#made this while procrastinating school work

[murtel97]

“Vanessa…”

[forest-isle]

Take a nighttime stroll through Mistmoore!

DA-7846-2556-2025

Explore this quaint little forest town just after dusk. The town still has some growing to do, but why not check out what it has to offer? I am not 100% finished with Mistmoore (I don’t think I’ll ever be completely done 😅) but it’s finished enough that I wanted to update my dream address and share it with y’all!

[onlyasteelmancanbealover]

the perfect girlfriend

clark kent x fem!chubby!reader

original ask <3 ao3

summary: coming from a lifetime of being single, you have quite the fear of losing things when they’re just starting to feel like you have them. so when it comes to clark, you cannot allow yourself to fuck it up. what do you do when you have the perfect boyfriend? you become the perfect girlfriend, of course. 

word count: 3k

contains: fluff & anxiety. reader has high anxiety levels and shows signs of spiraling and catastrophic thinking, reader is also a bit of a crybaby as a result. peripheral body insecurity (plus size/chubby reader struggles with confidence), mental health, crying, soft angst which turns into fluff, a lil kiss. my personal favorite dynamic… gentle clark with his sensitive girl. *no use of y/n

a/n: back again! i procrastinated homework to write this… everyone say thank you @lovesickreader :) don’t think too hard about this or you’ll see me crying and wanting a boyfriend i mean what 

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Your mantra, uncomplicated but necessary, was this: Don’t fuck this up.

You got him. You got Clark. It had been years in the making, but you had all the time in the world. You met him at the Planet, fresh out of school, and you were a goner the second his hulking frame ducked through those spinning doors. He came in as an intern like you, and it took him much less time to leave behind ‘copy boy’ for ‘reporter’ than you did– he always seemed to get these great inside scoops on saves in the city… you’re only just following stories now, after three years of receptioning and running for donuts and ink. 

You helplessly pursued him through countless uncharged cups of coffee and notes that you felt to be flirtatious, but to anyone else came off simply friendly. You pined after him in plain sight, leaning after his wake like a cartoon dog smelling a piece of bacon. You shivered when his arm brushed yours on each elevator ride. You sometimes would steal away to a back room after delivering him bad news on a rejected story to cry, just because the thought of delivering him anything but praise and unspoken acts of love made you sick to your stomach. 

Eventually he caught on when he saw you scribbling his last name after your future honorific on a newspaper edge in the wee hours of the night, when your boss had you pulling an all-nighter while he edited a piece. It took him nearly as long as you’d been quietly yearning to convince you that he felt the same way. Since day one, if you could ever believe it. He always wished your little coffees and notes meant what they actually did– he got lucky, he said, but you disagreed. You were the lucky one.

Now, you had expectations to meet. Your own, of course. Having Clark meant keeping Clark, and you were desperate to do it. 

He was everything you had ever hoped and dreamed for; he was the tall, dark, handsome type, but everyone knows he is so much more than that ridiculous biology. He’s warm. He thinks before he speaks. He seems to protect easier than he breathes. He understands everything like a filter, considering every perspective, combing for truth and potential in even the worst of people, people you would be so quick to say don’t deserve it. He was that good samaritan, that gentle giant, and quite possibly the first and only person, only man, to ever make you forget yourself in the soft moments. Moments where you forgot to suck in your stomach, or fix your creased makeup, or laugh softly. Someone you would never find again, nor find someone remotely like, and so you had to prolong this relationship as long as you could before you lost it. Because for you, losing was an inevitability. 

Clark, on the other hand, had no idea what you were thinking. 

Clark was smitten with you beyond comprehension. He adored you the day he saw you stumble through that Daily Planet door, dressed like a boss and nervous as a child. He walked you to work and back every day, he paid for every dinner, and he cooked them for you even more often. He would often show up to work with gifts for you because he just couldn't help but see your face in the most random objects; once, he brought in a collectors set of Jane Austen’s novels from the fancy bookstore downtown because you once mentioned liking the 2005 film. Another day, he brought in a little pin with a grumpy cat on it, because it reminded him of you just the same. The point was, Clark couldn’t get enough of you, and losing you never once crossed his mind.

The luxury of being Clark Kent at this point in his life, after he’d grown so fond of his work as The Blur and transitioned smoothly into Superman, was his simple surety. Nothing seemed impossible to him when it came to loving you, because you fostered a sense of stability that he lacked all his life. You were always ready for work on time. You always brought him a coffee, never a hair too sweet. And no matter how nervous you could be just to talk to him, after months of dating and countless confessions of adoration, you would find words. And they would be soft and intimate enough to make his knees buckle without fail. He believed in you so deeply that he felt your constancy in his bones. Being without you was unfathomable, because he knew you were it for him. If he asked a genie to make the perfect girlfriend, he’d get you. 

It would’ve been nice to be on the same page. He thought you were. Hell, he told you every day how much he loved you! A sweet “What would I do without you?” followed every edited story. “Man, you make me happy,” after sharing a muffin. “Do you even know how much I love you?” when all you did was ruffle his hair. But the issue lied within these moments. Because where Clark was showering you with verbal affection, you were receiving it after action. Illogically, that began to compute as if you ever stopped working at keeping him happy, you would lose his love. 

What you truthfully needed was a deep breath and maybe an anxiety pill, but alas, this was where you found yourself. So, you worked tirelessly. A caveperson's impulse told you to do, do, do, make sure Clark felt loved, and to never give up on it, because it was all you had. He was so perfect, and you were so not. This was survival. Thus, Don’t fuck this up.

It wouldn’t have been so torturous for you if you had known reciprocal love before Clark, but at its core, that was where the crux lay. You had never known a good, honest, actual love. Ever. No boyfriend, no date, no first kiss. There were a few guys along the way; manipulators, ones who told you nice things just to take it all away before it could get real. Ones who played on this instinct of yours to give, so they could drain you for their benefit and leave you wilted like a flower, wondering what was so wrong, so ugly, so undesirable about yourself that you couldn’t keep a guy around long enough to get a kiss out of it. 

Maybe if you’d had a trial run for real, not some one-sided fantasy that ended in intangible heartbreak, you would be more stable for a guy so mature and wonderful as Clark. But all this insecurity was eating away at you, and you couldn’t stop. You'd run yourself ragged to stay in his favor. 

Clark didn’t notice at first. He assumed it was just your nature to be so giving. In a way, it was. But he felt something was off after dinner a few nights ago. 

It has been almost a year since you and Clark had gotten together, and dinner was just like any other. It was a Friday, and he likes to treat you to pizza on Fridays. There’s a little place in downtown Metropolis that makes pizzas in the stonefire oven; the tables have that red-and-white checkered cloth, and everything is warm-toned with twinkle lights and wooden accents. They made soda floats there, too, and your sweet tooth ached for them often. He brought you there after work to your standing date night, and everything was going perfectly fine. You guys divvied up two little pizzas and these delicious cheesy garlic knots they made from scratch, and his fingers were covered in butter, and the corners of your lips were sticky with ice cream. You forgot to adjust the way your shirt creased around your waist or wipe your mouth. Everything was in its right place.

The problem arose when it was time for the check.

“I can get this one,” you offered when the waiter dropped the bill. Clark always paid– this we established previously. So, he did not take to it well. 

“What? No!” He blurted, almost instantly offended. His soft heart couldn’t take the idea of you shelling out for dinner. “Baby, don’t be ridiculous. I’m paying.”

“Clark, you always pay,” you frowned.

“Yeah, because you’re my sweet girl,” he smiled sympathetically, reaching across the little table with his big hand to wipe some cream from your lip. “The whole point is that you never lift a finger and I die a happy man. Remember?”

You sighed softly and gave it up, but your stomach churned. He seemed so annoyed when you tried to offer. And that tone? That little, tiny, meaningless moment? That made you worry that he would be unhappy with you. That this one instance would begin a string, and it would roll up into a big ball of grievances that he could no longer drag around someday. Here you were, fucking it up. You had to fix it. 

Clark noticed instantly how you began to compensate for bothering him. 

You made him coffee in bed the next morning when he woke up. You made him pancakes from scratch, because that was his favorite, and when you burnt the first ones you had to turn off the stove and lock yourself in the bathroom. You promised you were just rinsing off a little scald when Clark asked what you were doing in there, but you were really crying into a towel over destroying that silly breakfast. He knew you were lying when you came out with puffy eyes and an unscathed finger, but he said nothing. He kissed the pad of it anyway and helped you cook the rest of the pancakes. 

Then came the start of the next work week. You literally paid his least favorite coworker Cat to leave him alone, for the entire Monday. She always flitted around his desk like a fly, begging to joint-write a story or asking him to look over her drafts. You bribed her with fifty bucks and free lunch. Then, you edited his story and passed it along for him so he didn’t even have to go to Perry himself. That, he thought, was odd. You knew he kind of liked duking it out over what stories deserved merit with the boss. 

Clark finally felt like he had enough solid ground to stand on a few days later, when he found you standing in the break room over two donuts. Simple ones. A maple donut for you, and a chocolate one for him. Chocolate iced, we should note, and not chocolate dough. That was the chief issue. You were crying over the wrong donut. 

Clark came up behind you and smoothed his palms under the hem of your shirt, sliding them over the soft pudge of your hips and around to your front. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he kissed at a tear and murmured with sugary urgency, “Honey, hey– hey! What’s the matter, huh? Are you hurt?”

You melted into his chest and wiped at your eyes– more like patted, so you wouldn’t smear your mascara. You couldn’t look bad at a time like this. “No…”

“What is it then?” He frowned.

Your bottom lip quivered as you delivered what felt like a fatal blow. “The donuts… wrong donut…”

Clark glanced down at the counter and saw them both. Yours and his. He smiled softly and furrowed his brow. “What about them is wrong? Maple for you, chocolate for me, right?”

You choked on a little sob. “No! S’not right! I told the girl chocolate, not chocolate iced!”

Clark’s heart sank. So there it was. You didn’t want to give him the wrong treat. 

The man gently spun you in his arms and brushed at your teary undereyes, kissing your nose. “I like chocolate anything, baby, you know that. Don’t gotta work yourself into a tizzy over it. Anything you get me is fine.”

You shook your head vehemently. “No, no, I got it wrong!”

Clark stopped you from mildly concussing yourself with two strong palms on either side of your face. “Hey. None of that. Deep breath,” he ordered, taking a few for demonstration. He waited until you followed his lead, watching your chest rise and fall, monitoring just when the shake seemed to leave your breathing. “There you go. Easy. Now, are you gonna tell me what all this fuss is about?”

Your lips tugged downward and you leaned against the countertop, brushing some hair from your face. “Nothing. S’nothing… just having a bad day.”

“You’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

“Huh?” you muttered, lifting your clumped lashes to peer at him. 

Clark ran his thumb down the rounded slope of your jaw. “You’ve been so… tightly strung,” he said. “So quick to explode over the littlest things. Something's bothering you, isn’t it? Why won’t you tell me?”

Your heart twisted at the soft, worried expression clouding his face. You were concerning him. God, the guilt was immense. “Because it’s not your job to fix my problems.”

Clark quirked an eyebrow as if you were speaking a foreign language. “Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn't,"

“Honey, you’re my girlfriend. My job is to make sure you’re happy.”

“My job is to make sure you’re happy,” you countered, and by the way your voice hitched on those last two words, Clark finally zeroed in on what the root was. 

You thought he wasn’t happy. Golly, he could cry. 

Clark’s arms instantly slipped around your back and drew you in, hugging so close that your heels left the ground. You huffed quietly and collapsed into the hold, smoothing your hands up his biceps until they rested against the nape of his neck. 

“Is that why you’ve been so nervous? You’ve been running around like crazy, doing all these extra things… oh, sweetie…”

You chewed on your bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. “You have to be happy. I want to keep you happy,” was all you could get out. 

Clark pulled back and kissed your forehead, and then your cheeks, and then he smoothed your hair back for a moment. His face swirled with heartache. “I’m so happy, sweetheart. God, all you do is make me happy! Just seeing you, having you next to me, that makes me the happiest man alive. Why on Earth would you put so much pressure on yourself like that, huh? Do I make you feel like you need to… perform well, or something? Is this my doing?”

You shook your head slowly, closing your eyes. That dark feeling was gnawing at you, the one that started all this. How in the world could you explain how deep the insecurity ran?

“I… it…”

He stood there for a moment and watched your attempts trail off, and he could see the doubt behind your eyes. You’d told him about your past. Clark knew everything about you, whether you liked it or not. He revered you. And unfortunately, you can get so wrapped up in your own head that you forget to give credit where it’s due– Clark’s a smart guy. 

“Baby,” he cooed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to work overtime to keep me happy. The way that I love you has absolutely nothing to do with what you can give me.”

You croaked, “But that’s how I prove it, Clark. That’s how I show you.”

“I know, honey, but it’s not the only way, is it? You give me this look, where your eyes get all big when you see me, and it makes me feel like I could do anything. And sometimes just feeling you slip your hand into mine makes me think, ‘Man, if I dropped dead right here, I’d be okay.’ You make me feel loved no matter what you do. All I feel for you is love!”

It felt like someone was drawing the mesh back from your eyes. All that anxiety had colored your world in such a way that you were blinded to the littlest things that mattered. Think of how Clark showed his love– it was through his words. His touches. He took care of you, that was his love language. Paying for dinner, walking you home, letting you fall asleep in his arms… giving you routine, giving you stability, proving to you that real love exists and you can have it… if anybody was working as tirelessly as you, it was him. You did it to each other. You wanted to give him all the love in the world, and he wanted you to see that he wasn’t the only one deserving of it. You were, too. Experience or not, confidence or not, conventional or not. 

“I just get so worried that you’ll lose interest someday,” you admitted, “And I don’t know if I can handle losing you, Clark.”

And to that, you got a kiss. Slow and uncomplicated. No tongues, no angling jaws, no urgency. Just a delicate press of lips, a melding of skin, a warm and pink and Clarkish kiss to bloom flowers between the chips in your ribs where the fear feasted. 

“Running out of love for you is impossible, baby. I just have too much of it,” he grinned. “You are perfect to me. The definition of the perfect girlfriend, just as you are, you hear me? Nobody else measures up. I’d have to share you with the world if they all knew how special you are. Only you can tick that box. I’m much too selfish for that.”

“You really mean that?” you lilted, tracing his nose with your fingertip. The unscalded one. 

“Course I do. I do the world saving so you can worry about only saving little ol’ me,” Clark chuckled. 

And truthfully, who could argue with that? 

Falling into another hug, you let all the tension unwind from your bones. 

Clark twirled a strand of your hair around his finger and promised, “You will never lose me, honey. I love you from your head to your toes.”

As he held you, you forgot to suck your stomach in again. It didn’t seem to matter all that much anymore. 

[lucyienne]

HOW DO THEY REACT WHEN YOUR CHILD DISRESPECTS YOU?

PAIRINGS : gojo satoru , nanami kento , ryomen sukuna x reader ( seperate )

NOTES : wanted to add geto, but i fear mischaracterization so .. 💔 also procrastinated on this request SO HARD .. so might not be my best work too .. T^T

GOJO SATORU .

Your daughter, Seirin, just got home from her first day at school. But what made you worried was that she wasn't as chatty as usual. Normally, her voice would fill up the living room as you cook for dinner— but it was oddly quiet today.

‎She was just there on the sofa, sitting quietly while she scribbled away on her notebook. The force she's using makes you wonder, because why is she putting too much pressure with her writing?

“ How's your first day of school, sei? ” You settled beside her on the couch, taking a peek of what she was scribbling down— which turned out to be nothing but random, scribbled lines.

However, Seirin doesn't respond to your question — still too focused scribbling on her sketchpad. You try to ask her again, more softly this time.

“ ‘rin, How was your first day of— ”

“ SHUT UP, MOM! ”

Your eyes widened from hearing her outburst, even your husband who just happened to finish showering turned his head towards your daughter, pristine white brows creasing upon hearing your daughter’s outburst.

As you were just about to open your mouth to speak, Satoru beat you to it, approaching his daughter with a stern expression.

“ You don't get to talk to your mother like that. ” He says, his tone low and intimidating. Seirin hesitated, knowing how scary her father gets when he’s seriously mad.

“ Your mother is asking you nicely about what happened on your first day of school, and it’s disrespectful to yell at her as a response. In fact, you should NEVER talk to her like that. “ Satoru says softly, but the sternness in his tone never left.

“ Have you ever seen or heard daddy talk to mommy like that, Seirin? “ 

An awkward silence followed after he asked your daughter. Because the three of you knew damn well that Satoru has NEVER raised his voice at you, even when both of you weren’t on good terms.

“ Seirin, I asked you a question. “ 

“ …no, dada. “

Satoru lets out what seemed to be a quiet sigh of relief. Atleast, she was finally listening to him. 

“ See? So that’s why you should never yell at your mother, because even daddy doesn’t yell at mommy. If you don’t want to talk about it, you can always just tell mommy, you don’t need to shout at her. “

NANAMI KENTO .

You love your son, really. But sometimes, he can be quite .. hardheaded. 

The sky was already painted with beautiful hues of orange, and the sun gradually hid as it got darker with every passing hour. Your ride home could’ve been filled with chatters of you and your son while nanami drives,but no. Unfortunately, the ride back home is quiet— not in the way you’d think. The car is filled with an awkward silence, your son crossing his arms— brows furrowed as his gaze was focused on the car window.

He wanted to play more in the park earlier, but it was getting late so you insisted on going back home. Your son, however, wanted to play more in the sandbox.

“ I was so close to finishing that sand castle. “ He grumbled underneath his breath— which you managed to catch.

“ Well, honey, we can always go back tomorrow— “ 

“ NO! I DON’T WANNA GO TOMORROW, I HATE YOU! “

You flinched a bit upon your son’s outburst, and even your husband was surprised. It was a red light, so Nanami was able to throw his son a glare that implied a warning— that a lecture was awaiting him at home.

Nanami didn’t scold his son in the car, but his anger was so loud that both of you could feel it even though he didn’t verbally say it. His rage was quiet in a way, but you could feel the intensity of it. While your son was still crossing his arms, his furrowed brows eased a bit— as if realizing that he was in the wrong.

The moment the three of you steps inside the house, that’s when Nanami allows his anger to explode. But he doesn’t yell— no. He simply asks your son to sit on the sofa, because he wants to have a “ talk “ with him. But your son knows damn well it’s less talking but MORE scolding. 

“ You spoke rudely to your mother earlier in the car. “ He starts, voice eerily calm. His son couldn’t speak, because he knew that his father was right.

“ Your mother isn’t forbidding you from playing outside, nor did she yell at you when you were being difficult in the park earlier. “ 

“ So clearly, there’s no reason for you to hate your mother. I don’t want you speaking to your mother like that EVER again, do you understand me, young man? “ He says, emphasizing his words. His son’s throat goes dry, but nods upon his father’s question.

“ I want to hear an answer, not a nod. “ And of course, he would immediately obey his father.

“ Yes, dada. “ 

RYOMEN SUKUNA .

Your daughter was quite close to her father. Well, not that you mind one bit. You’re actually glad that your daughter and your husband go along together.

Except, it creates problems sometimes.

Sukuna was coming home late today, so your daughter asked you to play with her. She loved roleplaying as a princess who liked to set-up tea parties, which you think is adorable. 

However, the problem was— you didn’t meet your daughter’s standard. 

She would correct you about how you held the tiny tea cup in your hands, and she’d correct you how to properly ‘ eat ‘ the pretend cakes. And eventually, your daughter snapped. It was something you never expected her to do.

Unaware, both of you didn’t hear the front door opening. Sukuna entered, confused by the sounds of what seemed like yelling. What made it more odd is that it wasn’t your voice.

“ Mommy, that’s not how you— ugh, DADDY IS A MUCH BETTER PLAYMATE THAN YOU! I DON’T WANNA PLAY WITH YOU ANYMORE! “

Sukuna’s eyes widened, before his pinkish brows knitted together— his legs taking him to the living room, seeing your daughter looking visibly frustrated, while you looked at her with surprise and disbelief.

“ Excuse me? Would you like to repeat what you just said to your mother earlier, young lady? “ his gaze sharpens, and his jaw tightens.

“ That’s not just your mother that you’re talking to, that’s my wife. “ He said, giving emphasis on his last words. “ You cannot just yell at your mother and tell her things like that. “ 

“ but mommy— “ 

“ do not try to argue with me, young woman. And since it seems like you fail to see the gravity of your actions, I will not buy you a new doll— until that is, you learn from your mistake and apologize to your mother. You hear me? “ 

Your daughter nods slowly, knowing better than to argue with her father when he’s mad. 

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

[monstersholygrail]

Im in full study-mode bc next week is exam week so ofc my brain has ideas to share about FUCC exam period

From the campus being oddly calm and "normal" before exams because everyone is focused on studying (or waiting in line before professors' offices / the university's director's door to try and pass their classes in other ways), to the week after exams where everyone meets up to get well-earned stress relief and little treat 😌😌😌

Also- students working part-time at the cafeteria and experimenting with the food, if you get my drift

(It is currently two in the morning and im lowkey going crazy, ive been studying for this exam's week since the end of november while also having to write 3 different essays i am craving for a break)

Ahhh, man, i remember that feeling all too well! Being so swamped with work and staying up all night that your mind enters a state of delirium and procrastination by flooding you with ideas. Just to give yourself a bit of a break. Wishing you succeed with your studies but I’m also grateful bc these ideas are amazing!

During exam season Free Use City College was practically a ghost town. Everyone was busy with their faces either buried in books or between their professors thighs. Making a mess of their sloppy fuck holes or a mess of their desks, there was little time for relief for anyone.

You along with every other student in that place were edging along the brink of insanity. Not the good kind of edging or insanity either. Long nights spent staying awake to study both the material and the monster professors’ strange anatomy.

The only break anyone allowed themselves was a nice but short trip to the school cafeteria. Some of the students working in the kitchens would always play with the food a little, dousing it with a bit of a sex drug, a lighter aphrodisiac, or something more intense than all of them combined.

One year you worked the kitchens yourself for exam season and they told you that you had to test it for yourself first. You couldn’t give away what you haven’t experienced…

You swear you’ve never been so damn horny and turned on in your entire life. You couldn’t stop fucking every monster you stumbled across at school for hours. It made you miss a whole day of studying but by the end you felt so incredibly refreshed and rejuvenated that you ended up studying ten times harder afterwards.

While the cafeteria always works as a brief sort of relief from the insane pressure of exam season, it’s what happens when it’s all over that’s worth the endless hours studying, the practice fucking, all the lost sleep, and the mental exhaustion.

Any student who passed all their exams would be provided a special demonstration by their monster professor of choice. Where that monster professor would should them what it would look and feel like to get a perfect score on the sex exam.

Sometimes lasting hours as the monster professors would show you all the ways they could make you cum, fucking out all your stress till you were left a pile a mush. But a happy stress-free one.

[ilbeyourprettyprettyplease]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ✦

series masterlist

⋆ pairing : 𝐂𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⋆ summary :cedric gives his quidditch jersey to reader so she could wear it while watching him play

⋆ tags: fluff, reader is a ravenclaw, confession, mutual pining

⋆ a/n : wow guess who’s posting after 2 weeks of procrastination✌🏻i lwk took some inspo from my last request lol. this is a bit longer than my usual work 😛

⚠️english is not author’s first language

The morning of the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin match arrived with the cold November wind. Inside the Ravenclaw tower, the chatter of students predicting the game’s score filled the air.

On your bedside table sat a neatly wrapped parcel , delivered by a school owl just an hour before.

You carefully untied the neatly tied ribbon, pulling away the brown parchment paper. Inside the parcel lay a thick, heavy, Hufflepuff quidditch jersey, smelling faintly of mahogany and broom polish. The yellow fabric was vibrant, with the name DIGGORY boldly stitched at the back.

Folded neatly inside the collar was a small piece of parchment. You opened it to find Cedric’s handwriting.

The stands get freezing during morning games. Wear this so you don’t freeze out there. See you on the pitch.

-Cedric

This simple gesture made your heart race. The feeling of his thumb gliding over the side of your lips a few nights ago felt like it was still lingering, you felt a flush of heat creep onto your face.

He did mention the match when you guys were talking a few days ago, he knew you were going to go watch the game.

But you usually preferred to blend into the background, but wearing the Hufflepuff captain’s jersey would make that impossible. Still, the thought of turning him down or leaving the jersey behind felt worse than judgmental stares.

You pulled the oversized shirt over your uniform, the sleeves completely swallowing your arms, and headed downstairs.

Walking into breakfast, the effects of the jersey were immediate. The shirt hung halfway down your thighs, the bright Hufflepuff yellow among the sea of blue and bronze at the Ravenclaw table attracted eyes - just as you expected.

Your hands tugged at the hem of the shirt, trying to sink away from the attention.

Padma gave you a smug smirk as you sat down next to her.

“Oh shut up.”, you smiled.

From across the Great Hall at the Hufflepuff table, Cedric was surrounded by his teammates, listening to a last minute strategy talk from up the table.

As if he sensed your presence, his grey eyes lifted, and he saw you in his jersey.

A genuine, quiet smile spread across his face. He offered a small reassuring nod, his eyes lingering for just a second too long before his teammates pulled him back to the conversation. Your face burned a deep crimson as you quickly looked back down to your bacon and toast.

-

The atmosphere of the pitch was electric. The stands were full of exited chatters, divided between green and yellow. You found a spot in the middle tiers, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself to shield against the howling wind.

Below the stands, the two teams marched onto the pitch.

Cedric walked at the front of the Hufflepuff team, his broom resting on his shoulder.

Before he climbed onto his broomstick, he paused, quickly scanning the stands.

Then, he found you.

Seeing you in his massive jersey made him stop completely for a brief second. A small, genuine smile broke over his face, a warm expression meant just for you. He gave a subtle nod before turning back to his team. Your face burned hot despite the freezing November wind.

Madam Hooch stepped into the center of the pitch, her hand on the lid of the wooden crate.

Cedric climbed onto his broomstick, his muscles tensing as he prepared to launch.

With a sharp whistle, Madam Hooch threw the quaffle into the air, cheers echoed across the grounds, and the teams skyrocketed into the air.

The game was brutal, the Slytherin chasers playing with absolute aggression. Your breath hitched as a bludger nearly hit Cedric’s shoulder.

But Cedric remained focused, his eyes on the sky, looping and dodging, moving fluidly and quickly as he commanded his team precisely.

Then, a speck of gold flashed near the Slytherin goalposts.

Cedric spotted it, going into a nearly vertical dive, targeting the snitch. The Slytherin seeker diving right after him, trying to shoulder-push Cedric off his broom, but Cedric didn’t even flinch. With a sudden shift to the left to avoid another bludger, he extended his arm and clasped his fingers around the golden ball just inches before hitting the ground.

The Hufflepuff stands rised into a deafening celebration to their massive victory.

Down the pitch, Cedric’s teammates sprinted towards him to throw their arms around his shoulder, but before they reached him, Cedric did something that made your heart skip a beat.

He raised his arm holding the golden snitch high into the air, his eyes shooting directly up to where you were sitting.

Through the sea of yellow, he looked straight at you, giving you a bright, breathless grin, tilting the golden ball slightly towards your direction, like he was saying this was for you, before his team slung their arms around him in celebration.

The crowded, roaring celebration was a bit too overwhelming for you, so you slipped away from the stands early, wrapping Cedric’s shirt around you tightly as you walked back to the quiet, stone corridors towards the Ravenclaw tower.

The castle was almost entirely empty, the distant echoes of the victory celebration slowly fading into the background.

A sudden sound of hurried, heavy footsteps echoed from around the corner. You stopped.

You turned to find Cedric, still breathing heavily from the match. He was still in his muddy quidditch trousers, his hair messy from the wind.

When his eyes locked on you, who was still wearing his jersey, he stopped running, a look of pure relief on his face, his exhausted expression replaced with that same warm smile.

“There you are,” Cedric breathed, stepping closer.

The corridor suddenly felt small, he was just a few feet away, he smelled like rain, and the familiar scent of sandalwood.

“You left before the lap of honour,” Cedric said quietly. His grey eyes dropped down to his jersey, which still swallowed you whole, the hem reaching past your knees. “I was scared that you wouldn’t want to wear it.”

“It’s….comfortable.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers nervously tugging at the sides of the sleeves of the shirt. “Congratulations for the win, you were brilliant.”

Cedric let out a boyish laugh as his hand scratched the back of his neck. A faint flush that definitely didn’t have anything with the cold crept up his cheeks. “To be honest, I almost missed it, I kept looking at the stands…I wanted to make sure you were still there.”

Your heart swarmed around your ribs. You looked up, meeting his eyes.

“Cedric. I-.”

“I’m really glad that you wore it,” he interrupted gently, taking one step closer. The distance between the two of you closed.

He reached out, his long fingers lightly brushing against the yellow fabric, smoothing out a wrinkle that wasn’t really there.

“Seeing you there, watching me, really did something to me today. I don’t think I would’ve caught the snitch if you weren’t watching.”

The air between the two of you grew thicker, Cedric leaned down slightly, his eyes dropping to your lips for a second and suddenly lifted back to your eyes with intense gravity.

The distance between the two of you felt like inches.

Cedric looked down at his boots, letting out a breath before looking up to you like he had just resolved something deep down inside.

“Actually, I’m sorry,”Cedric said softly, the nervous sound in his voice was gone, replaced with a quiet,steady courage. “I don’t want to act like I don’t notice my own feelings, I don’t want to keep on guessing.”

You held your breath, your heart hammered inside of you.

“I’ve liked you for a very long time,” he said, the words coming out with a rush of honesty. “not just because you wore the jersey today. Every time you’re in the library, every time you’re giggling about something funny, every time you’re focused on a book, I’ve been trying to gather the courage to tell you for ages.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, the pure shock of the popular, Hufflepuff golden boy confessing to you making your mind go completely blank.

"Cedric... I—I've liked you too. For ages."

A massive, smile broke across Cedric's face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looked relieved, as if a huge weight had just been lifted off his shoulders.

"Yeah?" he asked, stepping closer towards you, a playful but gentle spark in his eyes.

"Yeah," you whispered, a small smile finally breaking through your face.

He reached down, his warm hand gently sliding into yours.

Cedric didn’t say anything more, he just held your hand, letting the mutual feelings settle between the two of you.

"Come on," Cedric whispered, tugging you gently towards the corridor toward the Great Hall.

"Let's get some food. You can keep the jersey .But you're sitting next to me at the feast."

⋆a/n : idk how to describe a quidditch match my bad 😕 i hope yall like this one! reblogs and follows will be much appreciated!

pls don’t copy or put my work into AI 🤍

[nyelung]

I was minding my own business, procrastinating on writing a fight scene as one does, when brain went "verdugo Leon but raccoon city" and threw a convincing mental image at me and I guess then my hand slipped and I'd suddenly written a oneshot that's as much an exploration into young Sherry as it is an outsider POV on verdugo Leon. ... there might have been some minor excursions into biology stuff. I suppose as a whole this would then be an AU to an AU to an AU inspired by the verdugo Leon and rookiebug AUs by @polarspaz

I don't think there's anything in particular need to warn about that's not already covered by this being Resident Evil stuff?

---------

Sherry has never been this scared before.

First, her mother had called her at school to go home and stay inside, no matter what, and when Sherry asked about dad, her mother ended the call. And then she watched the city go to shit - "Language, Sherry!" - from the window of her second floor bedroom while she waited. Sherry set a new record in lemmings. And tetris. She finished her homework assignments, all of them. She played through all of Super Mario. Twice. She ate an extra big portion of chocolate cereal and made hot cocoa to the sound of sirens. She cooked mac 'n' cheese from the box mix when the housekeeper wouldn't come and watched the city go to shit some more. "Language, Sherry!" she had told herself in the voice of Mario - the teddy wearing her red elementary school cap. It was a bit childish, but no one was here and she was bored to hell.

And scared.

Three days in, a police van drove by, late at night. Sherry had stayed up long past her bedtime, eating popcorn while the TV in her room played some music ranking late night show to drown out the sirens."Attention all citizens. Due to the citywide outbreak, you are advised to take shelter at the Raccoon City police station. Free food and medical supplies will be provided to everyone in need."

There had been something dad had told her, a few weeks ago, that if things got bad, really really world-endingly bad, she was to go to the police station and find the chief. He would get her out of Raccoon City, dad had arranged for that. But! She must never tell him about the locket or its purpose. Sherry wasn't stupid, she knew what that meant.

But she had made her way to the police station, tip-toeing past zombies - again, she was twelve, not stupid, she knew what a zombie was and that they shouldn't be real - and she found the chief of police while he was dumping a young man's body. All Sherry could see was the blond hair, the head wound - blunt force trauma the crime series she was not supposed to watch would call it - and the blue jeans and white sneaker combination that glowed in the cone of the chief's flashlight. Sherry had cowered down out of sight, hands pressed over her mouth and then she hid.

Sherry had gotten real good at hiding last year.

That's where she is now, in a hiding place in some storage room. She had shoved a few boxes together to provide a better hiding place and her jacket is spread out on the ground to keep her from freezing her butt off. "You'll get a bladder infection if you sit on the cold ground too long," had been a frequent chorus for as long as she could remember.

Sherry can't tell how much time passes that way, so she starts counting her breaths. A human breathes on average twenty times a minute, she read that somewhere, so every hundred breaths are five minutes, meaning that every one thousand and two hundred breaths are an hour. She loses count somewhere around three hundred, so she starts all over again. There's not much to do here, curled up in her hiding place while the cold from the floor seeps through her jacket and school uniform into her bones.

A human has two hundred and six bones. She read that, too, and she had tried to learn them all from biggest to smallest to become a doctor, so she could see her parents at work. Femur, Sherry starts.

She dozes off at some point, because the last she remembers, she was listing all the metacarpals, but she wakes from a shuffling sound. She's hungry, she's thirsty and she can hear something moving outside the room she's hiding in.

Heavy footsteps like the chief.

And something dragging behind.

Sherry gasps very quietly and immediately curls up tighter, covering her hair with the jacket. What if he heard her? Shallow breaths, Sherry. Quiet and shallow breaths through the mouth. Become invisible.

The door opens with a click and the heavy footsteps continue. They make a scratching noise on the stone floor and the dragging sound continues on, too.

Then they stop.

Sherry keeps herself as still and small as possible while beyond the wall of boxes the footsteps pick up again, going away from her. There is a deep huff of breath from something big, like a horse, and then the shuffling sounds of something settling down.

The cardboard boxes she's hiding behind are partially empty and the bottom flaps aren't aligned perfectly, allowing Sherry to look outside from within her hideout without moving. She can't make out a lot, but it's not the chief. It's not a zombie either and not one of those things crawling around with an exposed brain.

She can see that it's big, even sitting hunched over. There's a tail curled around its legs covered in big scales. No, Sherry decides. A carapace that's all white like bones. Some parts are coloured blue, though. It's a bit blurry to watch it through the cardboard slit, but she can make out blue parts, too. A bug then, Sherry thinks. A very very very big bug.

But the bug doesn't move and neither does Sherry. As far as monsters go, the bug is not that bad so far. But then, spiders - and she knows those aren't bugs, but bugs don't have a tail with a stinger either - will wait hours and hours for prey to walk into striking range.

After an eternity, her stomach rumbles.

Sherry scrambles to her feet, all ready to run from the bug monster, but it also just gets up and looks at her like it knew where she was all along. Her heart's beating in her throat. Once it moves towards her, she'll be able to slip past it and through the door and she readies herself-

Instead the bug gestures for her to go back behind the boxes and makes a series of clacking and chittering sounds. Then it turns, tail whacking heavy folders from a shelf - causing the bug to pause in a posture that Sherry thinks is frustration - and leaves, ducking deeply to fit through the door, closing it behind itself.

Sherry finds a new hiding place. The bug hadn't attacked her before, but, well, it was a monster and she was in a monster situation. She'd read enough to know that kids that trusted the monsters were the first to die. Don't take gifts from witches, don't get into car with strangers and don't trust the big bug monster not to eat you.

The clock tower is very dusty and someone must have known this was a good hiding place because there's a package of cigarettes and an ashtray stashed here. Up here it's a lot quieter and the floor is wood so it's not as cold. She's still hungry, but as long as she curls up and counts breaths, she doesn't notice it as much.

But she feels when something enters the clock tower, the heavy steps being carried through the wood right into her ear. And then she hears the scratching. Scratch, step, scratch, step, thud. That's got to be the tail hitting something.

The bug has found her again.

And she's trapped up here.

Sherry retreats into the very last corner, even though she knows it won't help. The bug knew where she was in that storage room, too. It can probably hear her already. Her heartbeat definitely feels loud enough in her own ears.

Scratch, step, thud, scratch, step, thud she hears over the creaking of the wooden stairs. Quiet. More creaking. Then the shuffling sounds of the bug sitting down, tail sliding over the ground until its curled up around itself. Sherry can make out its silhouette, hunching uncomfortably by the stairs, in the dim light. Its eyes are shimmering blue, reflecting the bit of light there is like a cat's eyes.

Things are dropped by the bug. Something crinkling like plastic, something heavier, liquid like a bottle and something heavy and solid. Three things get shoved into Sherry's direction as far as the bug can push them and then it turns away. Demonstratively, it turns its back to Sherry as though to signal that it is not interested in her and not a threat to her and the whole thing would be more effective if it wasn't taller and broader than even Sherry's PE teacher and brought its tail towards Sherry with that movement.

It sits a bit like a human, like one of Sherry's classmates if she's honest. Legs on the stairs, hunched over and rustling about with a plastic bag of its own.

Sherry considers her situation. That makes a good scientist, her parents had told her. Thorough observation, rational analysis, well thought out conclusion. And then lots of experiments to test it all. Observation is simple. She's trapped with no way out, she's hungry, there's items that the bug brought and shoved in her direction, the bug is not looking at her. Analysis is a bit harder because Sherry's no expert on bugs especially not big, humanoid ones. But it's clear that the bug could have caught her if it wanted, even downstairs when she hid behind the boxes. It had given every indication that it brought that food - that's what she assumes those items are, stolen from one of the vending machines downstairs - specifically for her and doesn't mean any harm to her. It's even attempting to appear non-threatening. All signs point to the bug not being a danger to her. Now, it could be a trap or it could be a strategy to fatten her up like the witch in the fairytale, but... Sherry's really hungry and she can worry about that later.

Quickly, Sherry darts from her corner, picks up the items and immediately retreats with her prize. the bug only throws her a quick glance and makes a clicking sound. It's not moving towards her, in fact it seems to concentrate even harder on its own... food? It all reminds Sherry a lot of that stray cat near the school she'd tried to catch once before she was forbidden from having a pet. Don't look, don't act like you're interested, prove that you're not a threat and bring food. Just that Sherry is the stray cat this time.

Sherry's haul consists of three things. A flashlight, a bag of chips and a bottle of gatorade. Half the bottle goes down in one gulp because more than hungry she's been very thirsty. The chips don't survive long either and get washed down with the rest of the gatorade. Not what her nanny would have called a healthy meal, but Sherry doesn't care about that right now.

The bug is still rustling about with its bag and has started to make a low chirring sound of utter frustration while Sherry devoured her food. She bites her lips and points the flashlight at the bug and its misery. Yep, that's a bag of toffees its trying to open with its clawed hands and, Sherry guesses, while trying to avoid that all the toffees spill everywhere. The bug is definitely clever. Sherry has classmates that still haven't grasped that. "I- I can help," Sherry offers before she can think better of it. But... the bug brought her food, it's only right that she returns the favour. "J-just don't eat me?"

The bug chitters and it almost sounds like a laugh while its dark-brown face mask - oh, that was not a mask - splits open and reveals... that's got to be the mouth. And those are a lot of sharp teeth and lots of mandibles, too. It tosses Sherry the bag in a surprisingly human motion.

Maybe not that surprising. As Sherry catches the bag, her flashlight flickers erratically across the bug's form and what she thought had been blue carapace before turns out to be clothes. Torn apart and stretched thin across the pale carapace, but unmistakably clothes. Blue shirt, jeans... Its eyes also glow blue while reflecting the light.

Sherry tears the bag open at the seam and, oh, there's a problem. "These are all wrapped," she explains to the bug. "I... don't think you can unwrap them?"

The bug looks at its own hands, three dark-brown claws longer than Sherry's radius, then shrugs at the obviousness of its problems with that.

"You're not going to eat me, are you?"

The bug points at the bag of toffees first, then at its own mouth.

"You want the sugar," Sherry translates. "I guess that makes sense since you're a bug monster." Sherry puts the first unwrapped toffees into the bug's hands and watches as they immediately vanish in the bug's mouth. This time she can see it more clearly, how all the pieces flare out, the lower jaw completely splitting open, and then the mandibles snap shut around its bounty and the bug closes its eyes as it seems to savour the taste. "Were you human?" It feels a bit redundant to ask, but it would be nice to have confirmation.

The bug nods.

"How did you- Do you know how you turned into a big bug?"

The bug shakes its head.

Sherry keeps unwrapping toffees that are eaten very quickly and without gluing the bug's teeth together like they'd do whenever Sherry tried them. At the same time she keeps asking questions that the bug answers in nods or shakes of its head. Can you speak? No. Are you a boy? Yes. Do you eat only sugar? Shrug. A shrug looks pretty weird when it's done by a tall bug monster. But you don't eat humans? Enthusiastic nod that has the blond hair shake with the motion. Are you a good monster then? Yes and a shrug which Sherry translates to "I suppose." Fair enough. If she got turned into a bug monster, she wouldn't know whether that makes her a good monster. "I guess you're like the X-Men. Or, like, the mutants in the comics in general and it depends on what you do with your powers."

The bug chitters, mandibles flaring open once more and this time Sherry is sure that he's laughing at her.

"Do you have a name?" she asks, handing the last of the toffees over. "I can't keep calling you just bug, right?"

The bug nods, makes a series of chirping and clicking sounds and snaps his mouth shut, shoulders slumping.

"Yeah, I don't think I can say that."

Suddenly, the bug jumps to his feet, startling Sherry which sends the flashlight from between her knees clattering all over the floor until its stopped by the bug's claws. The bug holds out the flashlight in one hand and the other in... invitation?

The bug's carapace is warm as Sherry holds onto him. It doesn't feel as hard as she thought it would be, almost leathery in fact. This close she can see that it's not really white either, or at least not white through any effect other than being thick enough to appear so, because she can make out the shapes of the moving muscles beneath the carapace while the bug is running through the station with her on his back.

They come across zombies, of course, and some of the crawling, skinless things, but where Sherry had been forced to sneak around, the bug just kills them. It's... it's a lot of blood and... things, but the bug makes sure that nothing reaches her even when he smashes a zombies head apart by whipping it into a wall with his tail while trying to cover her eyes. Sherry is terrified, but at the same time she's so glad that the bug is protecting her. He's definitely a good monster, she decides.

Sherry has a hard time telling where exactly they are in the station until they pass the big statue in the main hall, but then they duck into another corridor. Well, the bug has to duck very low and Sherry just holds on and prays she doesn't hit her head on a doorframe. And ducking again.

The bug makes a noise, one that vibrates through the leathery plates of carapace on his back and sits down which Sherry thinks is the signal for her to get off. They're in an office now, she sees, pointing her flashlight here and there. There are no people here and no corpses either. Several desks and-

Oh.

Sparkling streamers are taped to the ceiling and there's a banner hung across the desks, all made from cut out circles and letters. "Welcome, Leon," Sherry reads, turning to the bug. It nods and points at the banner. "Your name is Leon?" The bug nods again. "OK, Mister Leon, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Sherry." She holds out her hand, because that's what one does when introducing oneself and she's been really rude so far by not doing so.

Two mandibles rise up to the bug's, no, to Leon's eyes and he carefully returns the offered handshake. For the first time since all this started, Sherry's not feeling scared at all.

---------

I might write more for this since writing came with the side effect of thinking a lot about the whole scenario. I couldn't really get into Leon's whole deal, but suffice to say that he arrived earlier than in canon and stumbled over the orphanage instead of the police station first.

For Sherry I imagine she was a pretty lonely kid with mostly adults as contact and lacking socialization with peers leading to her diverging in tone and expression from what would be typical for her age. I mean, her parents were at best pretty distant and there'd have been a lot of things she couldn't have done with classmates, meaning she wouldn't have ended up hated per se, but as the outsider that everyone got along okay with but who was nobody's friend.

Fun fact: while looking up what she could have been playing to distract herself, I checked pokemon first (of course. it's pokemon) and that had its first release in the US on the 28th of September in 1998, so exactly during the Raccoon City Outbreak.

Why Leon doesn't look full verdugo is very simply based on the fact that his plaga had to go through with the metamorphosis on the biomass of one healthy young male and little else and growing a whole tail and carapace? Yeah, best the plaga could do in that first step was a kinda caterpillar state, send Leon on a search for sugar (chitin synthesis needs so. much. sugar.) and prioritize what it needs to survive this mess. Ergo, lots of that chitin didn't end up sclerotized and chitin itself is tough, but pliable... and colourless. the sclerotized parts are the ones that have a darker colour. So mouth parts, claws and stinger? those are all important. The rest of the carapace is not unimportant per se, but its current tough but pliable state is good enough against human teeth and licker tongues. Pigmentation? Pretty unimportant. Oh, and he wouldn't be full verdugo size yet either. Taller than a normal human, but definitely not the 8 to 10 feet he'll reach as a fully grown verdugo.

Yeah, Leon's going through a full proper molt after Raccoon City and after a bit of a sugar binge... and then his plaga would like a break, please.

Anyway, yeah, I just really kinda wanted to see Leon have Sherry along and point at the banner like "this is me. I'm Leon." because speaking is so not going to happen with that kind of mouth. At least not in a human way.