#god the things i would do to this man.

[adaelines]

wrote this whilst i was playing re4 bc i couldnt stop looking at leon's arms and everytime he kicked an enemy i wanted him on his KNEES warning for smut! afab reader but gender neutral, public sex, he goes down on you whilst youre hiding from enemies, careful he spits, dom leon who lives for making you feel good

Leon always was prettiest on his knees. 

Wide, gunmetal blue eyes staring up at you, so full of love and adoration it’s almost overwhelming. The position and expression alone tells you how much he loves you, how much he wants to be on his knees for you. Despite his strength, just how easy it would be for him to overpower you and switch your positions, he still wanted nothing more than to be knelt before you, worshipping his lover the way he felt they deserved to be worshipped. He'd spend hours between your thighs, hours making you feel good, no matter the situation.

It's how you found yourself here. In the upstairs of a rough, almost destroyed house. You could hear the cultists downstairs, hear them searching for you both, and if either of you so much as moved you were terrified that they'd be alerted to your position above them. And yet Leon just couldn't help himself, not when you'd spent the last hour fighting and relying on one another to stay alive. It always riled him up, always made his heart beat fast and drool form under his tongue. Nothing got to him the way you did when you fought, when you protected him and he was able to protect you. 

The moment you were both alone, even when you technically weren't with the cultists downstairs still looking for you, he was immediately on you like you were his prey, like he'd been hunting you for hours and could finally go in for the kill. You should have known, with his smug little grin and the way he stood ever so slightly closer to you than usual, that something was going to happen. You just never thought you'd end up here, back against an almost broken wooden wall, the oh so powerful Leon Kennedy on his knees in front of you, looking up at you as if you had put the sun and moon in his sky. 

"Leon," you hissed, teeth gritted tight and the hand in his hair gripping onto him, "Are you serious? Do you want to get us killed?"

"C'mon, sweet thing, as if this would be a bad place to die," Leon's voice was low, full of a rasp that could only come from his desire from you. 

"Oh, in a random village in Spain full of cultists? Real romantic, Kennedy."

"From down here, I can't think of a better place," The grin on his face was wide, full of mischief, and you couldn't miss the way his eyelids fluttered when you gently tugged on his locks, nor could he miss the soft smile that briefly appeared on your face at his words. 

With a quiet sigh, you leant your head back against the wall, biting your lip.

"Fine, but please… make it quick, Leon, I'll fuck you properly once we're out of here, I promise," His grin only widened at your words, his hands quickly coming up to shove your pants down just enough for his face to fit. He didn't have the patience to fully remove them, once he saw your underwear, he couldn't wait any longer to dig his face as far as it would go, as close as he could be to your weeping core. 

With his nose pressed against the wet spot on your underwear, he couldn't help but let out a low moan. His eyes were shut, eyebrows furrowed like he was truly enjoying himself. Just by being this close, feeling your heat and smelling your wetness, his hips bucked up in his kneeling position, hands holding your thighs so tightly you thought they might bruise. He always did love leaving proof of his love on you, bruises of his hand and fingerprints left wherever he could. 

When you could feel his nose against your clit, feel the way he mouthed at the wet spot in your underwear like he was a man starved, you had to quickly bring the hand that wasn't in his hair up to cover your mouth. You didn't want to let go of him, but you also couldn't let yourself make any noise. It wasn't fair that a simple touch felt so good, not when anything above a quiet whimper would get you both caught, get you both killed. Leon didn't seem to care though, the way his hands rushed to shove your underwear down to join your pants around your thighs, the devious grin on his face proving that he didn't plan on stopping or slowing down any time soon. 

The way that Leon's tongue felt on your clit almost killed you, the hand in his hair tightening enough for him to let out a low groan against you, the hands on your hips tightening. Your other hand was still clamped tight over your mouth, keeping any noise you almost made at bay. This didn't make Leon happy though, even with cultists downstairs, he wanted to hear you as much as he could. One of his hands moved to the underside of your thigh, bringing it up over his shoulder as much as it could against the stretch of your pants. His grip was tight, holding you against him as close as he could, as if he wanted to become one with you, wanted to suffocate against you. Maybe he was serious about dying here, just by you instead of the people currently trying to kill you.

His tongue was quick against you, flattened so he could swipe from your hole to your clit. He took moments to focus on each, suckling on your clit and shoving his tongue into your hole as deep as he could. Eyes open now, he couldn't look away from your expression. He wanted to see everything, see you desperately try to keep your voice down, see you come apart simply from his mouth. It was always a beautiful sight, one that Leon held dear, making you cum was his favourite thing and nothing felt as good as knowing you felt good.

Pulling away slowly, Leon made sure to keep eye contact as he spat on your clit, grinning as he slowly watched it dribble down your cunt, onto your hole. He used his tongue before it could go any further, fucking it into you as deep as he could reach. If he couldn't cum inside you, he would have to do with at least knowing his spit was as deep as it could go, shoved inside you with his tongue and fingers, which he quickly brought to your hole when he started sucking on your clit once more. It was overwhelming, fingers in your hole and tongue on your clit, the hand in his hair was gripping so tight you'd have to apologise later, but trying to stay quiet when a man like Leon was giving you this much attention was hard, and you needed to focus on something. He always loved it when you pulled his hair anyway, so you knew he wouldn't complain at the sharp ache that it left on his scalp, not when you'd sooth it over with gentle touches later.

His touch and tongue were brutal against you, so harsh and so much that you could swear he was trying to kill you. When you let out a whimper that was slightly too loud, he pulled away, eyes stern as he stared up at you.

"Make a noise and I won't let you finish," His voice was just as stern as his gaze, but undeniably full of his need for you. Raspy and low, desperate. "Won't let you finish for a whole week. Won't you be good for me, pretty thing?" 

You couldn't help but whine at his words, lower and quieter this time, and the grin he gave was downright devilish. He gently patted your thigh, as if praising a dog, and pressed a gentle kiss on your clit before going back to the rough abuse he was giving it earlier. It wasn't fair, it was so much, and you were so close. Your legs were shaking, back arched against the wood and you swore your face was starting to hurt with the way you clamped your hand over your mouth. It'd be hard to explain just how you got a hand shape bruise over your mouth, but you couldn't care ar all. Not when Leon's mouth was about to make you cum, obvious in the way you were almost spasming against his hold.

"Cum for me, sweetheart, come on… want you to cum for me now…" voice quiet, almost a whisper but so so loud in your mind, all you could focus on. It wasn't a request anymore, he was demanding, almost a threat that dared you to not listen. His tone was serious, the one he used when he wanted you to know he meant business, would punish you if you didn't obey.

It wasn't hard either, not when his assault on your cunt was so focused, not when he knew every way to make you feel good and easily took advantage of it, when the thigh resting on his shoulder was tight against his cheek, the hand in his hair tight. You came with a muffled moan, head threw back and willing yourself to not scream with just how overwhelming everything was, grinding against Leon's face, using it for your own pleasure as you finished. He helped you through the orgasm, fingers and tongue slowing but not stopping, and when you pushed his head away out of sensitivity, he pressed one last kiss to your clit and gave you another devious grin.

''That's it, pretty, you're doing so good for me...''

He would absolutely be doing this again, and you would absolutely be getting him back for it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)

[wyvernity]

been thinking about the sinnohtrio lately......plus misc other stuff

also, casual ko-fi drop!! get something in this sketchy style starting at $10 woop woop

[danielnelsen]

while i get where this comes from and it’s true to an extent, i reeeaaaally don’t like how people try to explain “trans men don’t [necessarily] have male privilege” with things like “some trans men don’t pass”.

like sure that’s the most obvious example (someone who is seen as a woman won’t have the privilege that comes with being seen a man) but you’re still acting like being a passing trans man is just a free opt-in to male privilege which is………kinda the issue.

[blorbologist]

Y'know, I think I figured out why the Hells still feel like a new low-level party to me, even though they're level 13 and almost 100 episodes in.

I don't quite think it's the lack of conversations, or the fact half the party's plot hooks are big ties to past campaigns - though that definitely plays a part.

... Bell's Hells still primarily rely on quest givers.

Most of their goals are given to them and do not feel organic to the party, and constantly remind us that the Hells are pretty much never the most powerful people in the room. Which is usually something you see with a low-level party.

NPCs offering jobs is not a bad thing; it's a very common plot hook. Matt has been extremely skilled with using NPC quest givers in those two campaigns. Not only do they provide an obvious plot thread, but they can put the party in the path of others (say, the Nein running into the Iron Shepherds while doing a job for the Gentleman and everything that came of that). And the Hells had a solid start with it too - Eshteross was an excellent quest giver!

The problem is that Bell's Hells have never really not had a quest giver.

Maybe it's a byproduct of the more plot-heavy structure of this campaign? But while prior parties have felt like they decided on their course of action and what they prioritized, Bell's Hells feels less like level 13 (13! Level 13!) experienced adventurers and more like an MMO group clicking on the exclamation point over an NPC's head. Where does the plot demand we go next? Who do we report back to?

They're level 13.

At level 13, Vox Machina had just defeated a necromantic city-state to clear their name and Percy's conscience. And, you know, the Conclave just destroyed Emon. No one was explicitly telling the group to gather Vestiges and save the world (though Matt guided them there), and they were usually among the most powerful people in the room. They chose which Vestiges to prioritize, which dragons to tackle when, even if the over-all plot was pretty clear.

At level 13, the Mighty Nein were celebrating Traveler Con (another PC goal, I'll note) after brokering peace between two nations, accidentally becoming pirates and heroes of the Dynasty. The Nein regularly chose what to do based on personal goals, not grand ones. Though definitely smaller fish than Vox Machina at this level, they were very independent and gaining solid political clout.

While we're at it: level 13 is one level lower than the Ring of Brass, who had a huge amount of sway over Avalir. They ended the world, and also saved it, while in the grand scheme of things being only a smidge more powerful than Bell's Hells are now.

Can you really see the Hells wielding that amount of influence, when they're constantly being told what to do next?

The god-eater might be unleashed, so Bell's Hells have no time to do anything but what is asked of them. No time for therapy unless stolen from Feywild time, no travel on foot and late-night watches. They haven't even had time to grieve FCG. Percy was grieved in the middle of the Conclave arc. Molly was grieved when half the party was still in irons.

Matt is in the very unfortunate spot of not being able to give the Hells the same agency as the other two parties. Not only because of the world-ending plot introduced so early on; they are surrounded by characters they know (and the cast knows) are stronger and wiser than them - the familiarity of the past PCs and NPCs is to their disadvantage.

Why would the party reasonably ignore Keyleth's task that will help save the world and go off on a romp? Why would the cast when they know well Keyleth has to be sensible and with the best intentions in mind? The stakes are just too high.

It means that the Hells still feel like they're running errands instead of pursuing their own destiny. Their accomplishments are diminished as just being parts of a to-do list, and any stakes feel padded by several level 20 PCs/NPCs standing 5 steps away ready to catch them.

This isn't Bell's Hell's fault, nor is it Matt's. It could be amended, I think, if the Hells are really left to their own devices for a long period of time without support and shortcuts (like during the party split)... which would be really tricky to pull off at this point in the campaign.

They're level 13. They're big fish, but they're stuck in a pond full of friendly sharks, so they don't feel big at all.

[ghost-proofbaby]

can y’all imagine sending one of those things where a girl texts her man about having a bad day or wanting coffee or something and he replies by sending her an insane amount of money (like $100+) to eddie, and just being like “why don’t you ever do this for me? 😐” as a joke

and then the man just sends you one (1) fucking dollar.

and when you’re like “REALLY??? A DOLLAR???” he just goes “I DONT KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME IM BROKE”

it would become an inside joke, him randomly sending you the smallest amounts of money possible and just going “buy yourself something nice 😏” or “don’t spend this all at once baby” to be a little shit

god i love eddie munson

[yourlocalabomination]

This is Hatchetfield, People go missing everyday!

[dangoulains-devotion]

you mustn't blame yourself

[tea-cat-arts]

You know what, I've read enough fanfic. I'm confiscating Madame Yu from you guys

Free my girl- she did the things she's being accused of, but not as frequently or severely as the fandom pretends, her actions are being taken out of context, and her depth is being reduced to that of a Colleen Hoover antagonist

[cerise-on-top]

Alright, I just had another sweet idea that I wanted to post about:

Johnny knows Scottish Gaelic. Sometimes, he looks for an excuse to speak it, even if that excuse is just trying to annoy you since you can't understand him. He's very proud of his heritage. However! You can ask him to sing for you! His voice is kind of rough, and it cracks here and there, but he will sing to you if you ask him to. He actually loves singing you some cheesy love songs in Scottish Gaelic. Will gently hold you while singing and look at you with as much love as he can muster, always finishing off his songs with a kiss to the top of your head. It doesn't matter if you're taller or shorter than him, a kiss is the law. If you tell him that you love it when he sings to you, he'll actually do it more often! If you need some comfort, then he'll hold you close and just sing to you. It may not seem like much since he really doesn't have a very nice singing voice, but to someone, who's never been sang a lullaby before, it's the thought that counts. Johnny hopes he can make you feel at ease, if just a little bit. He wants to shield you from this cruel and unyielding world, and if him singing you a small lullaby in Scottish Gaelic can help with that, then he's more than willing to learn the sweetest songs out there!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hello Madam. Sorry Madam.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[moongothic]

Madoka is the promise you won't turn from a child, full of hopes and dreams and the wish to save the world, into a bitter adult who just wants to hurt others and ruin people's lives

Madoka promised to be there for you to remind you of the person you wanted to be and to stop you from becoming what you sought to destroy

Madoka made that promise and became the very embodiment of it

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Trying to read a textbook but I'm over here thirsting over touch starved!boyfriend!Kazutora 😭

Imagine just laying in bed cuddled up with Tora watching a movie or tv show and tracing over his tattoo, feeling him tense up under your touch.

Imagine sliding your hand from his neck down his torso and stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants, hearing his heart speed up and his breathing get heavy.

Imagine sliding your hand in his sweatpants and jerking him off, his soft moans drowning out whatever you were watching.

Imagine him gripping your hand, guiding it up and down, teaching you how he wants to be touched 🫠

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I'm done y'all... I've officially lost my mind over this man (btw Bonten!Baji x Concubine!Reader headcanons soon lol 🩷)

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe

[gingermintpepper]

So, one of the most interesting things that's come from my recent exercises in writing the Olympians as young deities is all of the very fun and somewhat painful conversations that come from the young deities acquiring and consequently settling into their domains.

Apollo and Artemis especially have been really fascinating under the microscope. They start off identically, with extremely similar interests and similar domains over the hunt and wilderness. They spend their days under the stars and foraging for fruit and dancing and singing in the fields, two rustic god-children exploring and learning together. Then Apollo goes off on his own to slay Python.

Now, a lot of things change when Apollo kills Python. That is the act which transforms the bow from a tool of survival and sport to an instrument of murder, bloodshed and ultimately war. It is Apollo's first act of wrath which separates him from Artemis - both spiritually because she has not yet shed blood herself as a goddess and physically because it leads to his exile. Most importantly however, the slaying of Python is the act that grants Apollo his knowledge.

If violence is what first separates Apollo from Artemis then it is knowledge which keeps them apart.

This can refer to a lot of things; that Artemis continued to be at home with the wild beasts of the forests and mountains while Apollo grew to prefer the domesticated sheep and cattle, that Artemis continued to avoid mortals while Apollo grew to know their ways and endeavoured to teach them more. The point that has been the most interesting to me however has been Artemis, who remains free of slaughter, and thus remains pure and Apollo, who becomes acutely and entirely too aware of it, and thus must be constantly purified.

Apollo's infatuation with medicine specifically is the place where this becomes most apparent. When he leaves for his exile to travel as a mortal, without nectar or ambrosia, without power, Apollo is without the privileges of the divine for the very first time. He sweats, he smells, he grows weary when he travels, he grows hungry and thirsty. He experiences fatigue and nausea, the fever of sickness, the chill of infection, the delirium of poison. The blood Apollo shed does not only make him impure spiritually, it strips him of the purity of his birth and station. Likewise, medicine is not a divine practice. What use do the unkillable immortals have for something as finicky as medicine when they have nectar and ambrosia? Apollo however, knows of the pains of the flesh and the suffering of the mortal coil. He pursues medicine in all its horrors and difficulties because of the knowledge he gained with blood.

Artemis then, cannot understand the medical Apollo. When her brother returns possessed by this spectre of ill-gained knowledge, she does not recognise him. Who is this boy who scores the deer and studies the shape of their intestines before he cooks them? What good is there in rescuing a chick with a broken wing? The Apollo-of-the-Wild in her memories would have done the correct thing and left the thing for dead - let the forest take what is its due. Who is this Apollo whose hands are always stained to the wrist in the blood and gore of the living? What is his fascination with the mechanics of mortal bodies? Artemis does not know and Apollo does not tell her.

That has, by far, been my favourite effect of the whole Python watershed moment to explore recently.

[godsworstson]

weird way to propose but yes

[moodymisty]

Silver Fox Titus

I am actually fucking deranged. You cannot just put this shit in my askbox and not expect me to start eating my desk.

GRRRRRRRSLDJKFSLDJKF