#self rb cause he's my baby

[atsumulogy]

WHEN YOUR CO-WORKER CALLS HIMSELF YOUR “WORK HUSBAND”

synopsis: how he reacts to your co-worker calling himself your “work husband”

featuring: miya atsumu, oikawa tooru, & iwaizumi hajime. fem!reader.

content warning(s): jealousy, possessive boys, weird co-worker, suggestive at iwa’s part 😵 sorry my hands slipped lmao. also grammar mistakes … have mercy i wrote this kinda half asleep + use of wife

naia’s footnote: yk that work wife thing? yeah, that but with a twist with the hq men 🤭 jealous scenarios are my guilty pleasure LOL i wrote this when i was supposed to be doing smth actually productive 😓‼️also i got carried away w atsumu’s haha

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! rb’s & likes are appreciated

#01 — WHEN COMING AS YOUR PLUS ONE IN YOUR OFFICE’S FANCY EVENT, MIYA ATSUMU didn’t want to admit it but he kind of expected to be fawned over by your female colleagues — not that he wanted them to! It’s just … expected, seeing how absolutely hot your husband is (the expensive suit and tie and all). What he did not expect was being introduced to your … what was it? Ahh, yes, “work husband”.

The absolute audacity and sheer nerve of this bastard to call himself that in front of him, the actual husband on the documents and in your heart.

Work husband. He scoffs silently, face scrunching up in irritation, poking his cheeks with his tongue instead of making a fuss in this exclusive event where lots of important people are present. As much as he cares for obliterating this man in front of him, he cares more about you and didn’t want to cause you any issues with your workplace.

(Though, if this ugly scrub touches your arm again and joke about Atsumu being the side chick, he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t cause a scene.)

Besides, the 24 karat gold necklace hanging around your neck with his initials attached to the chains and the elegant ring on your finger makes it painfully clear that your self-proclaimed work husband has no chance against the Miya Atsumu.

BONUS:

Atsumu may have acted mature about the situation while in the event, but behind closed doors he was whining and grumbling about that annoyin’ scrub.

“— like I still can’t believe he had the guts to say that in front of me!” He scoffs, face scrunching up again, his mouth forming a scowl. “Work husband… tsk, i’m yer only husband! hell, i’ll be yer work husband, house husband, and every other fuckin’ husband title there is!”

Instead of informing your husband that it doesn’t work like that, you nod to every word he said every time he looks at your eyes to back him up on his rant.

“Yes baby, I know. Now why don’t we get you a trophy with all those husband titles, hm?” You jokingly offered, patting his fluffy blonde hair.

Next week a package arrived carrying a shiny gold trophy with the words “Miya Y/n’s only house husband, work husband, and everything else in between” customized on the front <3

#02 — OIKAWA TOORU SCOFFED AFTER SOME IRRELEVANT, MEDIOCRE, UGLY MAN introduced himself as your “work husband”, somewhat offended because someone dared crown themselves a self-proclaimed title as your work husband — like that bastard is even worthy enough to be breathing the same air as you!

He recognizes this man to be the man you ranted to him about that was inappropriately acting like he’s close with you and many other women of your office.

Wanting to do you and the other women of your office a favor, he decided to humble him.

“Last time I checked, there was no side piece. And if there were to be a side piece — which will never happen by the way! — my wife would pick someone better looking than you. As you can see she has great taste, since she married me and only me. But you should know that by now, hm? Our wedding was even on the news!” showing the ring on his finger, wiggling it even to show emphasis, his tone and his (threatening) smile was friendly, but you all know that it was anything but that.

Oikawa Tooru is an intimidating opponent, both in and out of the court.

#03 — NEVER IN HIS 25 YEARS OF LIVING HAS IWAIZUMI HAJIME met a more annoying and repulsive person such as the man in front of him that cockily and casually called himself as your “work husband”.

You felt his beefy arms tighten around your waist, he leans in to you closely, his hot breath heating up your ears as he asked you with low voice, however still (purposely) loud enough for the guy in front of you two to hear. “Baby, do you even know him?”

You nodded, “He’s just some guy in the finance department who’s really weird, Hajime. I don’t even remember his name. Sato? Aoki?”

The man before you deflated, his cocky stance nowhere to be seen as he scoffs defensively, “It’s Nakamura —”

“— Yeah, sure, well my wife and I have somewhere else to be now. So goodbye Ishikawa-san.” He purposely used a different name — politely even, to mock him and push his buttons.

“It’s Nakamu —”

“Bye Sato-kun!” You played along with your husband’s petty antics, waving him off before locking your arms around Hajime’s before snuggling close to him as you two walked away. The both of you bursting out laughing once you guys think the guy was far away enough to not hear you two.

“Have you seen his face! He deserved that humbling experience!” You snorted, Hajime rolling his eyes as he remembers the guy.

“Okay but who even is he really? Is he always so flirtatious with you? What even is a work husband? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gave you that new last name of yours.” He grumbled, irritated at the thought of that bastard flirting with you at work when your husband wasn’t there.

“Aw, babe, you know that you’re the only one for me.” you patted his cheeks affectionately, smiling at him while giggling.

He does. He knows it, a bit too well at times. So he sighs and he lets it go. Because he knows that at the end of the day, he’s the one you come home to, he’s the one you cling onto while watching your favorite shows, he’s the one that rests his free hand on your thighs whenever you two go for a drive.

And tonight, he’s the one that will lay you down on the bed and touch you, talk to you, and feel you in ways that only he can do.

© ATSUMULOGY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM OF ANY OF MY CONTENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

[pupcuck]

WASTE ME 3

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. rape/non-con, painal, vomit like a lot of it, emotional abuse

a/n. so messy n rushed cuz i deleted it like 5 times n rewrote it over n over 😭 sorry it’s so flat from leon’s side but omg rbs n feedback appreciated :3 unedited so ignore typos please :3 leon is um. idk I think I changed his character drastically from the last parts but whatever!!! if u see me using shit from old fics ignore it ong

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

one / two

“Can you put that away? I can’t concentrate.” Leon’s hands tighten their grip on the wheel, agitation creeps into his voice as you push the visor back into its place, then very promptly - when you think he’s not looking - pull it back down for the umpteenth time to give yourself a once over. “Cut it out.”

“Sorry.” You say quickly, as if the words have been festering in your mouth for a while now.

“Hey, you don’t have to come.” You do, you have to or I'm in deep shit. I bet a couple hundred on this. A date, that is. In all the years he’s known his friends, not once has he brought a date to their annual New Year’s party. “We’re not too far from your house, I can turn the car around.”

“No,” You shake your head, “No, I want to come with you.”

Leon isn’t sure if he wants you to come with him, if he’s ready for the barrage of questions and insults, namely from Claire. He’s taking you ‘cause there’s no one else, and to be quite frank, he considered hiring an escort before he even thought of you. The thing is, you’ve gotten too comfortable around him. Using pet names, babe and baby, so Leon tried to put some distance between the two of you. ‘Cause that made him queasy. You’re not dating. He’s thirty-seven years old, there’s no room in his life to date, you don’t date at that age. You fuck and get it over with.

“I don’t know what you’re nervous about,” Leon hums, he turns the radio down, “You look nice.” He expects you to fawn over him, throw yourself into his lap ‘cause he said you don’t look bad. That’s what you’re like, right? Doesn’t take a whole lot to get your tail wagging.

“Don’t say that.” The tone in which you speak is new, Leon hasn’t heard that before. Not been on the receiving end of any mood swings you’re bound to have. You have the emotional capacity of a toddler - no form of regulation over any of your thoughts and feelings, words slip past your lips like you’ve got the shits. Verbally speaking.

“What?” He asks, dumbfounded by the total switch.

“I don’t like it… I don’t like when you say things like that, it feels like you're lying.” And he’s not. That might be the first time he’s ever told you the truth so directly.

“I’m not, why would I lie about that?” Oh, so all of a sudden you’ve managed to grasp the concept of self respect? Talking back to him and shit. You know, Leon’s kinda proud of you. One of you had to break free from the binds of your swaddling cloth sooner or later. One of you has to cut ties, and it sure as hell won’t be him. It’s not that you’ve grown on him, instead you’ve torn open his flesh and slipped between the cracks in his ribs. Nestled into his chest cavity and made it your home. Or he’s just real lonely.

“I’m not stupid, Leon.”

“I never said you were stupid.”

“You’re looking at me like I’m stupid.”

“What? No, I’m not. I’m looking straight ahead, ‘cause I’m driving?”

“Yeah? Well, keep looking at the road.” You huff through your nostrils, and it’s absurd, the shit you come up with. All it does is show your age. He’s fucking a kid, one that can’t even drink yet.

Leon does just that, neither of you utter a word for the remainder of the journey. When he gets out, you catch up with him, take his arm in yours as if it belongs to you, he’d rather you take his heart. So all the tenderness would be zapped from his system. Leon’s love comes in the shape of your casket, it comes with the engravings on your tombstone, empty and cadaverous. It’s not enough for you, you don’t know that, but he does. Leon’s a weeping sore of a man, the kind that won’t go away, not with over-the-counter pills, not the type that gets drained, not even antibiotics could help him. You’re licking his wounds and getting nothing from it, nothing but a mouthful of infectious pus.

“Leon— Oh.” The smile on Claire’s face drops as quick as it came, her forehead creases, and he’d like to tell her pretty girls shouldn’t frown so hard, they’ll get wrinkles, but she’d have his head. Tell him that it’s a natural progression, and that he’s looking a little rough these days, he should try keto. Leon has been on keto most his life if dick counts as meat.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder, draws you closer, smiling with all his teeth to show Claire that he really likes you when he really doesn’t. Well, he does, it’s just complicated. “Claire.” Leon greets with a nod of his head, he introduces you despite the uneasiness, then guides you to sit on an unoccupied seat beside Rebecca, his hand on your lower back.

From the corner of his eye, Leon watches you shift in your seat as Claire asks him if this is a thing now - cherry picking. If he’s going through a midlife crisis, and that she knows a guy who knows a girl who knows a good shrink, one that keeps real quiet. Then their conversation gets derailed and she begins to talk about Simone de Beauvoir, wrote a book called The Second Sex apparently, Claire reveres it, and Leon is confused on how they got to here.

Hunnigan argues that The Second Sex others women of colour very brashly, and it’s not quite argumentative because Hunnigan talks factually, like everything she says is right, and it usually is. It’s impressive how often she teeters on a condescending edge. She says Claire should read more on intersectionality, and Claire nods, bats her lashes ‘cause she listens to pretty ladies well. The only intersection Leon knows of is a road junction— he wonders how you’re doing with Rebecca, so he excuses himself from the conversation. Hunnigan tells him that he wasn’t included in the first place.

When he catches sight of you, you’re sitting alone, picking at whatever piece of food you can get, leg bouncing so hard the table does too. Chris grabs his arm and drags his arm towards Jill, and then it’s Sherry, who is always a joy, and then Ashley, and her dad who Leon, for some reason, thought was in a wheelchair. He gets to you a full forty minutes later.

“Woah, slow down, are you okay?” Leon takes your wrist in his, wonders how to word this correctly, without you taking any offence. “You’re eating a lot.” Shit. Not the best opener.

“I am not.” There’s a droplet of sweat trickling down the column of your neck, he wipes it with his thumb. “Am I? Did you notice? Oh my gosh, you so did. Did anyone else notice? Why did you take so long? I didn’t know what to do, Leon. Was I supposed to say anything? Was I meant to come with you?”

“Listen, calm down, god, no— just, I told you to sit here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” You nod, tremors making your hands unsteady as you take his. “I think I should go.”

“What?” Leon’s face twists, “I gotta stay, Sherry wants me to stay, I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

You bristle at this, shoulders slumping, “No, I don’t need you to drop me, I can just get a cab back, I just feel a little out of place, Leon. Like, I know no one even knows my name, but I just feel like they’re all looking at me and talking about me and I feel so stupid.”

He gets it, truly. “You should stay.” Leon’s fingers intertwine with yours, though it’s nothing gentle, it’s to keep you under lock and key. A threat of sorts.

“Leon, I don’t really, like, I’m just sitting here eating on my own, I look like a freak.” You said it, not him.

“You could try to engage, y’know?” And it’s so hypocritical for him to say, ‘cause Leon needs a drink or five before he can even stomach talking to the older Redfield. Not that Chris is a bad guy, he’s just so intensely stupid sometimes.

“Leon,” You take your hand back, and it’s the first time you’ve denied him of anything, “I don’t think they really care if I’m here or not, I’m going home.” It’s not a question, not Leon, may I go home now, pretty please? It’s an assertion, you’re firm in your wants, and he hates it. You’re stepping out of line.

So Leon does what he does best, he fucks it up. Back to square one with your blood caked beneath his fingernails and your tears salty on his tongue. ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what you want, it hasn’t mattered before so why would it matter now? He cradles the back of your head when it knocks against the bathroom stall, tips it forward so he can kiss you sweetly. And you’re a sucker for it, hands fisting at the fabric of his dress shirt like a baby. When you’re bare, he kneels down, spreads you apart, and you’re so wet there’s slick dripping down your ass crack. Embarrassing how fast you get it on for him, and Leon’s here with a semi you could barely class as a semi. Though that’s more of a Leon problem.

The nip to your clit makes you gasp, you tangle your fingers in his hair, and he likes that. Leon presses his nose to it, laps at the slick to clean you up, but he’s only getting you messier. He spreads your ass to lick deeper into your hole, then his hand leaves so his middle and forefinger can keep your cushioned lips open, teeth scraping over your slippery folds. Leon’s mouth is moving on autopilot, his brain is working overtime, what’s he gonna do? How can he make you stay? Right, right, right, that’s gotta be it. When Leon pulls away with a pop! you whine, he’s always kind enough to let you cum. Not this time.

“Hold on, kid,” Leon murmurs, spins you around and you brace yourself against the walls of the cubicle automatically. They seem paper thin. He keeps a hand on your hip, the other unbuckling his belt with a clink as he lowers his jeans to slip out his cock that hardens only at the thought of taking you this way. You flail when he pushes into your tighter hole. The puffy rim is wet with your arousal, not wet enough to take cock. He wasn’t even merciful enough to spit on it.

“No, no, oh god, Leon, no, I’m gonna die, Leon, you’ll kill me.” Your bones crack out of place with how hard you struggle against him, limbs angled oddly, and he hates it. No doesn’t sound right coming from you. It’s a tough one, breaching your asshole, getting past the dryness.

You clench so hard, try to push him out, he kisses the nape of your neck, the tackiness of sweat salty on his lips. “Stop runnin’ from it, I’ve got you.”

“Please— Please, please, Leon,” Your cheek is squashed against the cubicle door, nails scratching at it till they crack and split. He reaches round to cover your mouth, you’re getting too loud. There’s snot and tears and spit covering his palm, but it’s alright. Worth it.

“Hey, hey, hey, c’mon do it for me. You can do it for me, can’t you? You’re not a baby.” Leon’s teeth tug on your earlobe, he manages to bury himself to the hilt in your ass. A miracle really, ‘cause he can barely move an inch back or forth.

You’re gasping for breath, knees buckling despite him supporting your weight. The pain must be bad, he knows what it’s like, that sickeningly raw pain. Feels like it’s in your guts, stirring up all the acid, tangling your intestines. But he got over it, and you got over it once upon a time. So you can do it, he knows you can.

For a minute, he thinks you stop breathing, you slump over and he struggles to hold you up, then he gets ahold of you. You’re dry heaving, retching as you claw at the cubicle, he draws his hips back and you whimper brokenly into his palm. There’s an abundance of resistance, but Leon’s strong enough to push past it, his strokes are shallow - can’t find it in himself to fuck you hard and deep. Well, Leon would, but it’s too much effort.

There’s no letting up, you’re stubborn today, his free hand reaches round to tweak your nipple, then it trails down your body, cups your cunt and parts your fold to thumb your swollen clit. It does little to lessen the ache, the burn, but Leon hopes you’ll loosen up. “Hey, you got it, jus’ focus on my fingers, okay?”

“Okay, Leon,” You get out through ragged breaths, chest rising up and down unevenly as you try to regain some sort of consciousness, he's raped you into delirium. Leon grits his teeth, that word is harsh on his ears still. “Okay… I’ll try, I’ll try… I’m trying—“

“I know you are,” Leon talks you through it, talks you through rape unlike the first time, so that must mean something, give him some kind of credit. “I know it hurts, it’ll get better, yeah? I promise.”

“I can’t breathe— Leon, I can’t-“ Your hands press down on your stomach, then your chest, heart beating wildly, to the point where he thinks he can hear it.

“You can breathe, ‘cause you’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” He asks, “Remember what you said to me? You said I could do this.”

“I know… I know, Leon, I’m really sorry— God, it hurts so bad.” Another sob is muffled into his wet palm.

“I know, but you said you would do it for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Leon, I’m sorry, I did— I did.” You shiver, head jerking to the side as he pulls back, then slams his hips back into you - so hard your knees knock against the cubicle. The pressure on your clit alleviates nothing it seems, even when he presses a little harder, you continue to kick and squirm.

“Just a little more, yeah?” Leon tells you, he kisses your shoulder for good measure, starts up a rhythmic pace that rewards him with a squeaky yelp each time he thrusts. You’re uncomfortably tight, and it’s pretty dry, but Leon makes do, most nights his fist is drier.

Sweat prickles at your delicate skin, and your body goes rigid when he cums, he jams himself so far into you Leon fears he might have trouble pulling out. Dick might come off clean. He smooths a hand down your spine, “You’re okay.” Leon says, and it’s more of an order than anything else.

He takes your clothes from where they’re hung on the single hook, he might be a serial rapist, but he’s a gentleman. Serial might be a stretch, Leon’s not quite at that point yet, and he doesn’t intend to be. But he might be your serial rapist, ‘cause it’s happened multiple times and all.

Your gait is off, more so than last time, taking shuddering breaths as you clutch at his arm. Leon doesn’t know what to say, he leads you out the back, ‘cause Claire will look him in the eye and know what he’s done. Step by step, you wobble towards the door to the passenger seat, crumpling against it as you fumble with the handle.

“Let me do it,” Leon grows impatient, steps forward, you jump out of your skin, snapping out of your haze as you manage to open the door. Your teeth are chattering, and you’re clammy, ribs rattling noisily when you cough. He wonders if he’s really done it now, fucked over his chance with you of all people.

Every time there’s a bump in the road, you wince visibly, nails digging into the leather of his seat to try and conceal any noise leakage. “Leon?”

He stops at a red light, turns to you in surprise, didn’t think you were capable of speaking right now. “Yeah?”

“Do you think she’s cute? The one who dresses like Jackie O?” Of course it’s some insecure shit like that, the first thing you say to break the silence post-rape is a question about whether or not he likes a girl.

“Ashley’s pretty.” Leon answers, face that launched a thousand ships - or a thousand Molotov cocktails, right at him actually, by the hands of religious zealots. He thinks that if it weren’t for a lot of things, they could’ve worked out, and maybe he wouldn’t have resorted to getting drunk and raping college kids in alleys.

“Leon, I think I’m gonna throw up.” Your voice is low, shaky, rolling down the window and letting the chill hit your warm face.

“I can pull over.” Leon offers, he can’t bother to go through with dry cleaning. Rather it come out on the side of the road than his carpets.

“No, never mind, I’m fine.” You go quiet again, then, “What about the big guy, do you like him?”

“What?” He looks like he’s constipated, the idea of Chris and him is an interesting one that’s never crossed his mind. Sure, he’s objectively attractive, but he’s so hardheaded it pisses Leon off. “No, well, yeah, I like him ‘cause he’s my friend.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.” You lie, and he knows you’re lying, because you’re you, and he knows you. Predictable little thing. “Okay, so, what about the girl you were talking to at the beginning when we came in. Ponytail, red jacket.”

“God, no, Claire’s just my friend.”

“Yeah, I know, Leon. I’m asking if, like, you like her. As a friend. I just want to know more about you.” Liar, he indulges you anyway. He owes you one, and maybe money for hospital bills.

“She’s my best friend,” Leon claims, she might not think of him that way, but Leon certainly thinks of Claire that way. “Of course I like her, I love her.”

“Then who was the lady with glasses? The tall one?” You peer at him hesitantly, the dark obscures much of your face from him, but he sees your wide eyes.

“Hunnigan? Yeah, she’s hot, I don’t want her though.” Too brash, his tongue slipped. It’s more that she doesn’t want him. Leon wouldn’t tell you that though. He’s patient for you, lets you ask questions that reek of insecurity before he’s pulling up on his drive.

“I don’t want to take them off,” You’re quick to stop his wandering hands, eyes going foggy and faraway when he tries to get you out of your underwear, “Please, Leon.” There’s blood smeared on the backs of your thighs that Leon pretends not to notice.

And because he’s so kind, and reeling with guilt from the whole public bathroom sodomy situation, Leon abides. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, I’ll just get you off.” You insist, squeezing his half-hearted boner, thumbing the tip, cupping his balls, all the stuff he’s taught you to do. He might not get it up, ‘cause he’s had a drink, and ‘cause he’s still spent from earlier. Rape is no joke, shit takes a lot of effort, fucking a dry hole is not as pleasing as bootcamp made it seem.

Your mouth is warm on his cock, you lick along the vein on his underside, kiss the tip sweetly like you love him - it’s not like ‘cause you do love him. The head rests weighty on your tongue, you take half of him easily. You’re not the best at sucking dick, so he doesn’t expect much from you, expectations already reduced to zero, but Leon tilts his head back with a groan when you begin to bob your head. Look at that, you’ve gotten better.

Really, he should’ve known, seen all the signs. The tell-tale bulge in your throat, something foreign, not his dick ‘cause shits not the big. You felt sick in the car, he’d seen you gag over the toilet bowl after he came inside you. Leon’s reflexes are good, but not good enough. When you finally make it to the balls, eyes wet with unshed tears as he pushes your limits, nose in his crotch— you go to raise your head, he makes the mistake of pushing you back down. Biggest mistake of his life. And Leon has made a lot of mistakes.

He’s had monster after monster spew their god knows what on him. Been knee-deep in sewers, he’s been pissed on by military men for fuck’s sake. Somehow, this tops it off. You sicking up hors d'oeuvres on his lap. Vomit on his dick is the worst feeling Leon’s felt in quite a while. He’d rather break his ribs again and again and again and again. Over and over. Have them caved in by a metal pipe.

You lurch backwards, vomit caked around your mouth, coating his cock, dripping down your chin. God, he might add to the mess, but Leon’s got a strong enough stomach to hold it. Happy New Year! God Bless America. Isn’t this just the dream?

“Oh my god,” You gasp, wipe at your mouth drearily with your bare arm, breathing picking up as you stagger away from him, “God, no, no, no.”

He blinks at you, and you stare at him shell-shocked. Leon inhales, counts to ten, he's been through worse. He has. Honest. What’s a little puke on his cock going to do?

“I’m sorry, Leon, I’m so sorry, oh my gosh, Leon, I’m so sorry, what do I do?” You fumble and use his blanket to wipe him clean, doing a shit job as he anticipated. “I can do it, I can do it, I can get you off, I’m sorry, please, let me make it up to you, Leon.” Then you’re clocking in for your shift, sloppy and hurried all at once as you suck him off, only for a moment- then a wave of nausea hits and a second bout of puke is spewed on his lap, waterlogging his sheets as it trickles down his thighs. Fuck, it’s fucking gross. Made the place into a biohazard.

“Hey, c’mon—“

“No, no, Leon,” You retch, spit bubbling in the back of your throat as you shake your head in wild refusal, “I can do it, please, please,” He feels you swallow around him, tight little throat that’s only got space for vomit and not his cock, ‘cause it’s pushed out of your mouth as you gag and drip liquified party food. Your head pops back up, dabbing at the stickiness that covers the bottom half of your face to no avail.

“Kid.” Leon grabs you by your hair, straightens you up so you’re facing him, drool pooling in your mouth, tongue heavy as you’re racked with full body shivers to warn you of more. This time you make it to the bathroom, courtesy of Leon, there’s vomit tracked down his hall, on the rug Sherry bought him to brighten up his boring bedroom. “Let it all out,” He’s trying his best to be comforting, rubbing your back as your head hangs limp in the toilet bowl till there’s nothing but bile and spit.

Leon lets you shower first, ‘cause y’know, he loves sitting around soaked in barf. Really lets it marinate. He watches your figure through the foggy glass, barely able to keep yourself up, leaning against the wall when you have to wash anything from the waist below. God, he fucked you up. Maybe the vomit bath is more than deserved. He feels it crust over on his dick and itches.

“Are you okay now?” Leon mumbles, his body takes on your curled up shape, knows you could use the comfort.

The mattress in his room has been stripped bare, sheets put on a double spin in the washing machine. For now, the two of you lay close in the guest room that’s been unused since he moved in. “I’m okay.” You whisper, placing your hand over his when he wraps his arm around you. He thinks you’ve fallen asleep going by how still you are. “Leon?”

He wonders if it’s worth pretending to be asleep, can’t lie that he forgives you for that, then any ounce of initial hostility ebbs away and he feels white, hot guilt. “Yeah?”

“Before I met you, I would think of all this stupid shit, like I wanted to get ran over so people would care about me, or they’d feel bad for me, and then I stopped thinkin’ like that when we started dating.” You’re not dating him. Leon’s unsure on how to make that explicitly clear. “But, then, I started thinking like that again. ‘Cause I thought I wanted you to rape me ‘cause I thought you liked me, I wouldn’t mind if you liked me, I would let you do anything to me. I thought that you’d feel bad and take care of me after but you don’t, you just act like it didn’t happen.”

Leon closes his eyes, lashes fluttering on the skin of your back, the light tickle is slight enough as to not alarm you. He listens to you, but he doesn’t know what to think, what to say, it’s a lot.

“I only want you to rape me if you like me, but you hate me.” And that’s so far from the truth, Leon doesn’t hate you, and he doesn’t love you, but he does want you. For reasons he can’t explain himself. “I just, I don’t want you to rape me ‘cause you hate me, I want you to hold my hand after and sometimes I want you to kiss me.”

“So if I start liking you, I can do it?” Grown fucking man and he can’t say rape out loud. Leon wonders why it comes so naturally to you, how you can talk so openly about topics he can’t stomach despite being the perpetrator of said topic.

“Yeah, I just want you to like me, Leon.” You don’t beg, it’s pleading, thumb stroking over his knuckles.

“I’ll try.” Leon gives his oath, he’s a bad person he thinks. Not ‘cause of his mom, not ‘cause of dad, not ‘cause of all the shit back in Raccoon City, not ‘cause of bootcamp— none of it. It’s ’cause he feels like it, and he does it to you on purpose, and Leon knows that, but he can’t fix it. “I’ll try.” He repeats to himself, knowing very well his attempt will fall flat.

[69dias]

jjk drabble: tease

a/n: perhaps writers block has killed me for real and I am SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY!!!! i cooked this up on the first hour of a plane to New York and it was originally abt our wonderful liverpool RB Trent AA but alas … jungkook gets the crown. enjoy.

warnings: app control vibrator, fucking in public, voyeurism and slight exhibitionism, slight d/s Dynamics (she calls him sir once it’s whatever), mean jungkook who is also very much a sweetheart, spitting (on da pussy WOAH) … I think that’s it

wc: 1.6k she’s a baby IM SORRY

jungkook is a tease. it’s one of the first things you learned about him, and it’s one of those things that you’ve grown to love, even if — especially if — they’ve been the causes of serious hitches in your relationship. other such things include his competitiveness, the little spirals of self-deprecation, all of them. but most of all, his tendency to tease you.

and though you’ve grown to love it, right about now is one of those times you realize why exactly it caused those hitches in your relationships because if he doesn’t let up in the next minute, you’re ready to go over to where he’s sitting and choke the life out of him.

surely, murders committed a thousand feet above international waters couldn’t have any real consequences, right? 

to set the scene of your predicament, imagine three things: a flight to New York, a vibrator that connects to someone’s phone, and that someone, being jeon jungkook. the tease, who’s somehow managed to find the only way to make a first class flight uncomfortable. 

you swear you’re going to kill him. 

it’s not the fact that it feels bad in the slightest. lush manufacturing is incredible, and the small sparks of pleasure in between your thighs are enough proof of it. the vibrations can go up all the way, pulsing on top of your clit with scary accuracy — a preview of what jungkook promised you in exchange for this insane excapade — leaving you wet and sloppy until just crossing your legs would push you straight over the precipice of the edge, fuck the seatbelt sign preventing you from doing it, or they can be little thrums, mimicking soft kitten licks all over your heat, so good that they leave you arching your back to get a better angle —

no. it’s not that it feels bad.

it’s just that it could feel so much better if he would just let you cum.

but alas, he’s a fucking tease, and he knows you like the back of his own hand, down to the time it takes you to reach the point of no return. you’re sure he can see you, too, with where he’s sitting and how you can practically feel his vision sear into your skin which feels like it’s on fire as is. it practically hurts how close you are, nails digging into the palm of your hand to keep from moaning out loud — or worse, begging out loud.

if only you had the genius idea of a vibrating cock ring more than 30 minutes before leaving for the airport, jungkook would know exactly how tantalizing this felt for you. 

the thing about being in such a vulnerable position, though, is the lack of jungkook’s presence. typically, when he’s beneath you, head caught between your thighs as he eats you out like it’s his last meal, or when he’s holding a toy to your clit until the last possible second, you know he’s right there. it’s the verbal affirmations: I got you, you’re doing incredible, that’s my girl, just a little more, just a little more for me, and the physical touch: a hand on your lower back or his lips ghosting over your boobs or just something aside from the surprisingly soft blanket draped across your thighs.

you pick up your phone to tell him this, to tell him to meet you in the bathroom or whatever he can manage because of the damn seatbelt sign, but it seems like he’s beat you to it.

JK💗: close, baby?

JK💗: look at you. you look so pretty from here.

JK💗: god, you’re perfect, aren’t you? just so pretty and pliant for me.

[__]: im going to murder you.

JK💗: that’s a bit rude, no?

JK💗: you think that’s what a good girl would say if she wanted to cum?

[__]: you’ve lost your mind . im so fucking Close this is unfair 

JK💗: who said i’d be fair? i told you to be good, and you’re really not doing that right now 

[__]: fuck you

[__]: no wait

JK💗: cmon honey. what do we say when we’ve been rude?

JK💗: I can see you reading these, baby. gotta give me an answer.

[__]: please, im sorry.

JK💗: attagirl, sweetheart. you wanna cum?

[__]: yeah 

JK💗: what’s that?

[__]: yes, sir. please.

JK💗: look up, honey. seatbelt sign’s off. bathroom in 2?

he turns off the vibrations right as you tilt your head up to confirm that the sign has, indeed, been switched off. it’s well-earned relief, but the reminder that you’ve been so violently toyed with still covers your inner thighs and you’ve never missed something yet been so happy that it was finally gone before. 

when you turn your head to jungkook’s seat, he’s no longer there, and the small pulse between your legs comes alive again as you realize what’s about to happen when you meet him in the bathroom. 

two minutes is too long, far too long, but you’ve weathered the last half hour of torturous edging which has straight up convinced you that you could fight a war if you so pleased. you sneak a hand between your thighs, pressing ever so softly to somehow fuck the toy against you but it’s really to no avail because jungkook texts you just as you do.

JK💗: cmon honey, coast’s clear.

you don’t think you’ve ever moved that fast in your life.

—

jungkook, is, as it goes, just as generous as he is a tease.

you think it’s worth it, all of the torture and the feeling of having a high snatched from you so violently right when you’re at the precipice of it, your bitten lips and indented palms being physical proof of the denial you endured for so long —

it’s all worth it, every bit of it. 

because jungkook is beneath you, caught between your legs, licking at your clit, the fabric that’s practically stuck to your skin from the arousal that dripped from you ever since he started the worst foreplay known to man pulled aside. he’s desperate too, and if you were to move your foot an inch to the left to rest on his thigh, you don’t have a doubt that you’d be met with his hardened dick, but you don’t give a fuck; relishing in the fact that he’s getting karma and you’re getting eaten out.

your hands are caught in his hair, pushing him impossibly closer as he tongue fucks you, his own fingers dimpling the skin of your bare thighs as he gives you all the touches you were missing just a few minutes ago. jungkook is big on eye contact, and the soft nipping at your clit is enough of a message for your head to snap down, meeting his large eyes from where he’s kneeling on the floor.

they’re red rimmed with his own carnal desire, pupils blown out as you can practically see how his jaw moves so he can give you exactly what you deserve —

“fuck, fuck, please — jungkook, please.”

he pulls away for a second, and a soft whine of disappointment colors the air at his absence. he doesn’t let you feel it for too long though, opting to plant a kiss on your inner thigh before he speaks.

“shhhh, baby. don’t wanna get banned from these airlines now, do we?” his voice has a humorous bite to it, but the demand from him is clear enough that you know not to disobey, clamping your own hand over your face to not make noise.

jungkook’s mouth on your pussy doesn’t fare better, though, the obscenely slick noises loud even through the faint ringing of your ears as you get closer to your high. he’s opted to just flick at your clit now, one of his fingers prodding at your entrance until you spread your legs like an absolute slut getting fucked in an airplane bathroom to grant him permission.

you don’t care, though, because all you can focus on is his warm mouth on you, all you can focus on is how his thick digit reaches just the right spot inside of you, all you can focus on is the way he slides another one in with ease that should be humiliating but you don’t care.

the coil in your stomach tightens and you know that he’s aware of this because his eyes darken; fingers pumping in and out of you with a renewed vigor and goal — to make you cum.

the previous highs that you were so meanly denied of come back to you, coiling in the tresses of your stomach as you realize how filthy, how risky this whole thing is.

it’s has you biting down on your palm, hips bucking into jungkook’s relentless mouth as he pulls your thighs impossible further apart, pulling away for just a split second to spit on your pussy like you’re nothing but a deserted street.

that does it for you; the dominance and the bit of dehumanization that should be demeaning but it’s nothing other than incredibly attractive. it has the coil snapping violently, tears spilling from your eyes as the vigor of your high finally reaches a climax, wracking through every nerve in your body until you have both of your hands pulled up to your face to stop the moans threatening to spill from your mouth.

he lets you ride his face through it, sticking his tongue out and slapping the side of your thighs so you keep looking at him until you exhaust yourself out. 

the pulsating pleasure eventually dims itself down into a slow thrum that runs through your veins, colored in with a satisfying exhaustion that has you slumping into jungkook’s arms when he pulls himself up with a groan.

he kisses your temple, warm hand rubbing the small of your back through your (his) sweatshirt. 

“that good enough, baby?”

[percervall]

since we talked about it, I would love to know which f1 drivers you think would fit the 1989 vault tracks and why? 💕✨

I love this question so much. You know me and my love for lists

A read more, because boy do I have Thoughts™

"Slut!"

This song reminds me of Lewis, there's more reasons as to why but specifically this line

In a world of boys, he's a gentleman

There's an undercurrent of the male character in the song being wealthy, being into fashion

But if I’m all dressed up They might as well be lookin' at us And if they call me a slut You know it might be worth it for once

And then there's the play on words with "And if I'm gonna be drunk / Might as well be drunk in love". Him having a 0% tequila brand just somehow fits this narrative

Say Don't Go

This just fits Daniel:

I've known it from the very start We’re a shot in the darkest dark Oh no, oh no, I'm unarmed The waiting is a sadness Fading into madness Oh no, oh no, it won't stop

There's something about him in that last season at McLaren that fits the tone of this song. I just instantly have this visual of him trying but failing to offer her what she needs from him because he has nothing left to give; McLaren throwing him to the lions every single race weekend has left him a shadow of his former self. Yeah, this one hurt

Now That We Don't Talk

Oh, this song has Lando written all over it.

You went to a party I heard from everybody You part the crowd like the Red Sea Don't even get me started Did you get anxious though On the way home? I guess I'll never, ever know Now that we don't talk

Lando, with his love for DJ'ing, who gets so in his own head about how things are going, who constantly blames himself and doubts his achievements whenever a race doesn't go according to plan, but then also walks through the paddock with some truly bde. Yeah, this is so him

Suburban Legends

Now, when I first read the lyrics my immediate thought was Daniel:

We were born to be national treasures When you told me we'd get back together And you kissed me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

There's something cheeky about it, something smug. Which then also lead to, and this was your thinking Ives, Seb. Sebastian is Formula 1's national treasure and that man is such a tease. So the former RedBull teammates can share this one

Is It Over Now?

Oh, I love this song. There's some truly clever song writing in this. Anyway. I digress.

This song? This is Charles, it fits him so well

Let's fast forward to three hundred takeout coffees later I see your profile and your smile on unsuspecting waiters You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor You search in every maiden's bed for somethin' greater, baby

Charles has this disarming aura, he is so charmingly beautiful, and I like to think of him as being somewhat of a romantic -or at least romanticising the idea of love. However, that man has a type and that is "my gf's bff": If she's got blue eyes, I will surmise that you'll probably date her / Your new girl is my clone

Bonus: Bad Blood (ft Kendrick Lamar)

You can pry this out of my cold, dead hands but this is the song that perfectly describes the relationship between every no2 driver and RB/Horner, but more specifically Mark Webber and RB/Sebastian Vettel:

'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood You know it used to be mad love So take a look what you've done 'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood, hey Now we got problems And I don't think we can solve them You made a really deep cut And, baby, now we got bad blood, hey

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk asajs 😂

[taehyungsgrowl]

eva's taylor swift inspired prompt list

hi friends!

ive been searching for a taylor swift lyric writing prompt list for so long now! i know there are a few already made that are floating around, but i wanted to make a more concise version that made sense for me and the characters i write for :')

so please feel free to send a prompt w which character!

(michael langdon, andy dolan, jim mason, duncan shepherd, etc. + nate)

also if you're a writer and like these prompts feel free to rb to have people send you some too :')

its 2 am and im cursing your name

but if we loved again, i swear i'd love you right

my mind forgets to remind me - you're a bad idea

it's just wrong enough to make it feel right

i think it's strange that you think i'm funny 'cause he never did

i bet it never ever occurred to you that i can't say "hello" to you and risk another goodbye

i'd like to be my old self again, but i'm still trying to find it

this is the last time, i won't hurt you anymore

his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room

don't blame me love made me crazy

do the girls back home touch you like i do?

you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talk

i don't want you like a best friend

you squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi

i'd marry you with paper rings

i don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

for whatever it's worth, i love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

baby kiss it better

i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

i never learned to read your mind; i couldn't turn things around

there goes the last great american dynasty

because i dropped your hand while dancing left you out there standing

you could call me "babe" for the weekend

[rowdyrhapsody]

I posted 3,529 times in 2021

305 posts created (9%)

3224 posts reblogged (91%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 10.6 posts.

I added 331 tags in 2021

#rylock - 90 posts

#ryder - 54 posts

#insp - 41 posts

#my art - 34 posts

#ref - 33 posts

#andromache - 27 posts

#eri - 16 posts

#oc: ryder blackwater - 12 posts

#oc: ysander langford - 12 posts

#self rb - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#them drawing the tiny lil baby line was so fucking popular when blands was big on tumblr i wouldnt be surprised theyre still doing it now

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Okay a proper ref for Mac for @bodycountgame. Im so proud of her managing to wiggle her way into Griff’s heart while looking like a drowning cousin it 😌 

psst i made her a playlist

100 notes • Posted 2021-09-01 14:50:46 GMT

#4

post workout

157 notes • Posted 2021-06-11 14:57:55 GMT

#3

rewatched scream last night

161 notes • Posted 2021-10-17 14:18:43 GMT

#2

New favourite IF ever @exilethegame

feat. my white wolf bastard Ryder Blackwater 😤💪

(his name was ryder before i knew abt trystan hes a pre existing oc that really fit in the setting of the mc fjdnsnf)

316 notes • Posted 2021-08-14 01:13:51 GMT

#1

i hate it when tumblr ads genuinely have something cool on them cause its working but i dont wanna go look up the website cause i feel like its going to give my laptop hives

4962 notes • Posted 2021-08-26 01:40:19 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[transsexualhamlet]

there's a song! I forgot

AND I'D ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO SEE UR ANALYTIC THINGY

this is a great opportunity to compliment your analytic capabilities as well! I have read some and they all happened to be top-notch!

sorry that i'm being like this

JSJSJS NO DONT APOLOGIZE I LOVE ATTENTION also I'd be very interested in that song, who's the artist?

I don't have every song done yet but here's just the one for skeleton appreciation day and then I'll rb with the shorter ones i have for the others

(this is under a cut cause boy howdy it is long and the corpse fic is Not For Everybody)

Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones)-

This is the only one I'm gonna actually do a lyric breakdown of, the others will just be short paragraphs but this one's full because Ah God Will Wood Moment. The whole song really does capture the feeling I was going for with the corpse fic. Especially the tone of this song, which feels almost as though the singer is so lightheaded and about to faint, barely standing, tottering around searching for something he cannot see.

To cut down on my silhouette, my favorite foods are smoke and hearts

My leftover frets forget stiletto-self vendettas,

While my cracking backbone lacks but backs up my false starts

All nightmares start as dreams and I hear my subconscious screaming

They say that beauty's just skin deep

So naturally, please show me your bones, bones, bones

Let me see your bones

Well I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home

Bones, bones, bones

Hell, we're all alone

If I come home, baby, will you show your bones?

For the way he must kill Fyodor, for the way they love. He is starving himself of Fyodor by killing him. Nikolai sees that attraction in his body as something he could somehow pry out and purify even though he knows it will make him so sick and weak, as if peeling open the insides of his lover could somehow reveal the truth of why they love like this. To kill him means to be free of him, but it's really only halfway, the way he keeps him around to begin with, cause he thinks he might be able to wean himself off Fyodor after a little, just a little bit more, when well, of course he cant. He thinks this might get him answers- Why are they so self contradictory, why is it so difficult for him, why is this the only way they manage to exist is this terrifying codependent state? He searches for this so hard but he fears actually getting an answer, to the bones, so much that he kills the only one who might provide it for him.

Lumps in throats and petticoats, your baby teeth would pray for you

At the beginning of the third chapter when Nikolai is trying his hardest to talk to Fyodor, and how every bit of advice he gets back is only an echo from deep in the past. He holds the past so dearly, nothing he's doing feels real, through all the makeup he applies and the pretty dresses he puts that rotting fucking corpse in, though he's nearly to tears, and the dynamic and the dysfunctionality of how they existed together reveals itself.

A selfish book is always open

And some of the best liars only want the truth

Nikolai is the "selfish book". Nikolai weaves this extensive web of intentions and metaphors into his existence in this way that he's so sure he's hoodwinked himself and the world about his true feelings and thoughts, but especially to Fyodor and honestly to anyone who gets a look at him to an extent, it is painfully obvious the direction he is going and how viscerally clear his emotions are. Fyodor has seen this from the beginning, he always knew how doomed and contradictory that train of thought was.

And Fyodor is the "best liar". Though he is so closely guarded himself, someone who Nikolai never entirely managed to unravel even after his death, he truly only ever had the sweetest intentions with Nikolai. Yes, he's hurt him, lied to and manipulated him expertly, let him do this all to himself, but in the end he was only ever giving Nikolai what he wanted. Nikolai is a sinful ability user himself, and he knows that Nikolai is a paradox who will only ever suffer surviving. This is his mercy, and he feels that deeply. The truth of their love and the world is right there for Nikolai, left posthumously for when he finally decides to accept it.

All love starts as a scheme, so wake me up, I'm tired of sleeping

They say that beauty's just skin deep

So I feel asleep, please show me your bones, bones, bones

Let me see your bones

Well I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home

Bones, bones, bones

Hell, we're all alone

If I come home, baby, will you show your bones?

Nikolai has found it difficult to parse apart his own delusions and rose-colored view of Fyodor from reality, and it breaks here where he seeks this consul from Fyodor. Fyodor is so vague and far away it feels like a dream, even though all Nikolai's been doing in this whole endeavor was trying to wake up. This love of his was the "scheme" he was trying to break free of, and killing Fyodor was supposed to "wake him up" from that brainwashing. But it hasn't, it won't, that feeling doesn't go away. He wants that truth, he is begging for Fyodor to reveal it, what else must he do to receive it? But Fyodor has told him time and time again, is he really prepared to hear it?

All nightmares start as dreams, all love starts as a scheme

Give me all your LSD so I can feel my mind unweave again

This dream of Nikolai's, this ideal to reach this ascendant state of humanity where he basically ignores every scream of his own flesh and blood just for that idea of free will has become an utter nightmare all around him. The consequences are glaring and he is witnessing the world burn down and he is the one burning it. (i am he forest and i am the fire and) Everything is falling apart and he does not know how to survive without the world utterly scrambled around him. Without Fyodor, an acid trip seems necessary just to stay sane, or in his case, to keep away from that terrible clarity as much as possible and to stay living that dream without seeing the nightmare underneath…

They say that beauty's just skin deep

So Ana stands and rends the rancid meat from her bones, bones, bones

…Yet under that influence, the nightmare grows even worse, as he tears himself apart through this idea, throwing away anything he finds offensive to the delusion. I'm assuming here that Ana was meant to be a personification of anorexia, that the singer's own disorder has grown so prominent she is a whole being who acts as him, they are one and the same person. For Nikolai this certainly applies, to someone who feels at this point to be a hollowed out corpse piloted by pure delusion. And he acts out to purify his vision, to keep that idea of Fyodor and himself intact, he wounds and tricks and pushes Sigma away. In his vision Sigma has turned against him like rancid meat, yet in reality he is ripping away the very thing keeping him alive.

Let me see your bones

Well I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home

Bones, bones, bones, hell, we're all alone

If I come home, baby, will you show your bones, bones, bones?

I can see my bones

Well I don't wanna know if the feeling follows home

Bones, bones, bones, hell, we're all alone

If I come home, baby, will you show your bones?

My bones, your bones

Tell me you can see my bones

My bones, your bones

Tell me you can see them

This whole ending bit is that hard descent, the repetition, the spiral at the end, the way he's conceding to Fyodor, where his aversion to the truth and his seeking the truth meets. And that feeling does follow home, he's going to follow that feeling home and there is no one left to stop him. There is nothing left in that world but Nikolai and the dripping thing he's personified, at this point he's wrecked his own health so badly that he recognizes himself in the corpse more than in that old polaroid. And he's giving in with that plea: if he comes home, please tell him, would they be together again? He's begging with all his life that Fyodor somehow is watching him and everything he's become, that he might somehow embrace and understand him. In utter doom, might he at least have companionship in the grave?

[k1rishiki]

hnoc's crimes, a non-comprehensive list:

- not enough palomydes (i like him, he's very polite and i think he should get to hold hands with tristan and isolde (the irish one), he wasn't mentioned once)

- killing off both tristan and bedivere in one sentence (the two original variants of tristan's death were sooo sexy. and this? this wasn't. also bedevere usually lives and there's a narrative significance to bedevere being the last survivor of camelot. plus the like,,, one story i know of where he does die, there's a patroclus parallel there, they could have at least given me that)

- the two isoldes aren't even mentioned (they hate to see girlbosses winning)

- spelled ywain "uwain", kei "kay", and gawaine "gawain" (self explanatory)

- only had one ywain (there are over ten)

- old galahad (he's supposed to be a 15 year old who thinks he's better than everyone morally and kins jesus christ and has an eyestrain carrd filled with religious imagery and may or may not bite people)

- lancelot x arthur bad (alright this is a more serious one but lancelot couldn't be paid to care about arthur, like at all, his feelings range from disinterest to dislike, but more importantly arthur was like,,, 30,,, when lancelot was born and it was even said in the vulgate that arthur viewed him as a son)

- lancelot x guinnevere bad (alright this is bc medieval authors hated women and shouldn't be carried over to modern works but she was SO bad to him)

- arthur x guinnevere bad (HE TRIED TO KILL HER!!! REPEATEDLY!!!)

- the mechs don't know what a broadside ballad is (pellinore and the beast is described as one. it isn't)

- gawain (self explanatory)

- how DARE you separate mordred's betrayal from the deaths of his brothers, how DARE you make him betray anyone before gawain dies, how dare you make him oppose gawain, how DARE you portray mordred as the sympathetic and rational brother (demonstrates clear misunderstanding of mordred's character)

- where the fuck are the other orkneys, you don't understand gawaine or mordred's motivations, fuck you (namedropping gaheriet doesn't count, he's two separate characters by the end of the tradition)

- no galehaut (the most canon queer character in the tradition who?)

- story beats Bad (the grail quest had nothing to do with the fall of camelot it was elayne of astolat's death that caused it!!!! this is elayne of astolat erasure!!!)

- clearly based on pop culture a.rthuriana (pop culture a.rthuriana sucks)

- has clear th wh*te influence (seen in the existence of pendragon polycule and use of the phrase "once and future king", th wh*te was,,, very shitty to put it mildly and i don't want to trigger tag this post)

- has clear m*deline z*mmer br*dley influence (morgan as mordred's mother, once again i don't want to trigger tag this post but she's genuinely a monster and i hope she's rotting in hell)

- fridged morgan (what the fuck dude, she doesn't even die in ANY of the original texts)

- morgan as mordred's mother (i'm pretty sure they only speak to each other in like,,, one text, and even then they're part of a bigger group)

- ygraine as mordred's mother/arthur's lover (what the fuck dude THAT'S ARTHUR'S MOM)

- i hate pellinore's ass don't give him his own song (i don't want to trigger tag this, you could've given the song to palomydes and it'd have the same effect AND make the slightest bit more sense)

- guinnevere doesn't even vaguely resemble medieval guinnevere (she's a political genius ready to step in as regent at a moment's notice!! her role is strategist not gunslinger and she dhouldn't have to be able to fight to be seen as strong!! if you wanted a woman strong in the fighting sense there was morgan!! or sebile!! or even lynnette!!)

- arthur was a dick in the original (arthur was a dick in the original)

- villainized ladies of the lake (nimue/ninniane's only crime was what? sealing away merlin when he tried to [redacted bc i don't want to trigger tag this], she was obviously in the right!! vivviane/ninniane's only crime was kidnapping baby lancelot but she didn't know any better and he was fine with it!! (ninniane was proto-vivviane/nimue from the vulgate))

- merlin was a [redacted bc trigger tagging] in the original (you didn't have to have brian be him... you could have had brian be nimue and it still would've worked...)

- i've said it before and i'll say it again, if you wanted love-triangle-turned-polyamory, tristan, isolde and palomydes were right there!!! (this is pop culture arthuriana though so i'm willing to bet money the mechs saw that isolde was married to tristan's uncle and that was it when mark didn't even like her and he married her to piss of tristan and it was palomydes who was in love with her the whole time and i'm cutting myself off here bc i was writing this whole thing about why i thought tristan, palomydes and isolde were definitely in love and it was getting long)

- the conspicuous lack of palomydes, old galahad, and the whole perceval getting mentioned once thing means we don't get to think about palomydes having to babysit catholic children in the woods while they bully him into taking them with him to hunt the fucked up giraffe he's dedicated years of his life to (i like that scene)

.

alright this is all i can think of off the top of my head but like. yeah. i'm definitely going to rb this.

no this isn't in the place of that hnoc Bad essay i was writing. no i didn't forget about it for a month, what makes you think that? i'll post it Eventually. until then, follow my sideblog where i post about actually good a.rthuriana and also gothic lit, shakespeare, and classics sometimes (but mostly a.rthuriana), @acegalahads,

also if you want a) further explanation for any of these, b) to know what i refused to type, c) actually good arthurian recs, d) an explanation why i think palomydes, isolde and tristan are in love, or e) just know about anything arthurian, feels free to ask me, this may become not just a hyperfixation but a special interest and i love infodumping