#this is only a very small bit of a much larger piece | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barleyo · 4 months

Text

Rural Bliss.

Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing

Wordcount: 1.8k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.

Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of.

What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon.

Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood.

The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them.

"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in."

You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't quite what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life.

He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature.

"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.

"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."

"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind you and flashed an apologetic look.

"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside.

"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."

Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.

Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.

He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.

"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness.

His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special.

He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements.

What was wrong with you?

Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.

You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.

Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend.

You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw.

He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in you without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.

You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.

That type of thinking brought him here.

"Daddy, please..."

The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure.

He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.

He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs.

"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty."

He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit.

"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you."

He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.

"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."

That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.

He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up.

Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego.

He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered.

"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights.

"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."

His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you.

Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.

"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.

As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long.

You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.

#smutfic #leon s kennedy x reader #cw incest #tw inc*st #dark content #dead dove fic #resident evil x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you

828 notes · View notes

reminiscingtonight · 7 months

Note

neighbor, drunk, puppy

Alexia Putellas

Just A Doorstep Away (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

[WOSO Masterlist]

Alexia wakes up to something wet.

Cringing, she jerks back. Only to let out a groan at the nausea that sets in at the sudden motion.

The blonde lifts two hands to rub at her face.

God, she’s hungover. A little too hungover. Guess that’s what she gets for going out with the team after winning another trophy.

After her 5th shot things started to get a bit hazy. All Alexia remembered was Ingrid shoving both her and Mapi into a taxi at some point, the Norwegian mumbling something about babysitting children.

Before Alexia can continue to piece together how her night ended, another wet dollop lands roughly against the back of her arm.

Grunting, Alexia slides one of her hands away so she can open an eye.

What she sees has Alexia letting out a frightened yelp, ignoring her nausea to scoot backwards on the bed.

There’s a dog, a very big dog, staring at her with big doe eyes next to the side of her bed.

Almost as if it’s just realized Alexia’s finally awake, the dog lets out a loud bark. It’s tongue hangs out afterwards, the dog looking happy to have some company.

Alexia can feel her heart beating at a thousand miles per hour.

Unless she made a purchase or dropped by a shelter sometime between going to the bar and waking up, there is no reason there should be a dog staring back at her like she’s a plate of meat.

Now, Alexia isn’t a dog hater. She had Nala for quite a long time, of course. But the fact lies therein that Nala was a small, lap dog. Her precious little ball of fur.

This dog? Well it’s at least five times larger than Nala was, definitely larger than any type of dog Alexia would ever be comfortable owning.

“Buen perrito,” she whispers nervously.

The dog simply cocks a head at her before letting out another happy bark.

What happens next Alexia can only describe it as a mini stare-off, the footballer not daring to move and her four-legged alarm clock seemingly more than happy to stare right back at her.

Eventually, when it seems clear that the pup wouldn’t get another reaction out of Alexia, it turns on its heels, slowly trotting out of the room.

Sighing out in relief, Alexia rolls back onto her back.

With her head pounding like a jackhammer, Alexia decides she’ll just have to deal with her uninvited guest at a later date. Forget giant, unexplainable dogs, Alexia’s got to go find some pain medicine and--

It isn’t until Alexia’s properly taking in her surroundings that she realizes that she is not in her bedroom like she originally thought.

“Oh no.”

When Alexia finally musters up the courage to leave the room she’s in, she’s met with the aroma of something stomach-grumbling inducing and a woman standing in front of the stove.

Without turning around, you hum out a greeting.

“Er… good morning?” Alexia hesitantly replies back.

When you finally turn around to greet her, Alexia can feel all of her breath leave her lungs.

Alexia’s a pretty simple woman who has eyes. And what she sees has her wishing she could remember more about how her night ended.

You gesture towards the counter and Alexia sits without a second thought. Mere seconds later you slide a plate towards her, filled with eggs, bacon, and toast.

The dog from earlier comes back around, headbutting Alexia’s leg as if to ask for some food.

“No es tuyo,” you scold, shooing away your dog. “Sorry, Maria begs for food from everyone.”

Alexia’s mouth twitches without meaning to. Mapi’s going to throw a fit when Alexia tells her about this hot stranger with a dog that shares her name later.

Speaking of explaining this to her friends later…

Alexia nervously scratches at her neck. “Thank you for the hospitality and breakfast but… did we do something last night? I think I drank too much.”

You snort. “I think that would be an understatement.”

Alexia can’t stop her hackles from rising defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, ignoring the way her vision seems to shake at the motion. “Actually, sorry, do I even know you?”

“Nope. But I know you.” You seem to cringe the second the words come out of your mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make that sound so creepy. I’m 4B.”

When Alexia gives you a blank look you roll your eyes.

“I live down the hall from you.”

This time Alexia frowns. Out of the scenarios she made up, neighbor was not one of them. “Not to be rude but why the hell did I wake up here if I live down the hall?”

You shrug, digging into your own plate of breakfast. Alexia pretends not to notice when you slip your dog a piece of bacon despite chastising her earlier.

“Drunk you seemed to think that my place was yours. I could barely get you into the guest room, let alone drag you back home.”

Alexia flushes at your words. She drops her face into her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

You laugh, a light sound that has Alexia’s heart skipping a beat. “It’s fine. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself to you for weeks. You just helped me get over my nervous phase. It’s hard to find someone scary when you’ve seen them trip over their own feet.”

Alexia lets out another groan of embarrassment, but this time there’s an amused smile on her lips.

You might be neighbors, but she can find herself getting used to this.

And the way you brush fingers on her way out the door an hour later tells her that you might want that too.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes #3wp

746 notes · View notes

sehaedazokla · 6 days

Text

he that dares

part one

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems.

warnings: grief mention

word count: 4k

a/n: here is the idea that has been plaguing my brain since i started this blog. more installments to follow. any comments, feedback, thoughts are always appreciated, especially since this is my first longer piece on here. thank you to whomever requested this. it is not exactly what you asked for, but rest assured the story shall eventually give you what you desire.

next part | series masterlist

The Tyrell girl finds herself with the distinct thought that there is absolutely nothing special about Cregan Stark after all.

She decides upon this in her quarters at King’s Landing, which are modest in size, almost befitting a young lady from a family as opulent as House Tyrell. The sheer silks of the curtains blow inwards gently in the face of the afternoon wind that drifts in from the open window, the slight smell of seawater and the remnants of a cooler day.

The girl in the vanity mirror gazes back at her with a delicately downturned chin and round doe eyes that look up underneath delicate wisps of long lashes. She gives the look another attempt, pressing her lips together slightly to give her a darling pout as she opens a small pot of rouge. The color comes from an ornate box that is covered in gilded roses and twisting thorns. Her fingernails tap gently on the edge of the metal as she opens the rouge with a soft click. With one of her fingers, she presses into the coloring only the slightest bit to pull some onto her skin.

Her plump lips are parted carefully as she raises her hand to dab the color to her mouth, leaning forward slightly. Some of her loose curls sway softly with the motion, and she rests her elbow against the edge of the vanity’s table. Once she has finished, she reaches down to open a drawer and produces a white lace handkerchief that is embroidered with the sigil of House Tyrell – a beautiful rose in shimmering golden silk. When she wipes her finger against the fabric, a light stain of pink is left behind.

She returns to her earlier judgement, regarding the young lord she is set to meet with shortly. Cregan Stark is heavy on her mind that day.

It was not too long ago that the Northern men had arrived in King’s Landing. Soon after followed their liege lord, the Lord of Winterfell, the man who holds the court at present. With him had come an even larger force and with that army he had seized control of the entire city in a very short manner of time. It would seem the young lord had every intention of continuing the war that had consumed the noble houses, much to the concern of House Tyrell.

The House is ran by a woman at present. The Tyrell girl thought of her mother briefly, and of her little brother Lyonel who was only two years of age. She knew her mother did not wish for the war to continue. That very mother had then told the girl that while this Northern lord maintained a firm hold on King’s Landing it was her responsibility to do what she did best: win him over.

There was little to complain about when the request was delivered to her. On the contrary, she had already predicted the wishes of her mother and had ensured she was in the throne room the moment Cregan Stark had first pushed those large doors open, blue eyes sharp and sword still in his hand as he led his bannermen in. It is with perfect clarity that she can recall the moment his head lifted to the balcony of the grand room, meeting her gaze for the first time.

She could additionally recall each and every following occurrence of the prolonged gaze they exchanged whenever they happened to cross paths. After a few instances of this, heavy looks where the Northern lord would hold her stare as if he had no intention of ever looking elsewhere again, she found his eyes began to wander. To the lady’s lace she occasionally wove into her elaborate hairstyles, to the small freshwater pearls that spilled over of her collarbones, and then down further to the way the embroidery at the top of her gowns would sweep across her breasts that were pushed upward by the tightness of her whalebone corsets.

And once an adequate trap had been laid, the Rose of the Court had swept in with angelic grace and poise to introduce herself to him. It had gone as smoothly as she could have expected – save for the way she had found Cregan Stark was smarter than she expected. The shine in his eyes when she’d spoken let her know that this Northern lord would not fall prey to her so easily.

Nevertheless, he has called upon her that afternoon. Which is why she is spending a rather grey day dabbing the subtlest of color onto her lips before smoothing her delicately arranged hair into place and informing her maid she is ready to depart.

They are to meet in the castle’s gardens, as per her own request. She had spent quite some time in the gardens during her time in King’s Landing, and found men were much more likely to deem a conservation there pleasant as it would reflect her scents of rose water and lavender oil and honey.

She catches sight of him as she makes her way down one of the pathways made of little rocks, her elegant heels tapping on the small, pearl-colored pebbles as she approaches. Lord Stark is facing away from her, his hands clasped behind his back. He is still dressed in dark colors but has opted against the heavy furs that had adorned his broad shoulders the first time she had seen him. His hair is a striking shade of red that when caught by sunlight shines almost golden about the edges. But this day, the sky is overcast and gloomy with a few gusts of wind and the faint smell of rain that perhaps foretold an incoming summer storm.

Cregan Stark turns as he hears her drawing nearer, his chin raising slightly as his stern gaze falls upon the Tyrell girl.

She has settled for a hurried step, the heavy skirts of her elaborate dress clutched in her petite hands as she rushes up to him rather quickly, bringing a natural red flush to her cheeks. As if she had been quite fretful over the idea of making him wait for even a moment. Her maid trails behind, grasping at the fluttering of her headdress that the wind plucks at in gusts. The maid is providing the girl with a small amount of distance as she stops to catch her breath in front of Cregan.

“I do hope I have not kept you waiting, Lord Stark,” The Tyrell girl begins, her shoulders rolling back elegantly as she speaks. The action draws further attention to the prominence of her collarbone, over which a thin necklace of gold lays. Her eyebrows raise and draw closer as she gives Cregan a honeyed and apologetic smile. The color of her lips is that of a blooming rose.

Cregan finds there are no shortages of places to look when it comes to her. And yet there is no safe place to rest his eyes upon, no part of her that has not been subtly enhanced or maneuvered to make her look as comely as might be possible. It is no wonder that she has enchanted half of his bannermen as if by some sort of spell, leaving longing eyes and craning necks in her wake as she glides about the court.

And Cregan cannot truthfully declare he is immune to her beauty. The only reason he has noticed so much regarding her is that he had been staring, all dry swallows and heavy-lidded eyes, at her since arriving. The way she made his blood rush hot in his veins, her face and figure more than pleasing. Cregan will not imagine – he is a gentleman, and she a highborn lady -but he could imagine, if he allows himself to, and he could imagine much whenever she enters his line of sight. She needn’t say a word to draw his eye.

He settles for looking into her eyes, although they are perhaps the most disarming feature on her dollish face.

“No, you have not Lady Tyrell.” There is a depth to his tone that she is not used to, even after a week of hearing Northern accents echoing down the halls of King’s Landing. He pronounces both her name and title by enunciating both syllables with a low timbre. She notices the way he intentionally kept his gaze to her eyes, his brows neutral and his features even. A proper Northern lord, perhaps. The girl will figure him out for herself soon enough.

“Oh, thank goodness,” She breathes the first word as a sigh of sweet relief, pausing for a moment to catch her breath since she had hurried so worriedly over to him. A hand comes to her chest, sliding over the top of her full breasts as she presses down to soothe her aching lungs.

Cregan’s eyes flick down.

“I would hate to be late. I know how busy you must be, what with all of your responsibilities here at King’s Landing,” There is that sweet smile again, breaking across her face like the sun through the sky in the early hours of the morning. When she folds her hands gracefully across her front, her cleavage comes together impossibly tighter as her arms press to her sides.

Cregan looks back up to her face, hand clenching lightly.

“Aye, I have been quite busy. Handling the remnants of Aegon’s supporters has proved a heavy task.” His eyes are light, reflective of the overcast sky above their heads. They narrow a bit as he speaks, his expression stern and his voice gruff. She wonders for a moment over how seriously he must take himself.

“A difficult yet vital task, verily.” The Tyrell girl’s eyelashes flutter lightly. She dips her head as if to acknowledge the severity and importance of his work at the capital.

He beholds her for a heartbeat, the slightest twitch of his heavy brows when she speaks with a tone that implies the most agreeable and sweet countenance. It is the perfect thing to reply with, a simple sentence that does not ally herself with either side of the war. An easy compliment given to him like candy. Here is a girl who has learned to play the game of court.

And before Cregan can push the subject further to see if he might glimpse a hint of her true opinion on the matter, the girl is already turning towards the path. He waits a moment while she begins to walk, observing the way she steps with effortless grace. Letting out a small sigh, his wide shoulders drop and he takes a few heavy steps to catch up with her.

The maid trails behind them, and Cregan wonders for a moment if she needs anything from the girl. As he glances over his shoulder, the girl catches notice and smiles, sugary and pleasant.

“How has the capital treated you, my lord? Aside from your important work, that is,” Her chin raises as she looks at him sideways. It is a fair way she has to look up, with the obvious height he has on her. She has never been considered tall, but even so, Cregan’s stature is quite imposing.

Cregan considers her words for a moment. The gardens are quiet, most of the lords and ladies inside to avoid the low clouds that hang precariously above them.

“The South is not much like the North,” He meets her eyes with a heavy gaze as he speaks. There is a heaviness about him in general – stern and disciplined. “I came for the war and find there’s one in every corner of your court.”

She keeps her eyes to the ground for a moment, her expression cool and pleasing. So it would seem Cregan Stark was not altogether empty-headed and boorish.

“Life at court can be quite turbulent at times, it is true,” A honey-tongued and cool concession, smooth as river water over rocks. “But your steadfast devotion to bringing justice is a refreshing presence. Others of your idealism have long since left these walls.”

At first glance, it is a compliment of the softest praise. But Cregan is not foolish enough to take her words for their immediate meaning. No, what Cregan hears instead is an unimpressed warning of what happens to those who come to King’s Landing with good intentions.

“I swore an oath and intend to keep it,” His brow creases in a serious frown. “Even should those I made that oath to no longer draw breath.”

“How very honorable,” Swift and candied, the words fall from her rosy lips as she walks gracefully at his side, finding herself with a flash of annoyance as she has to increase her pace to keep up with his wide steps. This is supposed to be a leisurely stroll, why is it that every step he takes has the length and intent of someone walking towards a particular destination? “It is good to know that the stories of Northern loyalty ring true.”

Cregan feels his jaw tighten slightly, his eyes on her face as she upturns her chin to meet his gaze once more. The look on her face implies she is impressed, but the Lord of Winterfell has an eye for falsehoods and this girl is covered in them, no matter how coquettishly smoothed they are.

A frown of contemplation folds onto his stern face. “It is our nature, my lady.”

“So it is.” A saccharine smile and the glitter of wide eyes. The garden’s flowers are in full bloom, upturned to the sky to catch the possible rain that would occur in the later evening. The petals facing the clouds, waiting, watching. Leaning towards the water they wish for. A small flutter of wings can be heard as a butterfly brushes past. “To be true to one’s nature, you will find, is not a common occurrence here at court. If it is Northern custom to be honest and straightforward, it is Southern custom to be prudent and waiting.”

There is an eloquent way of describing the venomous snake pit that was the capital. Most of the men there came for their own personal interest or gain, clawing to the top of the food chain through underhanded tactics and broken oaths and lies. Most men worked their entire lives for a fragment of what Cregan Stark had come to King’s Landing and taken in one day.

“Therefore, you must imagine why you are so fascinating to many of us here at court.” She explains in a tone of light and airy amiableness, meeting his gaze as if admitting why she had been staring after him so often since his arrival at King’s Landing. This is not exclusively a lie – she was sizing him up, same as every other noble who cared enough to keep an eye on the larger game at play. But some of her staring had been purely self-indulgent, much to her own irritation.

“And you have lived here at court long?” Cregan’s question is reserved and polite.

“A couple of years now,” The Tyrell girl looks out in front of her again while they walk, surveying the gardens around them thoughtfully as if she had not seen them a thousand times. “I served as a lady in waiting to Queen Helaena. The Hightowers are bannermen of House Tyrell and I had been betrothed to her younger brother Daeron from his birth. We had been set to marry this year, however…”

She could not care less about her betrothal to Daeron. It had served her well, allowing her more time to live unmarried as Daeron was much younger than her and the two had never met. And then he had died, and she found herself lacking the safety and security of a royal and wealthy betrothed who was miles away. She wishes she could say she had mourned him, but she had not known him at all.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Tyrell.” There is an almost warm quality in his voice as Cregan offers his sincere condolences. She looks down, as she knows she should. Many had given her similar sentiments in regard to the loss of her betrothed, but she did not find herself shedding a single tear for the fallen prince. It is not that there had been no love between them: it is that there had been nothing between them at all. Daeron had never so much as written her a single letter in an attempt to know her. But his sister plagues her thoughts.

Helaena had been a dear friend, a companion, a confidant. It was Helaena who had offered the girl company in that first frightening year at court, who had been unfaltering honest and direct with her. There were no court games or schemes at play with Helaena, no power struggles or competition or backstabbing. The Tyrell girl had been devastated to lose the Queen. Much more so than a stranger she had never even laid eyes upon. Daeron was a figment of imagination from the mind of her childhood self; Helaena had been flesh and blood and dreams and understanding.

She is glad her eyes are downcast; she can feel the glassy haze falling over them and the way her smile lacks any warmth. After a moment, she forces a happier smile back upon her lips and dips her head slightly.

“I thank you, Lord Stark. It has been difficult in the face of such a loss, but I do hope to persevere.” The brightness of her voice lowers to a softer tone. She is well used to pretending to mourn her late betrothed. It is not hard when she simply examines her feelings over Helaena, but such raw and angry grief is not befitting of a lady. No one wishes to see her scream and tear at her hair over the pain that rakes carved, hollow cavities into her chest. They wish for a light dab at a stray tear, a quiet, palatable sadness they can soothe with promises of future love and happiness.

Cregan does not know what to make of her reaction, unable to see her face as it is turned away. Her words are even, practiced.

“I have only spent my time between the capital and Highgarden. There is much of the world I have yet to see,” The Tyrell girl guides the conversation back to Cregan’s original question with ease and experience. She catches his stormy eyes gazing intensely at her once more, sucking in a gentle breath that she wishes she could say is done on purpose to feign interest.

“I imagine I might fair poorly in the North,” She continues hurriedly, eyelashes fluttering as she regains control over her composure, eyes cast to the sky as she presents a sheepish breath of laughter. “With the cold and what not.”

Cregan’s lips twitch faintly at her admission, his head tilting a little as he gazes down at her. It is an amusing thought, this delicate rose in her pastel fabrics and shining jewelry among the ice and snow. He rather wishes to see it, he finds.

“Aye, I fear even our summers would prove challenging for those raised in such fair climate.” The amusement reaches his eyes and she finds herself watching as Cregan looks down, doing his best to remain a gentleman and fighting off the smile that seems to be threatening to break out at the corners of his lips. She hears what his words truthfully mean: he views the Southerners as weaker, used to sunshine and easy days.

Does he fancy himself better because he spent all his time in nightmarish weather, buried under pelts and furs and smelling of sweat and snow? She is eager to see how he’d fare in court without the large army he had brought with him.

“Oh, I simply could not bear it,” She sighs deeply, as if even the thought of such bitter cold was too worrying a predicament to bear in her delicate mind. “I am afraid you shall not be seeing me in the North anytime soon, Lord Stark.”

“A pity, my lady,” There is still a measure of serious composure in his face, but Cregan’s eyes shimmer with something else as he watches her bring her hand to her chest again, smoothing down the expensive fabrics and then up over the soft flesh of her breasts. An action that feigns worry and concern and draws his attention. She has a way of leading the eye about in a subtle manner. Her figure gives him pause. “The North offers a great beauty for those who choose to brave it.”

Her eyes flick to his and there is a moment where Cregan can almost see her sharp mind discerning whether his comment is a challenge or a jab or merely an observation. It fascinates him, yet his face betrays nothing of the thought.

“Perhaps I should amend my previous statement,” The soft laugh that escapes her lips and the sweetness of her expression makes Cregan wonder if he has imagined something. “If my lord was so kind as to offer me an invitation to Winterfell, I would, of course, be honored beyond words.”

Cregan wonders for a moment if he can discern her true intentions. She intrigues him, much more than she should. It was her alone of all the Southern ladies who had approached him directly, introducing herself and offering welcome. Cregan knows it is not from the goodness of her heart. She could fool his bannerman with her wide eyes and friendly smiles, but Cregan was attuned to lies, no matter how beautifully they were spun. Attuned, yet perhaps not immune to their crafter.

It is likely she seeks marriage, now that her betrothed has fallen in battle. Cregan is a perfect candidate. But he cannot be sure, not when she’s blinking up at him with such sweet and thoughtful eyes. Her weapons are great and her skill with them is more so. Before Cregan can open his mouth to mention that he would in fact, wish to see her with rosy cheeks bitten from the cold and snowflakes in her soft hair, she casts her eyes to the sky, frowning thoughtfully.

“It would seem that the evening storm is rolling in sooner that anticipated,” She muses, sighing a little, as if she is truly saddened their stroll is coming to an end. They have almost walked to the end of the gardens anyhow. “I shall excuse myself, if you do not mind, Lord Stark.”

Cregan lowers his head in understanding, his eyes meeting hers as he lifts his chin. He holds the stare for longer than needed. “Go ahead, my lady. I would hate to see you caught in the rain. You might melt.”

She blinks, that sweet smile on her lips but not quite reaching her eyes as she feels her jaw tighten slightly. How utterly charming. As if to subtly let her know he has not fallen for a single thing she has said or done in the last hour. She imagines he finds that amusing.

“How kind of you, my lord.” She offers him through a mildly forced grace, her right eye twitching a little as she gives a deep curtsy that once again showcases just how fortunately she is blessed in the bosom. Cregan finds his mouth dry, his shoulders rolling back slightly. “Do not hesitate to call upon me should you need anything at court. I hear it can be quite challenging for those raised in such fair company.”

When she draws herself up, she gives him one last smile before she turns to collect her maid and disappears.

Cregan hears his own words shot back at him with the most amiable and honeyed cadence but realizes a moment too late. He runs a hand through his red hair and then over his face as he sighs. But as he does so, he feels the ghost of a smile on his lips. Cregan finds himself shaking his head, gazing in the direction she has vanished into for a long moment in silence.

comment or message if you would like to be added to the tag list

214 notes · View notes

kokomyass · 1 month

Text

origami rose

thinking about satoru's love being shown through the sweetest things ^3^

Satoru Gojo was up to something again. You could tell by the way he’d been sneaking glances at you all afternoon, a mischievous smile constantly playing on his lips. It was the kind of smile that usually meant he had some grand, ridiculous plan brewing—one that would inevitably end with you shaking your head, half-amused, half-exasperated.

It started innocently enough. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through a book, when you noticed Satoru quietly rummaging through a drawer. He was uncharacteristically quiet, which only made you more suspicious. He was the type who could barely walk across a room without making a spectacle of it, so, to you, silence was always a red flag.

“Satoru, what are you doing?” you finally asked, unable to suppress your curiosity any longer.

He froze, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and slowly turned to face you. His grin widened, and he held up a small, folded piece of paper. “Just preparing something… romantic, my dearest,” he said, his tone laced with dramatic flair.

You narrowed your eyes, not quite trusting that smirk. “Romantic, huh?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, striding over to you with his typical full confidence (something you found VERY attractive but denied to supress his ego). He stopped right in front of you, the piece of paper still clutched in his hand. “But it’s a surprise, so you have to close your eyes.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll just have to use my infinite charms to convince you,” he said, winking.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Fine, fine....” you relented, closing your eyes. “But if this ends with me covered in flour or something, I’m not going to forgive you.”

“Trust me,” he said, his voice softening in a way that made your heart flutter. “You’ll love it.”

You heard the rustle of paper as he moved closer, and then the softest brush of something against your lips—a kiss, sweet and fleeting. It made you smile, but before you could react, he spoke again.

“Okay baby, now open.”

When you opened your eyes, you found Satoru kneeling in front of you, holding out the piece of paper like it was the most precious thing in the world. But it wasn’t just a piece of paper; it was an origami flower of a rose, delicately folded with an almost surprising level of skill.

“You made this?” you asked, a bit taken aback by the thoughtful gesture.

He nodded, looking slightly bashful for once. “I wanted to do something different,” he admitted, his usual bravado toned down. “I know I’m usually all about the big gestures, but… I wanted to give you something small. Something that’s just for you, my amazing, kind, beatiful and, sexy girlfriend, if i may add...”

You let out a warm chuckle at his unseriousness but regardless, your heart melted at his words. As much as Satoru loved to be larger-than-life, there were moments like this when he showed you the quieter, more vulnerable side of himself—the side that cared deeply, even if he didn’t always show it in the most conventional ways.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, reaching out to take the flower. But before your fingers could touch it, he pulled it back slightly, a teasing smile returning to his lips.

“Ah-ah,” he said, his playful tone back in full force. “You have to say the magic words first.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again, this time on the lips. It was a sweet, lingering kiss, one that left both of you smiling when you finally pulled away.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with affection. Then, with a chuckle, you added, “You stubborn little pain in the ass.”

Satoru grinned, his eyes sparkling as he finally handed you the flower. “And I love you,” he said, his voice soft, sincere. “Even when you’re onto my antics.”

You took the origami flower, holding it delicately between your fingers. It was just a small, simple thing, but it carried so much of his heart in it—his love, his silliness, his desire to make you smile in ways only he could.

credit to artist thatsallitchief

154 notes · View notes

not-quite-normal · 1 year

Note

Congrats on launching one of my favorite movies ever made! On my third rewatch, I paid really close attention to eye shapes and noticed Miguel’s eyes are ridiculously expressive considering how different his mask is from the traditional spider mask, essentially missing one whole side of the lens and having a lot more geometry to move around. How difficult/easy was it to get his eyes to emote as much as the other spidey’s masks? Or was it relatively simple and just looks complicated on the outside?

well observed! his mask eyes did have to have a different rig from the other spidey's eyes but was actually relatively simple to control. the hard part was designing the shapes!

the default spiderman eyes on peter and miles have an extra outline around the white eye shields, which requires more attention to make sure the lines look nicely weighted

for eyes like miles, we have separate controls around the white and red bits to adjust the lines/shapes of them individually so that the red line goes from thin near the middle of the face, to thick, and then ends in a point at the top (the blue line in the middle just stays in the middle wherever it is).

but miguel only had one piece of geo to worry about! we had small "per edge" controls to adjust the shape vertex by vertex lol, and then larger controls to adjust the movement/expressions

we had to be very designy with how the eyes emoted because of how complex the overall eye shape is, we couldn't simply scale them down for a squint. it required a lot of thought behind how the shapes should change based on what we needed the expression to be, while still keeping him on model

huge shoutout to our senior animation supervisor humberto rosa, who was instrumental in the animation design on this movie and hammering these rules into the whole animation crew to make sure all the characters stayed on model. i learned so much from him on how to make 3D characters look like 2D drawings

#asks #spiderverse #across the spiderverse

1K notes · View notes

marclef · 3 months

Text

a special gift for you guys, for this very important Fake Peppino Friday.... after a week of near-continuous work, i present to you the biggest mess i've posted so far to tumblr:

The Fake Peppino Headcanon/Biology/Anatomy/Whatever the heck this is Post

really just a bunch of headcanons, ideas, and other stuff i've complied together for Fake Peppino, illustrated to the best of my ability. i hope you enjoy! ✨✨✨

(caution: lots of text and assorted Frogs up ahead)

now.... who's ready for walls of text and drawings?

Fake Peppino is a homunculus, made in the shape of Peppino by Pizzahead. He's much taller than the real Peppino, 8 feet tall compared to Peppino's 5 1/2 feet. He was created using the DNA from Peppino (either skin or hair cells), old pizza, and frogs (think Jurassic Park). His entire body, including the hat and "clothes", is comprised of a strange goop, with no flesh organs or bones, though certain areas are made out of specialized goo, meant for an intended purpose.

He can stretch his body to inhuman lengths, though he usually only does this with his legs, mouth, tongue, and arms. His goopy body is extremely strong, able to withstand tearing and most puncture wounds. Attacks from knives or similar weapons are pointless, as it doesn't really harm him, and will likely just lead to him absorbing the knife into himself and retaliating. However, repeated attacks, especially physical blows, can tire him out, and explosives can harm him, splitting his body into pieces if particularly strong. This doesn't kill him, though, since he can reform his body.

If threatened, or trying to get into a tight spot, Fake Peppino can deform his body into a blob-like mass, allowing him to flee, squeeze into small areas, or melt into the floors/walls. He usually keeps his eyes and brain intact, to see his surroundings and act accordingly. The rest of his body, despite deforming and becoming mushy, can still function, meaning he could still eat in this form if he wanted to. He finds tights spaces comfortable, and can often be found squeezed into unlikely places, such as small containers, trash cans, and cabinets.

If greatly threatened, though, or sufficiently angered, Fake Peppino can pool all of the energy into his body into growing larger, by rapidly burning energy into making more goop/cells. This is very tiring, generally only used as a last resort. The process generally makes his head and body much larger, with his limbs, as well as eyes/brain, staying mostly the same size. He is dumber in this state, with all energy and thought going into eliminating the target, something that Fake Peppino doesn't like. He avoids lashing out like this unless he absolutely needs to.

Despite his frog DNA, Fake Peppino doesn't do well with water or other similar liquids. Thanks to his sturdy stomach walls, he can drink most liquids just fine, even fluids that would be dangerous to humans. It's his outside "skin" that's the problem, since it can't absorb liquid properly. Prolonged contact with water or other liquid will quickly cause him to deform, unable to keep his humanoid form, until he's sufficiently dried off/absorbed the liquid properly. He greatly dislikes being wet because of this, and will go to great lengths to avoid it. Warmer liquids are slightly more tolerable, being much more comfortable, so warm, bubbly baths are welcome.

The brain and eyes are connected directly, with the brain protected by Fake's squishy head, and the eyes popping out the widened eye sockets. The brain is made of very specialized goop, and works very similarly to a human brain, sending signals to all parts of Fake Peppino's body.

However, despite it being the central control center of his body, smaller bits of brain cell goop are distributed through the rest of his body, allowing him to control other parts separately. So, even if parts of him are detached or otherwise removed, he can still control them, for a time. After some time, these parts die off though, losing control and deforming into inert goop. He mainly uses this ability to split "clones" off of himself, controlling them to attack perceived threats.

Being made of goop, Fake's brain can withstand damage a normal brain can't, but he still prefers to keep it protected underneath his head. It dries out a bit in the open, too, which he finds uncomfortable.

Fake Peppino's eyes are very strong. Though he's often seen with a cross-eyed look to him, he's constantly watching his surroundings, even if it doesn't seem it. He has excellent night vision, often using this ability to easily stalk and sneak up on prey in the dark without being spotted.

He doesn't need to blink, but he still closes his eyes to sleep, when he's very happy, or during certain actions, such as swallowing. His eyes are one of the most vulnerable parts of his body, though, and attacking them would be a way to easily disorient him.

Fake Peppino's sense of smell is also impressive, being able to smell things long before he sees them. He uses this ability to easily find food, prey, or simply something he wants. The mustache under his nose (which, same as his "hair", is also made of goop) is sensitive, and he doesn't like others touching it.

Fake Peppino often sniffs things he's interested in, including strangers, to try to get a sense for them. He never forgets a particular smell, which makes it easy to tell if a familiar person is nearby. He often sniffs others while holding them or being given attention, likely as a form of interaction. Plus, he just thinks most others smell nice.

Despite, like the rest of him, being made of goop, Fake Peppino's teeth can harden to be extremely tough. They soften if he needs them to, such as when he deforms. His bite force is very, very strong, comparable to a hippo's bite. He doesn't chew his food too often, though, and only really chews up food he finds particularly tasty, such as pizza. His frog-like instinct usually compels him to swallow most foods whole. His teeth are more often used to grip things, such as prey items, or to carry things around. He enjoys carrying things he likes around, and will carry smaller friends around gently with his mouth.

The stretchiest part of Fake Peppino's body is his tongue, which can stretch to several times his body length. It is very sticky, coated with a clear, saliva-like goop that fills the inside of his mouth as well. Like a frog, he uses it to grab onto and eat food from afar, or to grab items he doesn't feel like using his arms to. It's very strong, and can drag even very heavy objects. The tongue's extreme flexibility allows him to reach it nearly anywhere, even down his own throat if he really wanted.

Usually, Fake Peppino uses his tongue to snatch fleeing prey items, and he can wrap it around their body to make them easier to eat. He often leaves his tongue dangling slightly out of his mouth, due to its length, but also making it easy to strike with if needed.

Fake Peppino's "stomach" is a very special case. It functions like both an organic stomach, and similarly to a lung as well, constantly moving by pushing air in and out of himself. He can use this to inflate his body, making himself bigger for intimidation (like some frogs do), or to shrink himself down by releasing all air from himself; this is generally used if a prey item is being uncooperative, to cause them to suffocate. To help keep live prey in place as well, he's able to close off his throat with a mass of goop, preventing escape.

The constant movement of the stomach makes digesting meals easier, allowing them to be coated by a specialized goop that absorbs and dissolves what it covers, like stomach acids. Fake Peppino's stomach can digest almost everything, aside from very tough materials, such as most metals, very solid plastics, tough minerals (like rocks), and bones. Anything he can't digest, he simply spits up eventually, generally in a place it can be disposed of, such as the trash.

His stomach is very sturdy and stretchy, able to withstand almost anything, and can stretch as much as needed to fit what's inside. As such, there's not much of a limit to how much Fake Peppino can eat. Eating too much makes him sluggish, though, as his body tries to process it all. Fake Peppino is most content with a reasonably-full stomach, and is generally quite calm and relaxed after a large meal. Belly rubs at this point are greatly appreciated.

If needed to, he can reach his arms back into his own throat, to grab something from inside of his stomach. He doesn't do it often, due to most things he eats being digestible, making carrying stuff around in there fairly pointless. This is only ever really the case if it's something too difficult to spit up, or something that wasn't supposed to be eaten in the first place.

There is no further digestive system, however; all food eaten is 100% absorbed in the stomach. Everything he eats is converted into more goop like him, leaving no trace behind, unless it is undigestible. Bones from eaten prey such as rats get thrown out, or disposed of in an appropriate spot.

and... though I didn't get to drawing them, here's a couple extra unsorted headcanons/dumb little tidbits I just felt like sharing!

He makes lots of strange sounds, communicating more through groans and frog-like croaks than trying to speak. He CAN talk, but not well, mostly in broken, short sentences, and usually speaks "backwards". He can understand others just fine, though he struggles with especially long and complicated words. The sounds he makes when not talking are generally unintelligable, but his mood and tone can indicate how he feels. He uses the ability to inflate his body to produce very loud, aggressive sounds when trying to ward off threats.

His gooey body is what allows him to cling to walls and ceilings with ease. He sticks to walls while trying to stalk prey, or just to play around with friends. Though, in some cases, he'll cling against the walls or ceiling if frightened, finding them a safe vantage point. If you're in the dark and feel something creeping its way towards you, it's likely Fake Peppino, silently stalking you from the walls.

Despite his inhuman traits, Fake Peppino generally doesn't like the idea of eating humans. He still sees himself as somewhat human from his time spent believing he was the real Peppino. Attacking or eating things he doesn't see as prey is kept as a last resort, or if he's extremely angered. As of now in my canon/AU, there is only one person Fake Peppino has killed in this way. He didn't like the taste.

#oh god. oh lord. Color Of The Sky: Frog Edition has been released into the world.#i uhh. hope you like it though!! i've spent literally an entire week working on it and i'd like to think it turned out good!!#oh and also. if anyone has any questions or thoughts about this stuff feel free to ask! i might take a while to get to ask stuff but-#i promise i'll try! anyways. enjoy the frogs. a lotta good boys here.#my art #pizza tower #pizza tower fake peppino #pizza tower noise #pizza tower peppino #i'm uh. gonna take a nice break from drawing for a day now.

252 notes · View notes

caffedrine · 2 months

Text

Silvio Ricci - Beyond the Connection Between the Past and the Present – Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

Many things in this world are more impossible than the fantasy stories written in books. Emma reminds herself of this as she watches the passionate battle between Silvio and his younger self, Chibi-vio.

Silvio shouts that there is no way in hell he’ll lose to some snot-nosed kid who only knows how to doggy-paddle. Chibi-vio snaps back that Silvio is annoying, it’s not his fault Silvio started late. And if anything, he should let go of his leg. Silvio shouts back that just because he’s small doesn’t give him the right to take shortcuts. Chibi-vio laughs derisively, it’s Silvio’s own fault for not choosing the route. For an adult, Silvio is very stupid. Silvio calls his younger self a brat, and Chibi-vio tells him to bring it.

Chibi-vio shouts that he’s just caught his tenth fish, and the score between them widens even more. Silvio notes that this proves that Chibi-vio is a true brat, he only cares about shitty quantity over the quality of Silvio’s larger fish. Silvio advises that if he aims for victory, even if by numbers, always go for the ‘big one’.

Chibi-vio is amazed at the fish Silvio pulls out of the water – the color, the shape, and the size! He thought that fish was legendary. Both he and Silvio gaze at it in awe.

Emma recounts the day – first, they had raced on the beach, then they competed who could swim faster to a nearby isolated island. Next, they competed over who could row a boat faster, then they climbed trees to see who could reach the top first.

This fishing battle was just the newest contest between the two.

Chibi-vio complains that Silvio is just some rich guy who jangles a lot. He has absolutely nothing in common with him. And all he wants to do is play games! Silvio insists this is the better way of doing things.

Emma is trying not to laugh at Chibi-vio’s antics. The memory of him calling Silvio ‘some rich guy’ still brings on giggles.

(Picture this for Chibi-vio, but less rich)

She is a bit put off by Silvio going all out against a child, but that is Silvio’s way. Besides, Chibi-vio seems to be enjoying himself. She remembers stories she heard about Silvio’s childhood where he had no friends or opportunities to play. Maybe that’s why neither version of him is holding back.

Emma calls out to them, if they collapse in the sand, they’ll dry all up. She brought them jelly snacks and water.

Silvio remarks that Emma is very kind, and Chibi-vio reluctantly thanks him. She thinks that he’s not sure what to make of her, he’s been watching her as much as he’s watching his adult self.

Silvio snaps at his younger self, telling him to watch it, he’s claimed that big piece. Chibi-vio snaps back that he saw it first, so it’s his. Silvio shouts for Chibi-vio to stop kicking him, calling him a bad child. Chibi-vio snaps back that he’s also a bad man.

Emma cuts in, saying that she won’t give snacks to a child who won’t get along with them. Grumbling, Chibi-vio gives in.

Both of them start eating quietly, giving Emma a chance to get a closer look at Chibi-vio.

Again, they are so similar. Even Chibi-vio has a beautiful way of eating that makes her fall in love. His hair is soft and silky, and his eyes droop a little. He looks like a miniature of Silvio – and she wonders if his reactions are the same.

Chibi-vio jerks away from her hand touching his cheek. He demands to know what she thinks she is doing. Emma apologizes, explaining that she wanted to try something. Chibi-vio turns red and starts walking away, wondering aloud what she wants to try.

Maybe the reason he’s embarrassed by her touch is different, but it’s the exact same reaction Silvio has.

Very cute.

Silvio is gloating, what is even with that reaction? Chibi-vio looks so stupid when he gets upset over such a little-

Silvio nearly leaps in the air and jumps away, shouting at Emma for hugging his arm so suddenly, even after he told her to warn him. Emma asks what she has said or done that implies that she’s listening to him. Chibi-vio points and laughs at Silvio, asking why he’s so shy even though he’s an adult. Silvio shouts at Chibi-vio to shut up, this one is special, and he is no way at all embarrassed when anyone else grabs him.

Besides . . .

Chibi-vio is appalled. Emma can’t believe Silvio would just grab her and kiss her in front of a child.

Shaking and pointing, Chibi-vio demands to know what this rich man, no, wait, this rich pervert thinks he’s doing with this face-hugger display. Silvio asks who is the shy one now.

Emma grumbles over Silvio’s lack of maturity. On the other hand, she enjoyed the kiss, so maybe it’s catching.

Very softy, Chibi-vio says not to do this, and Emma begins to nod. Suddenly Chibi-vio shouts not to embarrass him, he’s sure he can kiss Emma without feeling embarrassed, unlike a certain pervert. Before Silvio or Emma can react, Chibi-vio jumps Emma and lightly kisses her cheek.

Smirk, smirk, Chibi-vio has absolutely no problem kissing Emma, in fact, he enjoyed it. It’s a cute reaction, but Emma doesn’t think she likes this.

Silvio shouts at Chibi-vio to not touch his woman without permission. Roughly, he grabs Emma’s face and begins wiping at her cheek with a cloth. Emma complains and Silvio tells her to endure it, after all, he’s being nice to her.

He calls this nice?

While Emma whines and rubs at her cheek, Silvio whirls on Chibi-vio. He lunges at Chibi-vio, grabbing him, and begins to wipe a Chibi-vio’s mouth. Chibi-vio shouts at this rich pervert to let go and stop.

If Silvio is a rich pervert, that makes Chibi-vio a moody pervert. And stop squirming!

Emma begs them to stop fighting as Chibi-vio screams as Silvio.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #silvio ricci

131 notes · View notes

simbouquet · 5 months

Text

TS3: re:Cerberus – Default Replacement Eye Mesh & Textures

This is a little project I’ve been working on for the past month: a complete default replacement for the eye mesh and textures for Sims of all ages and genders. I realize it’s a bit niche and very specific to my personal taste, but I’m very happy to share it. 🙂

The name is a callback to an old piece of CC I made back in 2022, my first eye texture replacement, which I wound up disliking for a number of reasons and ultimately deleted from my blog.

More info and download under the cut!

Overview

I prefer for my Sims’ eyes to have smaller, more realistic looking irises. There are quite a few options out there, but I’ve never been 100% satisfied with how they looked.

On one hand, the vanilla EA eye mesh tends to stretch smaller eye textures, making them look slightly squared, and the occult eye glow creates an unsightly outline where the original texture would be.

On the other hand, aWT’s default replacement mesh does a good job at reducing the textures, but comes at the cost of sacrificing things like catchlights and occult eye effects. Buhudain does have a version of this mesh that restores them, but the catchlights can look a little wonky or jagged at times since the mesh wasn’t really intended to be used with them anyway.

Moreover, those defaults only had a LOD0, so in some cases where the game would use LOD1 in a few situations such as generating certain thumbnails, the vanilla EA eye mesh with massive irises would show up.

With all this in mind, I decided to try my hand at making my own version and ended up with a new mesh based on aWT’s eyes, which features the following:

A natural looking globe-like shape as opposed to a perfect sphere, which @justmiha97 helped me massively with. Though not 100% realistic, I do like the effect it gives and it doesn’t look weird or out of place.

Reduced iris size, pretty much the same as aWT’s mesh.

Slightly smaller catchlights, which I find pretty cute.

Available for all Sims, Toddler to Elder.

Includes LODs 0 and 1, allowing players on lower settings to use these replacements as well besides being cohesive where the game uses LOD1.

Lower poly than aWT’s mesh, but still a little higher than EA’s, thanks to @thornowl nearly halving the poly count from 608 to 320 triangles. See a comparison below.

EA’s mesh: 192 poly for Child thru Elder; 72 poly for Toddler. aWT’s mesh (+ Buckley’s Toddler & Child conversion): 540 poly for all ages. My mesh: 320 poly for all ages.

For the textures, I edited escand’s beautiful Tiffany Glaze eyes, which I’d already been using on EA’s mesh for quite a while. I made the texture a bit larger, similar to EA’s default size, so that it won’t look too small on my mesh, and made some other small modifications to the texture.

I’ve included a replacement for the face overlay for all ages, which combines textures from @potatobuttcheek’s Eyelashes N1, @aikea-guinea’s teeth and missy harries’ sclera. The overlay also gets rid of the lip tint for female Sims and the sclera has a tiny bit of transparency that blends in subtly with the Sim’s skin color. It’s a neat little effect EA used with their own sclera texture, but I hadn’t seen it replicated in many other defaults.

Previews

CAS preview of EA eye colors on the re:Cerberus mesh and textures.

In-game previews of the eyes in light colors, dark colors and with occult effects.

All previews use my Eye Shader Tweaks and VirtualHugs’ ColorLash + Judson’s Bottom Eyelashes.

Compatibility & Known Issues

The mesh and textures are currently default replacements only. I don’t use contacts in my game, so I haven’t made a non-default version.

You can mix and match by using my mesh with other textures, or using my texture on a different mesh. For reference, my mesh reduces eye textures to about the same size as aWT’s mesh.

My mesh uses SimEyes shaders because I wanted to retain the catchlights and occult effects. I haven’t made a SimSkin version, but you can easily change the shader of the GEOM resources using s3pe if you really want to.

My mesh is incompatible with aWT’s eye sliders; they will not look right if you use them because they’re made specifically for aWT’s eye mesh. I’ve never really used these sliders so I haven’t looked into making them compatible.

My texture is incompatible with Gruesim’s heterochromia eye mesh. It will look bad if you try to use them together.

The occult eye glow is a mess by EA’s design. The effect is slapped on the eye mesh without any awareness as to where the iris is actually placed; in fact, it’s not even aligned correctly on their own eyes. I hope to be able to fix this one day and make it work properly with any eye textures, but shader modding is not an easy or fast task, so please bear with me.

Download: SFS / MTS

Place the .package files in your Packages or Overrides folder.

Credits & Thanks

s3pe: Exporting/Importing resources, creating the package file.

Blender: Creating the eye mesh.

Adobe Photoshop 2024: Editing the texture, creating the preview images.

aWT’s Eye Mesh: Basis for my mesh edit.

Buckley’s Toddler & Child Conversion of aWT’s Eye Mesh: Used as a reference for the positioning of my toddler and child mesh.

escand’s Tiffany Glaze eyes: Basis for my texture edit.

potatobuttcheek’s Eyelashes N1: Used in my face overlay.

Aikea Guinea’s Multifoiled eyes: Source for the teeth texture used in my face overlay.

missy harries’ EA Face Overlay fix: Source for the sclera texture used in my face overlay.

Thank you to @justmiha97 and @thornowl for their contribution to the mesh. ❤️

Thank you to @probablyzora’s Zoe Saora for modeling the occult eyes! 💋

#mycc:ts3 #mycc:recerberus

161 notes · View notes

anthurak · 4 months

Text

So here’s an interesting little detail I noticed while rewatching some of the Beacon arc:

Out of all the various disposable pawns, patsies and stooges we’ve seen utilized by Salem over the course of the show (not counting the stooges who make up her inner circle), it’s funny how the only one who seems to actually recognize how much of a pawn he really is, is TORCHWICK of all people.

Like when you look at Roman’s scenes with Cinder and her minions, and particularly his final fight with Ruby in Volume 3, it’s pretty clear that he was always acutely aware that he was a very small piece of a MUCH larger game.

Just compare that to the likes of Adam, Leonardo, Jacques and Ironwood, who by all rights were all COMPLETELY oblivious to how much they were getting played, or just how little they mattered to Salem.

And that gets even more interesting when you consider that Roman was probably the smallest piece in terms of both status and overall significance compared to Salem’s other pawns. Like I actually don’t think for a moment that Torchwick ever actually met Salem or even KNEW about her by name. I imagine all Roman knew was that there was some boss/mom that Cinder was reporting to.

Instead, Torchwick was able to look at everything Cinder was doing and plotting, between manipulating the White Fang, securing several warehouses of stolen dust, planning a full-on grimm-incursion of Vale during the Vytal Festival with the ultimate aim of toppling one of the four Huntsman Academies. Not to mention I imagine Roman had at least an inkling as to the whole Maiden business that Cinder was after, plus the fact that she seemed to be able to control grimm to a degree. Maybe even guess that this was a plot years if not decades in the making.

And it’s pretty clear that Roman took one look at all this and rightly surmised that he was a bit player in a truly MASSIVE game. As he implies to Ruby during their final fight, Torchwick may not have known much about Salem or her plans, but he knew ENOUGH that he didn’t want to be standing AGAINST her.

Again, just compare that to someone like Adam Taurus, so-called big-shot revolutionary with his big plans to topple the oppression of the humans… who seems to have had no fucking clue that his new ‘friends’ were fully intent on sending him and his followers out to die as a DISTRACTION for their own plans.

Or of course, James Ironwood the big, strong (self-appointed) defender of Atlas and (also self-appointed) last, best hope for humanity, who to his dying breath seems to have been ENTIRELY oblivious to just how completely Salem and her minions were playing him like the cheap kazoo he was.

Or just Jacques Schnee the big-shot corporate overlord who wasn’t even important enough to know about any kind of scheme. All he needed was Watts dangling an election win like keys in front of a baby to be a dutiful little pawn for Salem.

Though funny enough, to Jacques’ credit; the moment he hears about the heating grid going down he does seem to immediately catch on that Watts played him for a chump.

And it’s rather amusing that this is more than can be said for the likes of the ‘Faunus Revolutionary’ who bent the knee to a human girl who kicked his ass, or Ol’ Jimmy the Child-Shooter himself.

#rwby #rwby analysis #roman torchwick #Salem #adam taurus #james ironwood #jacques schnee #in which roman was actually the smartest of salem's stooges #because he could actually SEE that he was a stooge #also yes i am never not going to use that nickname for ironwood XD

120 notes · View notes

seismologically-silly · 2 months

Text

Puzzlemaster Week 1 Recap

we've got lore

Last week started with @puzz1e-master sending a very cryptic message to @potato-lord-but-not. As a result, I, @cr0w-z, @ichorandseafoam, @pandaragons, @willwoodwithadditionalgrapejuice, @get-your-fuckin-star-bitch, and @fruit-c4ke were dubbed "The Involvements" by Puzzlemaster as we became the most involved in helping Potato Lord solve the puzzles. Obviously we are not the only ones, but we are by far the most annoying about it (i say "annoying" affectionately. who knows what Puzzlemaster thinks of us).

The first message was fairly easy, spelling out YOU ARE CLOSE in letters capitalized in the first message. The second riddle took us much longer-- we had to figure out what different colored words meant in a question. The question is still unanswered, but all the colors were accounted for: green = involvements, yellow = Potato Lord, pink = nothing important, black = mystery, red = Puzzlemaster, and purple = power. The question asked was, "The Watchers only Watch, why do the Victims have to Speak?" Helping us solve the colors, Puzzlemaster sent a few of us asks with clues spelling THE ROYALS HAVE ALL THE POWER.

As we were solving the colors, Potato Lord got a new ask, with text originally in Morse code in uppercase:

Aaaaannddddd…go! ALRIGHT, SO I WAS THINKING, Mhm? THE PUZZLEMASTER, WHAT DO ...... YOU THINK HIS DEAL? I'm not sure really. Maybe he just likes doing this? Messing about? I mean… THINK HE IS WEB? Could be. Not really sure though. A little early to speculate really. IS ONLY THE BEGINNING? Seems so. I mean, it's always a larger picture than we think- Oh. You're almost past the halfway. LIKE CAUGHT IN WEB ...... SO SMALL, COMPARING BIG Suppose so. Yeah. What does it make us? WE LIKE TO WONDER What do you think it means? To be a victim? GIVEN SPECIAL LITTLE THING Such as? A VOICE Oh yeah, you must envy tha- Oh. Times up. They can't hear you now. I know, I know. We'll just have to wait until it rewinds.

No idea who sent this. The colors cycle evenly through the lines, except "he" is red and "victim" is orange referring to what we took a week to decode them being. it is the first thing we've seen bolded, and we haven't seen pronouns italicized before. I'll come back to the struck out "They" in a few paragraphs. That's also so far the only thing struck out.

After the colors were decoded, Potato Lord was sent a new puzzle that decoded to YOU'RE PART OF. A few of the Involvements got sent asks as well, with messages so far decoded to YOU THINK TO STOP THEIR PLAN? SOMETHING BIGGER THAN [YOU] WILL STOP THE END THEY CRAVE. Possibly. We're still likely missing some pieces. And it's been confirmed there are two messages to put together. Again, what's with the They?

A few other players have joined the board that aren't the Puzzlemaster, Potato Lord, or the Involvements. One is @the-1t, but they've been quiet for a few days, so I'm not sure how big a player they are. There's @the-r4t-man, who has been teaching Puzzlemaster how to be human by giving them rats and flirting. And there's also been the They, who do not seem to like Puzzlemaster becoming human (again?), and apparently hold power over the Puzzlemaster.

Also, something is happening on 5 August at 12:16 PM. Not sure what time zone.

The whole story so far is spread out over about a half dozen blogs and mainly in replies, so I hope this provides a good first week recap of the main bits. If anyone thinks I've missed something important, add it for the archive!

#puzzlemaster!#panicking in puzzles!#also there's been a lot of art #puzzlemaster likes it so if you want to go ahead #we don't want to make the eldritch entity angry

73 notes · View notes

tokiwarcube · 3 months

Text

Some Nathan NS/FW headcanons that I completely blanked on posting -- oops! (SFW Companion piece HERE)

Reader gender not specified -- Talks of size kink, overstim (R rec.), leashes and bondage (N rec.), and more! Enjoy! <3

Nathan has, at the beginning of your relationship, these very rigid ideas of what is expected from him as a man of his size and stature.

Don’t get me wrong — he does absolutely love the power trip that comes with seeing you on your knees, or pinned beneath his larger frame.

That’s nothing to say of your fluttering eyelashes, brimming with unshed tears of overstimulation — all clipped whines and punched out breaths as he fucks out every thought in your head.

Wrists trapped in his hold, bruises darkening just under your collar in ways you’ll struggle to hide in the morning…

Believe me, he loves being the one to bring you to the precipice like this.

But you know, as you get closer, he starts having thoughts that scare him a little.

It starts out small — instead of being caged beneath him, maybe you’re riding him in his next fantasy. Tugging on his hair, placing your own well-timed nips to the expanse of his throat. No big deal. And maybe you’re throwing some of his own words back at him, but again, not a huge thing.

But then one day you’re out of town, and he’s needy, fantasizing with his hand on his dick and suddenly he’s cumming the hardest he ever has solo to the thought of you topping him, leash in hand. And Jesus Christ, does it ever throw him for a loop.

This is all to say: Switch/Vers, but it takes a century and a half for him to admit that he’s anything but a Dom/Top.

Nathan hardly has any volume control outside of the bedroom, and that isn’t going to change within it, either. He growls so deep you can feel it in your bones, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the hottest thing in the whole fucking world. He’s not a talker for the most part — not unless either A.) You’re in control, and have set it as a rule, or B.) You’re both in a tender mood — but his noises more than make up for it.

When he’s in control for the night, he is adamant about keeping as much skin to skin contact as he can — whether he’s rolling his hips into you, pressed chest to chest from above, or pulling you flush to his form as you rut against him, the two of you hardly ever have more than a millimeter of space between you.

He also loves using his strength to his advantage in the bedroom, moving you this way and that without breaking a sweat. It makes you feel very small, just by existing — to say he has a size kink would be an understatement.

On that note — his hands are fucking huge, and they stretch you out in ways that leave you drooling and needy faster than you’d like to admit. Although again, there’s something very, very addicting about seeing how his hands cover you, grabbing and needy.

Loves cumming on you, and will always take that if the option is available — half of it is a territorial powerplay, but the other half of him just really, really loves the sight. He’s not too particular about where, but he’s partial to your chest and stomach.

He also looks divine in black ribbon and rope — it’s quite the feeling, having such a powerful man (in every sense of the word), dolled up and at attention, all for you. He very much benefits from having a soft, but firm, dominant. If he’s struggling to keep up with your commands, know he does better on leash. You suspect that he acts out a bit more just to feel the leather against his skin, to feel you gently tugging his chain to get him where he needs to be. His flushed and twitching cock only cements your suspicions further.

He’s so pretty when he cums, all tense muscle and choked out groans. It’s always a 50/50 on whether or not you get to see his face — half the time he’s buried his head in your neck, or cast his head back, black hair falling elegantly despite the thickness in the air. But when you do? Oh, what a beautiful sight. Slack jawed, brow furrowed, and flushed, he’s a sight for sore eyes.

Thank God he has so much stamina.

#nathan explosion x reader #metalocalypse x reader #metalocalypse nathan x reader #dethklok nathan x reader #dethklok x reader #WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME I DIDN'T POST THIS HELLO #i have had. a physical copy of this. from when i was separated from my puter. just waiting to be transcribed #anyways :thumbsup: adult swim taught me to find nathan sexy etc etc

65 notes · View notes

carionto · 11 months

Text

Accurate Reenactments Based On Facts

Most cultures across the Galaxy do their utmost to preserve and remember their history, both the great achievements, and the terrible mistakes. Humans go a few dozen steps further.

They introduced us to a concept called "Historical reenactments" - accurate recreations of the situations and conditions of ancient events, usually battles, played out with prop equipment by real people. They also said they sometimes do these just for fun and don't care about being 100% accurate.

This particular reenactment was of a battle called Thermopylae. Using numerous historical records, they recreated the location, printed slightly lighter versions of the armor (well, helmets only for some) they wore, and dull weapons with embedded stun shockers that would create a kinetic "bump" upon contact to prevent actual injury by pushing the person back instead.

Once everyone was geared up the atmosphere changed, both visually as the holographic projectors did their thing, and from the Humans themselves - their demeanor became that of... wilderness. Ferocity. Deadly focus. It was quite fear inducing even from afar.

Then the defenders in red, the "Spartans", created a sort of spiky dome with their shields and spears. Then the attackers in blue, the "Persians" unleashed a terrifying volley of arrows, the sky hologram went darker, then a bright beam of light shone upon the defenders as they swept off arrows stuck to their shields in dramatic fashion before proceeding to charge towards their assaulting foes.

We noticed the "Spartans" were all much larger than the "Persians", and actually were equipped with subtle and very modern exoskeletons. Perplexed by this we asked if these Spartans had a very particular technological advantage for their time:

"Well, not as far as we can tell, but based on the materials we have, Spartans were, like, really buff and super strong compared to the average person of the time. Plus, according to the feats of strength they supposedly displayed, we suspect they became an extinct branch of Humanity at some point, so the exoskeletons are there to mimic what we think they were like. Anyway, look, this is the coolest part."

As they spoke, the artificial gravity was lowered slightly and there was a spike in the power output from the exoskeleton equipped Spartans. Now they were flinging the approaching Persians dozens of feet into the air, a single bare-chested man kicked three of them at once backwards at a whole group, knocking the wind out of them.

This sort of extreme violence continued for several minutes.

Suddenly, an incredibly large Persian man on a throne was carried to what was effectively the center stage. Him and a heavily bearded Spartan exchanged a dramatic dialogue, the Spartan threw his spear at the Persian, who dodged it with a single turn of his head, then proceeded to summon a massive horde of small Persians who quickly began to overrun the Spartans.

There were bodies and shields and spears and pieces of armor flying everywhere, but gradually all the red became engulfed by the blue, and only one remaining Spartan managed to wriggle his way out of the carnage and make a run for it back to their city in the distance.

Seemingly satisfied after plucking out the bearded Spartan from the pile, the giant Persian roared in triumph and this is when the reenactment ended and everyone gathered for a feast.

So this is how ancient Human Battles went, huh.

"Well, not all of them. Usually it's between more equal forces in large open fields, or prolonged sieges, which can be a bit boring to recreate.

You should come back next month, we'll be doing an old naval battle between the British Empire and Independent Pirates Lords. It ends with a really sweet whirlpool showdown. Man, what are the odds of that happening, eh?"

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #story #carionto #300 #reenactment #pirates of the caribbean #humans like movies #movies are historically accurate if you've gone through several civilization collapses

189 notes · View notes

verstappenf1lecccc · 3 months

Text

Solace

Lando’s ending!! I’d very much recommend listening to Wanna be yours towards the end :)

Lando had heard her anguished voice and knew that he had to fix everything. He started off by ending things with his side piece and finally coming to terms with the overwhelming amount of attraction and affection he held for the younger Busmante sibling.

He felt weird when he saw her and Oscar coming out of Oscar’s room, almost like someone had slapped him right into his senses.

Lando’s first reaction was the obvious jumping to conclusions, getting pissed off shit. He realized that it was the same reaction that had gotten him into this messy situation in the first place.

Lando started small, he started with trying to make conversation with her, it honestly didn’t last long as either Oscar would show up and whisk her away or she would point blank ignore him. He understood why she was doing what she was doing but he couldn’t wrap his head around why the hell Oscar was interjecting himself between the two.

Since small moves and small talk wasn’t getting him anywhere near where he wanted to be with her, Lando resorted to sending the girl flowers each and every single day.

Unfortunately for Lando, she was deathly allergic to them. That plan went to shit real quick. It was about 2 race weekends in when Lando started to hear rumors surrounding her and Oscar. He was never one for paddock gossip, knowing it was the furthest from the truth, and if he really wanted to know he would have to only walk down the block to Oscar’s room and ask him. He really didn’t want to show weakness and insecurity around the Aussie so he stuck to the paddock gossip. He started noticing how close the two had gotten ever since he messed things up.

He saw how she was glowing around Oscar, always smiling and seeming in peace, yet the second he’d make eye contact with her it would all fade away and the red scars that he had encased on her would start to show.

It was difficult, extremely difficult for her to get off that McLaren floor side by side with Oscar Piastri himself and answer his daunting question. “If he came here and apologized would you let him back in”?

She knew she was weak from the beginning but his ocean eyes made her even weaker. She didn’t lie to Oscar and simply shook her head to signify that she would indeed let the idiotic British driver back into her life if he ever gave her a good enough apology. That’s when Oscar came up with an idea, kind of shady from his side but hey who could blame him. He was trying to prevent the love of his life from choosing his very own teammate over him.

He came up with a very simple yet effective plan, one that would allow Oscar to live out his dreams with her whilst allowing her and Lando to find their ways back to each other. He’s suggesting that they should start fake dating in order to get Lando to be jealous and confess what he truly felt.

If Lando didn’t, then that would be the obvious sign that she needed to truly move on from Lando and perhaps fall into his teammate's arms, Oscar had kept that last bit a secret from her.

And so it started, Oscar finding her in crowded places, especially near the paddock cameras and especially near Lando. She felt a sense of pride when she heard how much she affected Lando and all the hissy fits he was throwing, much to the dismay of the McLaren PR team.

It really took Y/N Busmante ages to realize that Lando’s words were targeting a much larger problem, she started going to therapy and finally cut herself off from her family.

She was no longer Y/N Busmante, she simply was just Y/N. She’d found peace in the violence that she’d been exposed to.

When Lando had first sent the flowers to her apartment, she’d genuinely thought it was from Oscar, the sweet Australian had quickly become one of her closest friends, both on and off the paddock.

The shock that registered on her face when she saw the little card tucked in the corner made a faint smile appear on her face.

He cared about her, he got her the flowers she’d once rambled off about, she used to think he never once paid attention to what she would yap about. It’s the small things that matter, she simply thought to herself. She knew that all it took was one step from Lando for her to let him back in, make everything better.

However, she’d told herself that she’d not get too close cause she knew how she messed it up before. When Oscar told her about his plan she was honestly a little confused but the Aussie convinced her, it’s just fake dating to actually see if Lando cared about her, she silently thought.

Unfortunately, life still hated her. Her fake dating scam only lasted a couple of races before paparazzi got wind of it and started slut shaming her.

It was vile and rude what was printed about her, both physically and digitally.

She had frankly learned to ignore it. She was used to strangers saying stuff about her online, and she really didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with any of it, thus letting it go, putting on a brave face that was enough to fool the public.

Well, Lando Norris was not included in the public. His blood was boiling with each and every new article being released about her; he was frankly pissed at Oscar and why he wasn’t helping her defend herself.

Lando was reaching his boiling point; he saw the way her eyes were looking more and more dull with each passing attack on her character. All Lando wished for was the chance to protect and save her.

Lando seemingly had rubbed Aladdin's magic lamp because he got his chance to finally protect his girl. It was the FIA prize-giving ceremony. Lando had his eye on her the whole time, from the second she had walked into the room with that golden dress he knew he was gone for.

They had briefly met eyes, and she actually smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile twice as brightly back at her. That little interaction was worth more than any stupid trophy he’d be given today.

The event was surrounded by the hounding eyes of the paparazzi; it was well known that they were to target her based on a tip given to the paps from her family. The vicious attack started when she walked out of the venue hall all alone. Luckily for her, Lando was close behind, but she didn’t know that.

A creep cornered her near the exit and thought it was his right to give her a nice feel-up, you know??

Her loud shrieks were muffled as the pap's disgustingly sweaty hand clamped down on her mouth. Her expensive dress ripped, her hair a mess, mascara smudged, and small cuts on her arm from grazing the soft skin against the hard pebbled driveway.

Lando wasn’t close by when she went out but noticed very quickly that she was missing. Instantly, he thought of the driveway exit she’d once mentioned to him, where she goes when she finds her surroundings too overwhelming at any event.

He rushed out especially quickly when he heard her muffled cries. He saw red and went insane when he heard what the pap was saying to her rather loudly, "Little bitch, you are willing to put out to both the drivers but suddenly have an issue when it’s just regular folk?? This is what you deserve for whoring around."

The guy's next words never made it out as Lando's fist made contact with his face and the sickening sound of bones cracking was heard. Fortunately for the guy, he was given the chance to scramble off to safety as all Lando could now focus on was her.

He just wanted to make sure she was okay. His ocean eyes scanned hastily over and over again to check if she'd been badly injured, much to his delight she wasn’t harmed physically. Her broken voice muttering his name was all it took for Lando to engulf her in a hug, muttering nothing but how sorry he was for everything he did, and how he simply can’t live without her. how he wanted to keep her safe and sound and how she was the only one who truly captured his heart.

Lando’s proclamation of love fell on deaf ears as all Y/N could focus on was Lando’s eyes and his scent. She couldn't believe he was actually there and that he really saved her from the vile man. She knew she loved him then and there, regardless of how choppy their relationship and story was, it just felt right. She knew she’d never find solace in anyone else’s arms. She knew that he’d be the only one for her who would truly love and care for her.

Solace was a funny feeling; it's described as something negative, but it was truly one of the best feelings for this couple. From a playboy to a dedicated boyfriend, and then finally a lovesick husband, Lando Norris had changed drastically.

Following the attack on y/n, Lando had made it his mission to find the crook and deal with him. Lando had also gotten in contact with the best lawyers in town to get restraining orders on any and all paps who would come near ten feet of her.

He truly made it up to her when he finally got down on one knee to give her his last name.

Y/n Busmante had gone from being just the younger sibling, to then being someone who didn’t even have a last name, to then being accused of being a slut, to then being Lando’s girlfriend and now finally she was a Norris. She was no longer a Busmante, she was y/n Norris, and she wore that name with pride.

She let all the pain and suffering die down with her old name.

She finally found peace, and it was the British lad after all who had made her feel it.

Someone who once was the root cause of her pain was now the only person who gave her solace.

Everything she went through, she’s made it out alive and now she was finally thriving alongside her lover.

tag list -: @dessxoxsworld @laneyspaulding19 @hc-dutch @slytherinholland @landoslutmeout @socially-awkward-eliza @ilovechickenwings @fanficweasley @ushygushybaby @bbl32 @the-untamed-soul @urfavtaurus-44

#f1 imagine #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar x reader #oscar piastri #landoscar #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris #lando #formula one x reader #forumla 1

91 notes · View notes

falling-star-cygnus · 27 days

Text

...i've gotten four asks about this sorta thing -> which i'm super grateful for!! thank y'all so much for wanting to see more of my writing!!

i've just sort of been putting these specific ones off until i felt i could adequately display it and even now I feel iffy about the characterization, but I really didn't want to seem like i ignoring y'all either :( -> Masterlist

i have some semblance of a plot now, so... i sincerely hope you all enjoy? this might be the push i need to get out of my funk, and i put in the very best effort for all of you!!

"You were a WHAT?"

"Is now really the time to be surprised!?"

The Ethereal- they kinda looked like one the Ballerina Twins actually, if the Ballerina Twins had galactic glitchy orbs for heads and rainbow glowy nervous systems- warbles at them impatiently. Anby's barely keeping them at bay with her sword.

It's practically a toothpick compared to the giant weapon Thanatos was wielding... They raise their shield-

Billy fires.

It doesn't land, of course it doesn't, but the smaller Demara doesn't get bludgeoned either so the android counts it as a win.

Especially when the bullet ricochets off the sign previously behind the larger than necessary Ethereal and back towards him. Billy tilts his head left just in time to miss it, and pivots on his heel when Thanatos shrieks and flails back. Bullseye.

"It's showtime!" he announces, and lines The Girls up somewhere where their jaw would be. Only about six of the bullets- 12 in total, the android was counting- actually hit before they teleport away again.

Billy reloads.

None of them, except the Boss, used the right typing to properly take Thanatos on.. but there was little to be done until they could carve an escape route out.

The Hares' ready their weapons, turning in slow circles as they wait for Thanatos to appear again. Were they gone..? He knew better than to assume they were, of course, but-

"Billy- behind you!" Nekomata points; he whirls around.

And takes a blade to the head.

There's not much to say for this part, aside from pointing out how cliche and underhanded it was to get him from behind like this, but bits and pieces float around to the surface with just enough clarity to be worth mentioning.

The pavement cracking under the android's weight.

Sparks fluttering out of the cleaved out gash.

Thin oil leaking out of his head like a halo.

Isolation.

Billy stands in the inky abyss of his own mind. His memories- his memories of the Hares'- play out before him like a movie: braiding Anby's hair, putting Nicole's into pigtails, napping in the sun with Nekomata on his chest, warmth-

Fighting as a team, Anby helping him up, Nicole calling his name, the restaurant they all went to after successful raids, fighting alone, Being alone in that truck bed, sand clogging up his joints.

Chill.

The memories fade away, leaving the android with the stilted thought of:

Don't- take them.. from me.

Nothing.

Billy Kid wakes up, and points the nearest weapon- a gun, by the feel of it- at their forehead. The hands reaching for him still, too pale to be anybody from the Sons.

Calloused enough to be Caesar's, though, so they must be some form of blade user. Electric, if the Lichtenburg scars on their finger tips have any weight to them.

The android sits up, ignoring the stab of pain behind his right video processer. He could deal with that later, after figuring out where the actual hell he was. And dealing with whoever it was that moved him.

They're small, surprisingly so, but Lucy and Piper were also small so that didn't exactly mean anything of value. Brilliant white hair, amber eyes, and green and black tech wear.

And a backpack packed with enough thrumming energy to kill the Dead-End Butcher.

Definitely a threat.

Billy Kid doesn't lower the gun, even as he's sure the human's fleshy arms were getting tired of being raised. Or maybe they weren't. He knows their type, he's cut from the same cloth himself.

A weapon.

"Billy, d-"

"How do you know my name," he interrupts, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he wouldn't have to shoot someone so small, "and why are you only using part of it."

He was Billy Kid, the feared enforcer of the outer ring. The only people that occasionally just called him Billy were the other Sons of Calydon. Not strangers.

"We work together," his potential captor calmly says, lowering their hands by their sides, "We're friends. Partners in crime."

"The hell we are."

"We are," they insist.

He doesn't buy it. Billy Kid didn't have friends, he was an android. A weapon and tool for whoever his boss was. Big Sis, the drifters, whoever had him before that.

He cared about them all, more than he should considering what he was made for, but he wasn't built to receive that kind of care in return. Pain spikes behind his processer again, and his free hand instinctively moves to grasp at it.

The stranger jolts forward as the gun dips.

Billy Kid shoots on instinct, even as something like worry[?] coils the wires in his lower torso too tight. There's a click, but in the end nothing but dry fire. And relief[?]

Billy Kid curses at the opening he's provided, and braces himself for the inevitable attack. He doesn't know where the other gun was- because there had to be one, Burnice only ever made things in pairs- and..

Why did he assume Burnice made these...?

Small hands, calloused and scarred, gently- why was he being treated gently- bat his hand away from his video processor. The empty gun is sandwiched between them.

More carefully than he deserves for shooting at them, the stranger inspects something on his face, and the android swings his lanky legs over the side of- it looks like a cot[?] to make it easier for them.

"You took a bad hit to the head," they inform his forehead, only pulling away when Billy Kid starts to get twitchy at the proximity, "an Ionized - Thanatos. It most likely messed with your memory bank."

"Sounds convenient," he scoffs, lowering the gun to his side, "Most likely messed with my memory bank?"

"It definitely did, we were friends," the stranger presses, strangely insistent, "What's the last thing you remember?"

They take off their backpack as the android thinks back on it. Whether to prove they weren't a threat or gain his trust to attack later, he wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was the fact that the harder he thought about it the harder his head pounded. Everything dating up to the past year and six months was just- blank. Corrupted files that spat static and made him want to lie down for a while.

More than that, he felt... lonely, for some reason. Like a big chunk had been carved from his sternum and left to burn in front of him.

"Billy?"

"I don't remember you."

And oh. He'd take it right back if it meant that look never crossed their face again.

It's barely there for a second, but it's a look of pure hurt. Hurt that makes something close to guilt roar where his mechanical heart sat. He never wanted this stranger to look at him like that again.

He never wanted anyone to look at him like that, to be honest. Fighting was fun- it was what he was built for- and the thrill was something that almost nothing could replicate- but...

Flashes- memories- of Lucy and Piper flit through his head, images and phantoms of them tucked into his sides on warm days and colder nights. A rough hand carding through his hair.

...being sent.. off?

“I’m-”

The door cuts him off with a bang!

"What's taking so long!? Is he ok?"

"Nicole! Anby told us to wait-"

Long pink hair and calculating green eyes bully their way into the room. Something in his programming wants to stand at attention all of a sudden...

The stranger- the white-haired stranger, because now there were three- moves away from the confused android. It looks like they want to say something but apparently thinks better of it and turns towards Billy Kid.

"I don't think I should be the one to say it," they- the thiren said her name was Anby[?]- announce, with all the enthusiasm of a dry rock. Which seems to be her MO, endearingly enough. Endearingly?

The pink haired- Nicole puts her hands on her hips.

"Say what?" she demands, before turning her critical gaze onto the android, "Are you ok or not, Billy?"

Again, shortening my name... Who are these people?

"All systems are operational," he reports anyway, because despite her brash words she sounds worried, "Except my memory banks, apparently."

Side-eye.

Anby's nose just barely scrunches at his tone.

"What do you mean your memory banks?" Nicole prompts, gaze flicking between the two.

"He doesn't remember us."

The Cunning Hares freeze. Silence rules the small space they've tucked themselves into- which... kinda looks like a garage? A nice garage compared to whatever you'd find in the Outer Ring.

Much too nice to be anywhere close to the Outer Ring.

"Where did you take me?"

Nobody answers for a good while.

Until the thiren lets slip:

"...it's so weird to hear you talk like that.."

She shudders from her fluffy ears tips to the sleek finishes of her tails. Were they prosthetics? Why were they blue at the at the base-?

What was wrong with the way he talked?

And why didn't she answer his question-

"Not- not in a bad way!" the thiren is hasty to tack on, "you just... you don't sound happy anymore.."

...happy? He wasn't built to sound happy. He wasn't even supposed to talk much outside status reports and communications. Although- sure, the android often broke that somewhat unspoken rule when Piper and Lucy needed a bit more help to drift off at night, or when Burnice needed someone to bounce a new design off of, or if Lighter was talking about something that happened while he was out in shops, or-

...you got the idea. Caesar hadn't explicitly banned him from talking with the other Sons, not by a long shot, he just- didn't want to push it.

The silence surrounding the ragtag four stretches into something distinctly uncomfortable.

"That.. aside," Nicole- who he assumes is the Boss- eventually starts, "We.. ahem. We got your wound patched up just fine, but... we ended up needing some help to get you back here."

Billy Kid tilts his head.

It made sense, of course, he was an android made of reinforced metal. And while he didn't doubt the strength of these people- especially Anby- he had an itching feeling that their strength was.... not particularly rooted in the weight-lifting sense.

So who-?

"Well. This isn't exactly the reunion I was hoping for."

....there was no way.

Caesar, the Big Sis of the Sons of Calydon herself, walks through the- admittedly abused looking door. Billy Kid shoots to his feet.

And severely underestimates the refractory period required following the repair of a head wound. He stumbles.

A sturdy arm catches his middle with ease.

"Easy, Kid," Caesar reprimands, hauling him back to his feet, "There's no reason to do that, I'm not your boss anymore."

Her words are oddly quiet, as if the other three in the room weren't supposed to hear. Big Sis had always been good at that. Quietly being reassuring without being coddling.

That achingly hollow feeling returns.

From behind Caesar's large frame, he can see the Hares' lower their hands slowly. Their faces are oddly stormy..

Anby bullies her way between them.

"Quite the team you've found yourself, by the way," Caesar continues as if she hadn't, "I'd ask you to fill me in, but.."

...right. Her pale eyes lock onto his, and-

She gives him a single nod of approval. Something loosens in his wiring.

"You'll be alright, Kid."

"Of course he will." Anby cuts in, squaring her small shoulders, "Even if we have to remake all the memories he lost, Billy will always be a member of the Cunning Hares."

And-

Billy finally believes it.

#you can also pry Lichtenburg Anby out of my dead hands actually #I'M BACK Y'ALL #zenless zone zero #zzzero #zzz #zzz fanfic #cunning hares #sons of calydon #billy kid #zzz billy #billy kid zzz #zzz nicole #nicole demara #anby demara #nekomiya mana #caesar king #burnice white #luciana de montefio #piper wheel

42 notes · View notes