his eyes dazed and happy. You look down and see how hard his cock is struggling against those jeans and smile.

"Fuck me, I need your cock inside of me, now..." You command him softly, knowing you only need to ask.

Dave happily unbuttons his jeans, pulling his cock out and leaving the rest on. He gives himself a few pumps just to test, but he's already so fucking hard. His mind feels like melting when he thinks about how good his cock will feel inside of you. He doesn't go right for it, no.

He kisses you. And you're surprised by how badly he wants more than just a fuck. You can hear his thoughts, and can tell how much he needed this, this connection. He slips in tongue in your mouth while you pull him close enough to slip his cock in your cunt. He breathes out a shaky breath, taking it slow. He's already so overstimulated he thinks he may cum just from putting it in.

Dave let's his cock rest so deeply inside you, filling you to the brim. You find yourself moaning into his mouth, his tongue sliding over one of your fangs. He pulls back, looking at you for a moment. "Were those really that sharp?" He thinks, and you pull him back in, before he can think on it too deeply.

He goes with it, taking your kiss and letting you run them down his neck. As you begin to suck there playfully, he groans from how good it feels. He slowly begins to pump his cock inside of you, testing how much he can take so he doesn't blow his load too quickly. He breathes out shallow, heavy breaths from how much he wants to bury his cock in you and fill you up. His brow scrunches up as he wills himself to last longer, and you shutter from how full he's making you.

You almost forget what you're actually here to do. As he continues, and begins to get so close he can barely take it, you decide then to sink your fangs into his neck. Dave cries out, both from the pleasure and pain, and he can't help but buck into you hard, going deeper than you even thought possible, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum.

You drink deeply, and Dave feels as if he can't stop cumming. The bite is so delicious for you both, and he makes no moves to stop you. Instead, he finds himself holding you closer, wanting you deeper and to be deeper in you. It feels so good he doesn't notice when he starts to get light headed.

But you do. And you have to force yourself to pull your fangs from his neck, lapping at the wound until it heals.

"What...what did you do to me..." Dave says, sleepily.

"Here..." You bite your own wrist, blood dripping down slowly.

"What...?" Dave is confused, but not protesting. You give him a look, and he opens his mouth. He figures this must just be apart of goth culture he didn't read about.

He takes your blood in stride, sucking until you tell him to stop. And even after, he wants more.

"What...are you...?" He says, his face relaxed and his eyes heavy with afterglow.

"I think you know." And he does. He nods, and you help him get cleaned up.

"What do we do now?" He asks so sweetly when you're finished. And you already know that you've decided it.

You want him, and he is now yours. You explain it to him. You will let him go about his daily life, but when he feels the call of your blood inside of him, then he must come and let you feed like tonight. In return, of course, you let him know that you will let him fuck you as much as he desires. Dave is more than happy about that arrangement, a heavy after-sex grin on his face. You're happy to have a steady meal that you don't hate and a fat cock to sit on when you feel like it. What a cute blood doll you've acquired...

Taglist: @microwgreen @questionable-behavior @babyqnn @sebastianstanisahotmf @lazyneonrabbitt @nikistan @remuslupinsno1slut @haha-im-dumb @shakedogshake @beep-boop-baby @aesniri @pinkyyy666 @lpeanut-butterl @shrekscrustybudassy @lookatmelookatme @dreary-salem @almostjollypizza @boo8008 @arabellacrybaby @imaslutforcuddles @yasugardaddieshouse @real-sharena-h @stilloverthinking @tvgirlsbluehair @magicalgoopdeanhuman @jazmin25 @sknnylgndsstuff @lenasdmns @iluvkr @d3psta @sinjinpools @whotfistaylor @mut4nts @loser-lover0527 @vselva-blog @adrienette715 @jayjay577 @gildedgwen @izzyisstuff @casuallycruel-tswiftie13 @winter-bearv

#dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski x vampire!reader #dave lizewski #dave lizewski fanfic #kick ass fanfic #my writing

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heartfullofleeches · 9 months

Text

Some background on my college yan and older neighbor reader because I love both very much

Tedric "Teddie" Jones- [he/they]

Teddie has always been a quiet and reserved guy. Sheltered by their parents due to difficulties at birth, Teddie would eventually receive his first taste of the macabre world as a young teen when a mishap at the local movie rent had him receiving a documentary on serial killers in the state instead of the age appropriate film his parents had picked for them. Saving all their allowance and birthday money to fuel their new obsession, now 23 year old Teddie Jones chemistry major is a horror fanatic, and has had vivid fantasies about tormenting those who have caused trouble in their life - but never the drive to commit such acts

Like many in the community, he avoided Reader when they first moved in per instruction of his parents. Through brief interaction over the years, he framed them as someone to be cautious of, though admired their independency and closed off nature. When rumors of their past began to pop up, he was the first to do some digging and his admiration only grew. The two wouldn't formally meet until one afternoon when his normally attentive parents forgot to tell him they had had the locks changed that very morning. Not wanting to be caught in the brewing storm, Teddie knocked on reader's door and asked if they could climb their fence to get to his backyard. Reader refused as they wouldn't be able to get over without a few scrapes and instead invited them inside to wait it out. With the way reader stared at him, a part of Teddie feared there was more to their generosity and lured him in with the gesture of kindness to add them to the growing roster of missing persons reports, but as soon as Teddie sat down they-

Just talked.

Reader asked how he was doing in school. How his parents were. They asked why he never used that skateboard they saw his dad bring home for him which Teddie had to bashfully explain he had fallen too many times for the idea of learning to be fun. It was the only time their expression changed during the conversation. They scolded him for giving up so easily and told him to bring it over if he ever got the chance. Within two weeks, Teddie had a new mode of transportation to and from school. When he asked why they helped him Reader said he reminded them a lot of themself when they were younger. Always afraid of the what-ifs and pain in spite of taking action. They didn't want him to end up like them at their age - alone with no one to turn to.

In that short timeframe, Reader became Teddie's rock. Whenever he had a problem they were who he fled to without a second thought. They shared their knowledge with him and in turn Teddie tried to be that same beacon of light for them they had been for him. He wanted to be their crutch, someone they could depend on in their darkest hour. Whenever he had thoughts of hurting others they always showed up in some fashion - encouraging them for his bravery or clutching their hands around his as the two drove a blade into the chest of their victim. They'd wash off in the shower together and Teddie would finally get to see more of their bedroom than just the glimpses he caught from his window. They'd lie together and with adrenaline still coursing through their veins, Teddie would finally know the warmth of another living being. They wondered if the kids would be reader's first as well. They dreamed they'd be each other's first in other ways, but would be fine with any outcome that ended with them both happy and in each other's arms.

Teddie is aware Reader sees them as someone to mentor which they use to their advantage to receive a taste of what their heart truly desires. They beg on their knees for dating practice so they can ask out someone they met at a party. Some make out experience would be nice too. Teddie works hard to someday become the person Reader can proudly call their own. They want to give Reader the youth they lost and take them heal their wounded heart to the world around them. The people in it can all burn for what they've done to them, but there's so much good the two can do together it all out weights the bad. If only they'd give him the chance.

"Reader"

Ranging somewhere from late 20s to early 30s- Reader was severely in high school for the hapless crime of being in the wrong place in the wrong century, Reader's misfortune only got worse as the one time they fought back to result in the head trauma and later death of a bully. At this point their harassment had escalated to borderline torture which left Reader with scars to this day. Through witness testimony and their injuries, Reader was not punished by the law by tradition means and instead sent away from the psychological damage they innocent caused.

Mostly free from their past, Reader could not return home after what happened and moved into a suburban neighborhood in a home owned by a distant relative who had passed and descendants who couldn't bother with the upkeep. Reader has made their peace, but is still haunted by ghosts and lessens their stress by avoiding relatively everyone. Well, mostly everyone. They take pity on the shy kid next door, seeing a reflection of themselves in him. When they heard they knock at their door they see a chance to right some of their wrongs and help the poor guy out. With their assistance, that quiet guy comes more out of their shell by the day and even managed to make a couple friends at their college. They couldn't be prouder.

Teddie still clings to their hip which puzzles them now that he has others who tolerate his company, but it's nice to have another voice in their barren fortress they call a home. Their age gap isn't too far off, but Reader can't help but find some of his mannerisms a little.. odd. Sometimes he waits on their porch like a lost puppy despite having a key, and he seems damn near obsessed with their love life which is pretty much non-existent. Must be just city things. They brush off his more outlandish queries and jokes that they'll kiss him if he gets a high enough score on his paper. The color drains from their face when the results are sent out and Teddie waits excitedly for their reward

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere drabble

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kenora-pizza · 3 months

Text

Musical musings - TTTE edition

One of the things that got me back into TTTE was the banger soundtrack and character themes. Music has always been a huge part of my life, I have classical training for the piano and an in-depth knowledge of musical theory and harmonic practices for classical music. So here are some of the things I noticed about various character themes and some of the engines' whistles.

Gordon is considered to be the biggest engine out of the main 12, and this could be reflected in his whistle, as it has the greatest interval between the two notes which make it up, that being a minor seventh between C and Bb.

James' whistle (G - C#/Db) is a tritone/Augmented 4th/Diminished 5th. In medieval times, this interval was considered to be a representation of conflict, discord (no, not THAT Discord) instability and danger. You can hear it in pieces like the iconic opening to Camille Saint-Seans' Danse Macabre, and in Hector Berlioz's La damnation de Faust to represent the titular character's arrival in Hell. James, I've noticed, is pretty damn insecure. He clings to his red paint like a lifeline and hides behind a veneer of arrogance and vanity. He can be quite boastful, to the detriment of his relationships with other engines, with him usually being the aggressor in conflicts with them. So I suppose the use of a tritone for his whistle is appropriate.

Percy appears to (mentally) be the youngest of the main 12, and this could be represented by having the highest whistle out of all of them.

Thomas' character theme and Edward's Series 2 theme both feature modulations to the parallel major of the initial key's relative minor, with Thomas' theme starting in F major and ending in D major, and Edward's theme starting in C major and ending in A major. The "relative minor" of a major key is the minor key which shares its key signature (ex. the relative minor of F major is D minor since they share the same key signature of one flat, likewise with C major, A minor and a key signature of no accidentals). The "parallel major" of a minor key is the major key which shares its 1st note (AKA, the tonic). So....like mentor, like mentee. Or like Father, like Son, in terms of musical themes.

Henry's theme is in a quadruple meter (following an 8-measure phrasing pattern, likely 12/8 time), meaning that there are 4 beats to a measure. However, each one of these "beats" consists of a triplet(If you were to count out a measure, it'd be 1-2-3 4-5-6 7-8-9 10-11-12, and you'd conduct it like 4 beats instead of each of the 12 individual notes) And Henry is the number 3 engine. Hmm.......

If I think of any more, I'll post 'em. If anyone even reads this lol

P.S: One of my favourite OSTs is Kingdom Dance from Tangled, and every time I listen it, I think of the twins. Probably because it uses the E Dorian mode (with a dash of E Mixolydian) which is common in Scottish music. Just in case anyone's confused, the "Dorian" mode is an 8-note scale which starts on the second note of a given major scale. (e.g, E is the 2nd note of a D major scale, so its Dorian mode uses the same signature of 2 sharps). The Mixolydian mode is an 8-note scale which starts on the 5th note of a given major scale. (e.g, E is the 5th note of an A major scale and thus, its Mixolydian mode uses the same key signature of 3 sharps).

youtube

#music #classical music #music theory #musical analysis #ttte #thomas and friends #Hats off to Mike & Junior for creating such an iconic soundtrack #Youtube #dang this really just turned into a music lesson huh

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balkanradfem · 5 months

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"Growing flax to make linen was one of the oldest human activities in Europe, particularly in the Rhineland. Archeologists have found linen textiles among the settlements of Neolithic cultivators along the shores of Lake Neuchâtel in the Jura Mountains west of Bern, Switzerland. These were elaborate pieces: Stone Age clothmakers of the Swiss lakeshores sewed pierced fruit pits in a careful line into a fabric with woven stripes. The culture spread down the Rhine and into the lowland regions.

The Roman author Pliny observed in the first century AD that German women wove and wore linen sheets. By the ninth century flax had spread through Germany. By the sixteenth century, flax was produced in many parts of Europe, but the corridor from western Switzerland to the mouth of the Rhine contained the oldest region of large-scale commercial flax and linen production. In the late Middle Ages the linen of Germany was sold nearly everywhere in Europe, and Germany produced more linen than any other region in the world.

At this juncture, linen weavers became victims of an odd prejudice. “Better skinner than linen weaver,” ran one cryptic medieval German taunt. Another macabre popular saying had it that linen weavers were worse than those who “carried the ladders to the gallows.” The reason why linen weavers were slandered in this way, historians suspect, was that although linen weavers had professionalized and organized themselves into guilds, they had been unable to prevent homemade linen from getting onto the market. Guilds appeared across Europe between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries but many of the items they produced for exchange, like textiles and soap, were also produced at home right up through the nineteenth century. The intricate regulations of the guilds—determining who could join, how they would be trained, what goods they would produce, and how these could be exchanged—were mainly designed to distinguish guild work from this homely labor. That linen making continued to be carried out inside of households—a liability for guilds in general—lent a taint to the linen guild in particular.

In the seventeenth century, guilds came under pressure from a new, protocapitalist mode of production. Looking for cheaper cloth to sell on foreign markets, entrepreneurs cased the Central European countryside offering to pay cash to home producers for goods. Rural households became export manufacturing centers and a major source of competition with the guilds. These producers could undercut the prices of urban craftsmen because they could use the unregulated labor of their family members, and because their own agricultural production allowed them to sell their goods for less than their subsistence costs.

The uneasiness between guild and household production in the countryside erupted into open hostility. In the 1620s, linen guildsmen marched on villages, attacking competitors, and burning their looms. In February 1627 Zittau guild masters smashed looms and seized the yarn of home weavers in the villages of Oderwitz, Olbersdorf, and Herwigsdorf.

Guilds had long worked to keep homemade products from getting on the market. In their death throes, they hit upon a new and potent weapon: gender. Although women in medieval Europe wove at home for domestic consumption, many had also been guild artisans. Women were freely admitted as masters into

the earliest medieval guilds, and statutes from Silesia and the Oberlausitz show that women were master weavers. Thirteenth-century Paris had eighty mixed craft guilds of men and women and fifteen female-dominated guilds for such trades as gold thread, yarn, silk, and dress manufacturing. Up until the mid-seventeenth century, guilds had belittled home production because it was unregulated, nonprofessional, and competitive. In the mid-seventeenth century this work was identified as women’s work, and guildsmen unable to compete against cheaper household production tried to eject women from the market entirely. Single women were barred from independent participation in the guilds. Women were restricted to working as domestic servants, farmhands, spinners, knitters, embroiderers, hawkers, wet nurses. They lost ground even where the jobs had been traditionally their own, such as ale brewing and midwifery, by the end of the seventeenth century.

The wholesale ejection of women from the market during this period was achieved not only through guild statute, but through legal, literary, and cultural means. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries women lost the legal right to conduct economic activity as femes soles. In France they were declared legal “imbeciles,” and lost the right to make contracts or represent themselves in court. In Italy, they began to appear in court less frequently to denounce abuses against them. In Germany, when middle-class women were widowed it became customary to appoint a tutor to manage their affairs. As the medieval historian Martha Howell writes, “Comedies and satires of this period…often portrayed market women and trades women as shrews, with characterizations that not only ridiculed or scolded them for taking on roles in market production but frequently even charged them with sexual aggression.” This was a period rich in literature about the correction of errant women: Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew (1590–94), John Ford’s ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore (1629–33), Joseph Swetnam’s “The Araignment of Lewde, Idle, Froward, and Unconstant Women” (1615). Meanwhile, Protestant reformers and Counter-Reformation Catholics established doctrinally that women were inherently inferior to men.

This period, called the European Age of Reason, successfully banished women from the market and transformed them into the sweet and passive beings that emerged in Victorian literature. Women accused of being scolds were paraded in the streets wearing a new device called a “branks,” an iron muzzle that depressed the tongue. Prostitutes were subjected to fake drowning, whipped, and caged. Women convicted of adultery were sentenced to capital punishment.

As a cultural project, this was not merely recreational sadism. Rather, it was an ideological achievement that would have lasting and massive economic consequences. Political philosopher Silvia Federici has argued this expulsion was an intervention so massive, it ought to be included as one of a triptych of violent seizures, along with the Enclosure Acts and imperialism, that allowed capitalism to launch itself.

Part of why women resisted enclosure so fiercely was because they had the most to lose. The end of subsistence meant that households needed to rely on money rather than the production of agricultural goods like cloth, and women had successfully been excluded from ways to earn. As labor historian Alice Kessler-Harris has argued, “In pre-industrial societies, nearly everybody worked, and almost nobody worked for wages.” During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, monetary relations began to dominate economic life in Europe. Barred from most wage work just as the wage became essential, women were shunted into a position of chronic poverty and financial dependence. This was the dominant socioeconomic reality when the first modern factory, a cotton-spinning mill, opened in 1771 in Derbyshire, England, an event destined to upend still further the pattern of daily life."

- Sofi Thanhauser, Worn: A People's History of Clothing

#radical feminism #feminism #linen #history of clothing #sexism #female oppression #the rights they TOOK from us #i'm so pissed #i knew there would be misogyny in history of clothing #but this made my blood burn #Sofi Thanhauser

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