#this is so silly i swear lol

[navstuffs]

Leon's Guilty Pleasure

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: You shouldn't have seen him like this, but now you and Leon have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Warnings tags: self-indulgent, don't judge based on the summary.

Author's Notes: i wrote this in a way to entertain myself, and i hope others enjoy it as well! didn't say a lot in the tags, but don't worry, appearances can be deceiving :)

my leon's masterlist

You arrive from a bad work day, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to shower and stay in pajamas the rest of the night. Maybe get a pizza and soda? Something trashy because you deserve it. As oily and as unhealthy as you could.

The noise coming from your bathroom takes you by surprise. Leon shouldn't be home yet; it was too early, or so you thought.

Then you heard a distinctive female voice and Leon's voice singing with her.  With your mind blank and the blood rushing to your ears, you run to the bathroom, roughly opening the door.

You freeze with your hand on the door handle, staring at the scene unfolding right before your eyes. You shouldn't have seen him like this: Leon right in front of the mirror, fresh out of the shower, his hair still wet. The only piece of clothing? A towel around his hip, just above his abs.

Singing "Like a Virgin, Touched by the very first time" with a higher pitched tone than you ever saw your man use a shampoo bottle as a microphone.

Nothing is said, the song still playing from Leon's old phone, echoing through the bathroom. You both stare at each other, Leon's face between mortified and embarrassed, a blush spreading from his face to his neck and ears.

You really shouldn't have seen him like this. It is not that being a Madonna fan is an embarrassment to anyone, but the choice of song? It came out while he was a kid, and he liked to imitate Madonna in that video clip, uncovering random pieces of furniture with white sheets dramatically like Madonna, imagining himself in a gondola like Madonna, rolling on the floor, singing at the invisible camera. It had been his guilty pleasure since he was a kid, and he never meant for you to see him like this.

What could you be thinking about him? He would never be able to look in your eyes again.

The music momentarily stops, and the first cords of Lucky Star by Madonna start playing.

"You must be my lucky star 'cause you shine on me wherever you are." You sing low, with the music's tempo, looking into Leon's eyes in the mirror, a small smile on your lips. An invitation for him to join you.

"I just think of you, and I start to glow. And I need your light and baby, you know," Leon completes.

As the song continues, Leo brings you close to his body. You try to get away (still feeling dirty from the commute), but his firm grip on your hips keeps you there with him as you two continue dancing to the song's rhythm.

"Starlight, star bright

First star I see tonight

Starlight, star bright

Make everything alright"

[diabloku]

The #cursedcatalastor is all over Twitter so Alastor is making good use of his new army 😌

[pebbleyoufindonthestreet]

Papyrus doodle page! He’s so silly

(I’ve been drawing his brother much more lately, I hope he isn’t too mad at me lol)

[ac-art-and-stuff]

Gideon Coal is the hearth, the warmth within the home, the steady heat to cook wonderful meals, the beating heart to warm the chill of a soul, the stocked woodshed, the ray of sun through a window. A protector. A guardian. A friend.

Kremy Lecroux is the stew pot, the silverware, the favorite spoon, the homemade bone broth, the smell of spices, the foundation, the walls, keeping his family safe however the wind howls. Keeping his family fed. Keeping his family.

Morning Frost is the books, the smell of sugars breaking down, the turning of dog-eared pages, the little spaces in the margins of recipes where someone has made their little touches, keeping the knowledge for those who come after, for those who are willing to learn, for those who crave to know

Gricko and Hootsie Grimgrin are the music of the home, the soft hoot beyond the window at night, the familiar creak of the floorboards, the hushed lullabies of rain on the roof, the absence of loneliness, always welcoming, always comforting, always soothing, always soft.

Torbek is the devourer, the one who consumes, the one who can appreciate the wholeness of the warmth of a hearth, the taste of a good meal, the pages he knows by heart, the knowing that he isn't alone, even when sometimes he feels himself a stranger in this house. Torbek is home with Carnival Lecroux. Torbek is home.

[liesmultixxx]

annabeth being picked by percy for the quest without hesitation gives off major “for the first time in my life i wasn’t picked last in gym class” vibes

and if i had that when i was younger, i too would’ve fallen head over heels for that person :3

[obamerzslop]

Caine being cute in that one hoodie. This was supposed to be a joke, a funny haha low effort art, can you tell?

[iamsofuckinggay]

Get sillied

[ryuubff]

it's probably obvious that. sebastian is my favorite. sorry. i also like sam though hes cute

also in my first spring i kept fishign up flounders (because . BECAUSE I LOVE FISHING) and i found out only sebastian somewhat likes them and just kept giving it to him.

[mossy-paws]

some doodles! (PHIGHTING!)

A collection of recent subspace and Medkit doodles! The final thing is actually a remake of a really silly meme I made like. God how long back in August of 2023? Geez I’ve been in the fandom for awhile,,, it’s crazy how my art has evolved since then for real!

also… these, no, no I am not giving ANY sort of explanation for them

[badlyblurry]

Mabel stealing Dipper’s hat and wearing it?

He’s a busy guy.

[mochiiniko]

day 4: old cocole art dump because its about time i posted these 💀

essay in the tags youve been warned lmao

[amongusmotherfucker]

Drew this for fun like yesterday

[ssomepersonn]

On the road again 🎶

Fanart for the first chapter of my lovely bud arsons fic Low Tide

(unshaded and no bg versions under the cut)

[ragnarokhound]

hiii im working through all your jaytim week stuff bc i had to be in a wedding that week and i missed it 😭 i WILL leave an annoying amount of comments on ao3 but for now i just wanna say that i love the baseball au fic so bad. i don’t know a single thing about sports but i worked a summer job at the ballpark for a couple years and now whenever the weather gets hot i miss the vibes so bad and i CANNOT stop thinking about Them. do you have any more thoughts or rants or really just any crumbs from this au bc it’s delicious ty

AAHHH OMG I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE WEDDING and you have said the magic words because BOY DO I

I love baseball au!! I am actually very pleased with and proud of baseball au!! In my heart, baseball au has a massive rivals-to-lovers slow burn plot that I simply did not have the time to write OTL so instead for jaytim week, we got the scene that I would have reread over and over again if it had been a book I read in high school lmao

My notes this is a fucking outline how did that happen on baseball au:

Jason was the ace pitcher for the Gotham Knights for a few years running, taking over that mantle from Dick Grayson after he traded to the Bludhaven team. Jason was much more aggressive compared to Dick, and he was a two-way player - he could hit well enough to not need a designated hitter when it was his turn to go to bat, and that versatility made him unpredictable and a threat.

Unfortunately, after a big argument with Bruce about the game, he was hit with a hard injury during the playoffs one year. Everyone said it would be career ending. Bruce said to prepare himself for the worst. Jason takes a year off to recover and doesn't speak to Bruce the whole fucking time.

Enter Tim Drake.

Drake is a rookie, a nobody no one's ever heard of, but he's an excellent pitcher. He's got a million tricks and keeps a cool head. He can read the other team to filth and is ready to change tactics at the drop of a hat.

Word is that he bullied his way into the GM's office and demanded a tryout; Bruce was gonna throw him out. But then he saw him pitch. He was hired on the spot.

They started Drake as a relief pitcher, but it quickly became apparent that he was wasted there. He's switched to starter. They don't make it all the way to the Series that year, but it was pretty fucking close and in large part due to Drake. Not bad for a rookie.

Jason hates him on principle.

Apparently, Jason still has a spot on the team. But they've bumped him down from starter to relief. He knows it's necessary, that his injury still needs babying, but he's still not happy with Bruce. He hates it-- and the games he's relieving for Drake? He hates them most of all. He can't stand the guy.

(He's better than Jason.)

(And he won't quit staring.)

Drake doesn't actively antagonize Jason when training starts. Actually, for the most part, he tries to stay out of Jason's way, watching him quietly from the sidelines while Jason tests his frustrating new limits. But Jason's not about to let Bruce's new golden boy off that easy.

(He's almost surprised by the bite hiding behind those bangs. How fast those watching eyes can narrow in acidic consideration before he tears Jason a new one. He takes vicious satisfaction in seeing Drake sink down to Jason's level. And Drake needs a fucking haircut, but far be it from Jason to give this asshole tips.)

Their synergy is garbage in the first half of the season. Jason prides himself in his game, but when they're sharing the pitch, it throws everything out of whack. They butt heads over everything, and they get hyper competitive; half the time, they're not playing against the other team, they're playing against each other.

By the third game its plain they can't be paired together. Either Drake or Jason fuck up on the mound because one of them was doing something (For Jason, Drake's creepy, unblinking stare is enough to piss Jason off; for Drake, Jason's discovered he can get a rise out of him just by raising an eyebrow at the right time, as if to say really? That's what you're going with?) and the coaches (Babs) have just about had it with them.

They're switched to play on different days when possible, and given stern looks and reminders not to fuck up on the days they have to play together. It grinds Jason's gears, but he sucks it up because he's a fucking adult and his career is on the line. Maybe Drake can do the same.

Things start to change, though Jason can never quite remember when. Maybe they needed the space or whatever, maybe Jason needed to go drinking with Roy and just dump about Drake and Bruce and all of it and hear Roy's drunken two cents, maybe the game against Bludhaven meant seeing Dick and being forced to hear his two cents; maybe he needed to run into Drake at the coffeeshop a block away from the stadium one morning and see him bleary-eyed and clearly hungover. Maybe seeing him outside of the job, his gaze wandering out the window and not fixed on Jason for once, willing to shit-talk Bruce (and to a lesser degree, Dick), shifted something in Jason's brain a little to the left. Maybe it made Drake into a different person, and maybe Tim is someone Jason doesn't actually know that much about. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

They start to improve. They have to play more games together when one of their alts wrecks his ankle, but Jason is still pretty fresh compared to everyone else after being babied all season, and his injury hardly bothers him these days. Tim still flusters Jason at the mound sometimes, but it's not for the same reason. He doesn't know what the reason is yet, but he knows it's not the same. The prickle on the back of his neck that says Tim is watching isn't a precursor to anger, or spite. It's something else.

(And so what if Jason finds himself sticking around after practice days? So what if Tim catches him once, working on his swing, and he offers to pitch for him? So what if Jason suddenly knows he wants to find out how that crooked smile tastes, and threatens to break his bat on it instead? So what if Tim laughs at him like he was joking, because they joke now, and it makes Jason's stomach churn, makes him sick with wanting? So fucking what?)

Bruce even talks to him after a game, all fatherly concern and judgment, wanting to know if it's going to be a problem for him and Tim to be playing together. If he can trust Jason not to jeopardize the game over personal disagreements. Jason doesn't know how to explain it to him and he also doesn't fucking want to. He tells him no, it won't be a fucking problem.

It freaks him out. He backslides, hard. Tim had been warming up to him, but he's obviously surprised about getting the cold shoulder. Surprised and pissed.

He corners Jason in the locker room after a game Jason nearly lost them, a loss that would have shut them out of the Series this year for good. Jason's been closing every game he plays, but Tim had to be sent back in to clean up after his piss-poor showing. He lays into Jason. He reads him to filth. He correctly diagnoses the source of Jason's insecurities and his beef with Bruce that's older than basically any of his other problems, and basically tells him to quit yanking the team-- and Tim-- around. He storms out with the last word, and Jason fumes with his head in his hands.

(Apparently, Tim looked up to Jason, once upon a time. Apparently, Tim was a fan before he was a colleague, a rival; a friend. Apparently he'd been nervous but excited at first to meet Jason in person, to get to talk to one of his heroes. Jason feels like a heel.)

They don't talk after that except to play the game. Tim is professionally distant, doesn't stare at Jason the way he used to, the way he was starting to. The roles reverse-- one week later, he's the one who stares at Tim, watches him take the mound during the game that will decide their fate, decide if they'll go to the Series this year or not, with an awful, burning need bubbling in his chest for Tim to look back at him just once.

When Jason takes the mound for him, Tim glances at him. It's brief, but he nods at Jason, a dare in his eyes that Jason wants to take. It loosens his lungs and lets him breathe for the rest of the game. He plays the best he has all season. And Jason knows the reason.

They win the Series. Bruce offers to put Jason back as a starter next year, but Jason declines and does one more year as a relief pitcher. He's done taking stupid risks with his body, with his career, and he knows if he goes back now he risks a flare up. If he's gonna show Tim up, he's gotta give himself his best chance.

Cue the fic. (They absolutely fuck in the dugout btw. Tim asks with his hands already on Jason's skin-- "Can I touch you?" Tim asks with his mouth already on Jason-- "Can I--")

So i hit the character limit but TAH DAH thats bb au <3

[anirritant]

(This a continuation of previous events found here and here. Also uhh this got longer than I thought and a bit edgier than I planned oops....)

(TW for mentions of torture and murderous intent I guess??? my guy is less-than-hinged lmao. it doesn't go too in-depth)

Okay. Darkrai... hadn't expected this, but, he can't say he doesn't understand how the other him was acting. He knows now that he'd been too hasty in his excitement, babbling and possibly coming across as, well, mildly deranged. He'd usually have more tact, okay? He's had a terribly long day filled with scheming and manipulating and battling and, ahem, acting. As well as a particularly turbulent travel through time, to top off everything else. Could you blame him for slipping a bit when he hasn't been permitted any rest?

So, yes, he certainly may have come across as rather off-putting. Depending on just how far in the past he's been sent, this version of him may not have even thought of messing with time yet, making his claims seem rather out-of-nowhere. Or, the other may believe him to be an illusionary impostor, not being experienced enough to easily see through those cheap tricks (that are, of course, not cheap when used by himself,) like he can now.

He knew exactly why the other reacted like this -- centuries of being endlessly backstabbed would lead anyone to being quite distrustful, and clearly those centuries are fresh memories for his previous self. Centuries more had it taken to refine his ability to pick out truths from deception, and he's led to believe that the other lacks those many latter years of experience.

Though, even extensive experience in detecting a lack of untruths may not've have been enough to mitigate suspicion. If he had been met by his future self who fervently divulged plans to team up for world domination, he'd be ecstatic! Which, of course, would lead straight into suspicion because nothing ever goes his way like that. It'd sound too good to be true. So, yes, he can understand.

But that didn't make it any less irritating and demeaning. Him, HIM, elicitor of nightmares and despair, being dragged about by his hair like an unruly hatchling!? If it weren't necessary to prove he's on the other's side, (if he weren't too injured to fight back,) he'd be tearing the insolent fool to shreds!

As it is, he flails and shrieks indignantly.

"What are you DOING!?", he cries, grabbing at the claws entangled in his hair, "We're on the same side! We have the same goals -- or, well, they aren't your goals yet, but they will be!"

The other simply ignores him and continues pulling him along as he defiantly rakes his legs into the dirt in an ineffective attempt to slow them both. The other glares at the sight of the ruined grass left in their trail but says nothing, continuing to drag him towards the edge of the island, in the opposite direction of the larger landmass. Towards the closer island he'd spotted before.

Ignoring him... Ignoring him!? The nerve--! Had he truly possessed such arrogance in his youth!?

... Well. Don't answer that.

He still hasn't stopped sputtering and ranting even after they've left the land behind and begun traversing the water, forcing him to begin floating as well lest he get his legs wet. And his past self still hasn't said anything! He'd find the self-restraint admirable and compliment himself for it -- the other's accomplishments are his accomplishments, after all -- if it weren't utterly infuriating! He should be using this time allowing his strength to return and concocting a new plan for a global apocalypse, not... this!

Feeling exceptionally petty, he abruptly stops supporting his own weight around three minutes into their traversal over water. He'd been remarkably agreeable so far, he'd say, but he's reached his limit. If his past self was so intent on ignoring his words, and so intent on dragging him who-knows-where, then the other can support the weight of both of them. Hmph.

Next thing he knew, he was being dunked into the water.

He coughed and spat and gagged and wheezed as he shot himself upwards, only to get rudely yanked back down by the hair again. The other had finally paused their journey, and instead was... laughing! At HIM! No, he's had enough, he cannot let this slide! He is the other's senior by centuries, he is the authority here, he would NOT be laughed at!

"You... Y-you--!!" He cut himself off as he started violently heaving again, producing even more laughter from the other.

His breathing became ragged and harsh, a low, animalistic growl ripping from his throat. His claws clenched so hard it was painful and he suspected he had drawn blood, but he didn't care to check.

Now. Darkrai had had a very long, very tiring, exhausting, humiliating, wretched day. But he'd weaseled his way out of it, he thought. He'd gotten out alive, he was somewhere away from those that would've ended him, somewhere even he hadn't recognised, somewhere they would be very hard-pressed to find. Somewhere to rest, regain his strength, and plan another attempt.

Even better, he found who he was certain would be an ally to him. Who better to team up with than himself? No one else would ever understand the unbridled hate bubbling away inside him, no one else would ever share a desire for his ideal world, he'd accepted that and decided long ago that he simply didn't quite care about what others thought.

But now he had someone that would understand, right? Someone he could talk to, right? Someone he could rule the world alongside, right? Someone to treat him with respect for once in his horrid, cursed existence? Right?

So why, why, even now, is humiliation still all he ever endures?

In mere seconds his fury had turned downright murderous. He'd tried explaining himself, he'd avoided violence, he'd tried what amounts to his version of being nice, simply because he was dealing with his own immature self. But his efforts were ignored, and he was reduced to something to laugh at. Of course. Of course! It's nothing new, is it!? Nothing ever changes. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No respect for Darkrai, never ANY respect for Darkrai!

The abrupt urge to kill the prompter of that infernal chorus of phantom laughter echoing in his head was overwhelming. Were it any other being in existence his rage was directed towards, he would have, right there, right now. His claws were trembling, not from the sopping cold, but from the sheer effort it took to not clamp them around that neck and squeeze.

But he cannot. That would have disastrous consequences for himself, and he couldn't have that. And that's fine. Yes, that's fine. Fine.

Because he has a better idea. A much, much better idea.

A delirious calm washes over him. Yes, it's okay that he can't strangle the other to death, you see? His past, young, silly self simply needs guidance. Needs to be taught respect, needs to have the grave error pointed out, needs to recognise the difference in power, the inferiority to him.

There's a proven formula for this. Proven to him, and then by him, again and again and again over his several-millennia-long existence. It always proves true, always, that the only reliable path to respect is to instil sheer, abject terror.

He cannot truly kill the other, but, in his domain, in a nightmare? He can kill, over, and over, and over again. He's done so countless times, in the most creative of ways, and he never grew sick of it. He'd go on and on and on, until his victims lose the energy to scream, and then still on and on some more. He hasn't hated enough to subject a victim to such torment in a while. He'll savour every second...

The other will try to wrench control away from him, he's certain. Drawing upon the same power, attempting to loosen his iron grip, and failing miserably in a way that cements his place at the top. He is older, he is better, more experienced, superior. He will make it happen. He will. He will.

The other has long-since stopped laughing even as the phantom chorus continues, and is instead eyeing him with confusion and a touch of concern. Hah. Hahah. A bit late for that, he thinks.

With a wheezed, stuttering chuckle of his own, he summons the beginnings of his Dark Void to his claws, already vividly picturing just how he'd go about splintering a mind to pieces this time around. A bit of physical torture, then psychological torment, followed by some obliteration of the sense of self -- that was always so very funny to watch, hah, hah...

...

Why was the world spinning?

He hadn't noticed, too absorbed in his vengeful thoughts, but the summoned Dark Void had barely flickered into existence before weakly petering out. He simply didn't have the strength. The exhaustion, the injuries, a jet-lag equivalent for portal travel, and a touch of possible hypothermia had combined to make him quite frail and ill, and the attempt to draw upon his power only sapped away at what little strength remained.

He was teetering in the air even though he was still being held up by its claws, his eyes unfocused as his body shivered and dripped. The other now felt bad for laughing -- he was clearly much less well than he had seemed. Is that why he had stopped maintaining his own hover, before? They had assumed it was a spiteful act and had therefore allowed him to fall... now they felt really bad.

Why hadn't he just said he was unwell?

Pride, its thoughts hummed immediately. If anything was clear about this supposed "future self" of theirs, it was that he was self-absorbed to a comical degree, and utterly seethed when he wasn't the one in control. He was... well, rather foul and unlikeable and very untrustworthy; the mere thought of him insisting the two of them were the same was skin-crawling. But he was unwell, all the same.

The Darkrai that was not on the brink of collapse looked to the distant island, still quite a ways away. Around two hours if one was travelling alone, but if, say, one had to carry around an unconscious double of themself, it'd be quite a lot longer and more exhausting.

With a sigh, they came to a decision. It wouldn't be ideal treatment, but there was a small stash of medical supplies available, if they returned. It would've been much more preferable to visit Cresselia sooner, but it seems that these ailments need addressing immediately rather than after over two hours of travel. So, for now, a careful Hypnosis lulls the injured to sleep as they carry him back to Newmoon Island.

He'd been so out of it that he hadn't noticed to protest... rather sad.

And, no, the look of murderous rage and the feeble attempt to use Dark Void had not gone unnoticed. A cautionary Disable was cast as well.

[starrynightsxo]

me turning back to see if my phone is within reach after I got such a good post idea even though I'm comfy and tucked nicely into bed (it's not)