phosphohope

[schoenpepper]

Enemies to...not enemies?

Intro: You loathed him. He thought you were boring. But then here comes the fun part—you have a paired potionology assignment.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, is the reader masochistic we will never know, maybe i was the masochist all along because if jade did this to me i would kneel i would bend i would fold in half like an omelet

Masterlist

Jade's Birthday Countdown

“That’s not the right herb.”

You huff, pulling back your hand that was about to drop a fistful of neon green leaves into the cauldron. “Okay mister know-it-all, what is the right herb?” you point at the open textbook, “It says leaves of the averen plant, and this is—”

“That,” Jade smiles politely, “is a leaf of the serillo plant. Really, if you’d like to fail, please do so on your own time. It’s quite unbecoming to waste other people’s hard work.” His words are scathing, pressing your cheeks with a bright heat that makes you place the leaves in your hands back on the table. Facing the bubbling cauldron, you search what an averen plant looks like as the merman continues working without you.

“It doesn’t even look that different,” you mutter to yourself, “bitch.”

The asshole seems to have spectacular hearing as he responds with, “And yet I’ve identified them correctly. Perhaps you should work on your eyesight before criticizing me for a mistake you’d made.”

Every second spent with this pompous jerk makes you more and more liable to attempting to smash his ugly face into the side of the boiling hot cauldron. Would Crewel have a problem with that? Probably not, right? It’s not your fault Jade Leech was born. You steel yourself and check the following steps for the potion. After adding in the leaves, stir counterclockwise three times, then add in voodoo frog urine.

You take a step back.

“Since you’ve said so, I will work on my eyesight.”

Yes, yes. A smart person knows when they’re unnecessary. It’s better to bend than break. Wise men retreat in order to move forward or whatever.

Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to like your idea.

The smile fades from his expression, which sends tingles running right down your spine. He steps closer, and closer, and closer to you—his face is right against your own.

It’s…not scary at all.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

“Are you testing my patience for fun?” he asks in a soft whisper, voice dripping with honey and malice, “Or perhaps you’re truly this dull? How can a person only have water in their head at all times?”

There’s shame and embarrassment, but for some reason, you can’t find anger in the mix of complicated emotions welling within you.

“I’m not stupid,” you mumble back as you attempt to avert your eyes.

You’re unsuccessful; he tilts your head back to face his eyes, his yellow eye glowing eerily. Your heart is beating fast in your chest as if attempting to burst out from your rib cage and into his large hands. His hair looks soft to touch with that one long strand of black on the left side of his (ugly ugly ugly) face, sharp teeth peeking out from soft lips as his expression molded into one of slight disgust.

“And yet your actions lead me to believe otherwise. Do yourself a favor and make yourself useful before I decide to make your life one of…rather unsavory circumstances.”

You nod enthusiastically. Once he steps away to get back to the cauldron, you clutch at your burning red face and squeal quietly into your palms.

You absolutely despise Jade Leech!

(But if he did that again, maybe you wouldn’t mind.)

[ridingreeves]

It had been almost a year since John left you.

just a quiet goodbye and the cold emptiness that followed. You spent weeks trying to understand, replaying every moment, every word, until all that was left were the echoes of his absence. He had been your world, but the life he led, the danger that followed him like a shadow, always felt like a wall between you.

Still, you couldn’t forget him.

One rainy night, the kind that mirrored the heaviness you felt inside, you were sitting in your dimly lit apartment, trying to lose yourself in a book that you couldn’t concentrate on. The sound of the storm outside was the only thing that filled the silence, until a soft knock echoed through your apartment.

It was so faint, you almost didn’t hear it.

With your heart in your throat, you moved to the door. A part of you had always imagined this moment, but seeing him now, soaking wet, his dark hair plastered to his face, felt like a punch to the chest.

John Wick stood there, like a ghost you hadn’t been able to let go of.

His eyes, those same intense, haunted eyes, met yours. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with everything left unsaid.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he began, his voice rough, as if it hurt him to speak. “I told myself I’d stay away… that it was better this way.”

Your throat tightened. “Then why are you here, John?”

He looked down, as if ashamed, as if the weight of his decisions was finally too much to bear. “Because… I can’t stay away anymore.”

You could feel the tears threatening, but you held them back. “You left, without a word. After everything, you just… disappeared. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought you’d be safer without me… I thought you’d move on.” He paused, his voice barely audible. “But I couldn’t. Not from you.”

The raw pain in his voice broke something in you. You had spent so long being angry, feeling abandoned, but now that he was here, all the anger melted into something softer, something more fragile.

“John…” you whispered, stepping closer. “You hurt me.”

His face crumbled for just a second, and for the first time, you saw not the unstoppable man everyone feared, but the broken person beneath. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

You stood there, inches apart, the rain still pouring down outside. There was so much between you—hurt, love, fear—but the distance that had felt impossible to bridge before now seemed smaller.

“I came back because I realized something,” John said, his voice low but steady. “No matter how dangerous my world is, no matter what I face… none of it matters without you. I can’t fix the past, but I want to be here now. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t answer right away, the hurt still a heavy weight on your heart. But when you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth—he had come back because he couldn’t stay away, because whatever life he had left, he wanted to spend it with you.

Slowly, you reached out and took his hand. It was cold, but the warmth that spread through you as his fingers wrapped around yours was undeniable.

“I never stopped loving you,” you whispered, tears finally falling.

John pulled you into him, his embrace tight and unyielding, as if he was afraid you’d slip away. “I’m not leaving again,” he promised, his lips brushing against your temple. “Not this time.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

The storm outside raged on, but in his arms, you finally felt at peace.

Idk if this is part two to the other one but I wasn’t planning on it

[hiyori-ii]

Interview with An Underground Hero Pt. 1

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,561

Tags: fem!reader, pseudo!chikan, some grinding, public indecency, post-canon, aizawa is horny and he hates it, slight age gap, reader is in her last year of uni

Author's Note: I have NOT been able to keep Shouta off my mind. He haunts me day and night. In an effort to take back my sanity, I give you this.

a03 link

Shouta’s fingers are stiff as he shoves them into his pockets, the air icy despite the bright sun overhead. The platform is crowded with early morning commuters and he can’t help but curse his luck.

“Ah! Aizawa-san! Good morning!”

Your hand is raised high above the crowd, waving excitedly to catch his attention. Your student I.D. swings back and forth in your grip and he instinctually sinks further into his scarf, desperate to get away from the attention.

You’re out of breath as you slip between two salary-men, “Ha! Made it! Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me here this morning Aizawa-san.”

“I’m so honoured to be interviewing you today!”

————————

When he had first been asked to participate in an interview, the phone was halfway back on the cradle with a firm, ‘No thank you, I don’t do press,’ before you could blink. 

‘W-wait! Wait! This isn’t for the press! W-well, sort of. It’s for school! My school! I’m writing a paper for my final project on heroics and ethics and you’re the perfect person to speak to!” 

The threat of a headache is brewing behind his good eye, begging him to just hang up and get back to grading papers. 

‘Fine. Meet me next Friday at 6:45am on the central line at Tatooin Station. Bring your student I.D. or I’m leaving you behind.” 

He barely hears your squeal of joy before the line cuts, his head already throbbing. 

————————

His acknowledging grunt is barely audible over the sound of the train pulling into the station, people eager to find a spot for the commute ahead already beginning to shuffle closer to the yellow line.

Despite his chilly demeanour, your smile never slips; if anything, his lack of enthusiasm makes your eyes light up even brighter, “Do you always take the train into work, Aizawa-san?”

The two of you have shifted closer to the train doors, and when they finally open you’re both ushered in quickly by the wave of people pressing in behind you.

Without much thought, Shouta guides you across the car and toward the opposite door, eager to get as far away from everyone else as possible.

“Not usually, no. I live on campus but I was on patrol in the neighbourhood last night.”

You’ve both settled up against the sliding doors and Shouta’s thankful for the moment of reprieve. His eye burns from overuse and his right knee is screaming at him to take it easy.

You’re quiet for a moment too long and he risks catching your next wave of questioning to study your face. You’re obviously younger than him but the dark circles under your eyes tell him a thousand tales of sleepless nights spent pouring over research papers and mandatory readings. He wonders how old you really are, noting the claw-machine bag charm dangling from your study bag before taking in your attempt at business casual - a too tight blouse peaking out from under your knit sweater and a skirt that probably fit right a few years ago but now sits high on your waist to accommodate the zip closure. At least you’ve elected to wear dark nylons to make up for the short hemline.

“If you’re too tired to meet today, I’d be happy to reschedule to some other time.”

Your hushed tone pulls him from his thoughts and he can feel his neck flush in embarrassment. ‘Get it together, Shouta, what the hell is wrong with you?!’ 

“N-”, he clears his throat, “No, that’s alright. I’m fine.”

Your lips purse and you look at him like you don’t believe him. Observant. That journalism degree suits you well.

Before you can say anything else, the train is slowing to a stop and the doors open to a flood of even more passengers.

You’re barely able to voice your surprise before you’re being crushed up against the car door by a drowsy middle-aged man with a too large briefcase. Your eyes flicker over to Shouta and despite the bemused grin on your face, he can tell you’re uncomfortable.

Without thinking twice, he’s already making a spot for himself between you and the man, placing his palms above you on the glass window to gently press backwards and open up just enough room for you two to breathe.

When he looks down to ask if you’re alright, you’re already staring up at him, eyes wide and ears brightly flushed.

Ah. Right. Now he’s got you cornered.

He clears his throat again, more aggressively this time, and you snap out of your stupor. “Ha, thank you Aizawa-san. I was totally about to be crushed there!” Your voice has pitched higher and you’re actively avoiding his gaze.

He uses one hand to pull at his scarf, desperate to cool the flush threatening to crawl up his neck, “Don’t mention it.”

The train jolts forward as it accelerates and you both sway with the sudden lurch. You stumble, feet staggering to keep your balance and you quickly reach up to grab onto the loose fabric of Shouta’s jumpsuit.

Your neck is stretched to the side as far as you can manage to avoid eye contact. The apples of your cheeks are stained with a deep flush and your heart is thundering against your ribs; you’re worried he can feel the heat radiating off your thighs from where they’re spread around his right leg.

Meanwhile, alarm bells are blaring in Shouta’s head. Every single moment of irrational lenience over the last week has led him here; he should have never agreed to this interview, should have never gotten on this crowded train, should have never gotten between you and that man ‘cause now all he can focus on is the smell of your hair and the heat of your pretty thighs spread over his bad leg.

Another sudden lurch as the train switches tracks and his knee finally gives out.

He stumbles, not expecting to loose his balance and finds his thigh wedged tightly between your own. Your surprised squeak sends a shock of electricity down his spine and he can feel the press of your tits against his ribs, your laboured breath fanning the gap of skin peaking out from beneath his scarf.

“Shit, sorry, give me a second, my leg- ”

The half-awake business man behind Shouta sways in his comatose state and that ridiculous bag knocks his hips directly into yours.

“Ah!”

The pretty little gasp that slips past your lips has Shouta snapping his head down to look at you, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth screws up into a tight line.

Oh fuck.

He’s such a pervert.

He knows you can feel the press of his cock against your hip, knows you know he’s hard because of you. And as if he couldn’t get any more pathetic, the whine you let slip is like a phantom pull, drawing him forward to grind into the heat of your body.

He expects you to slap him. To call him a pervert. Call off the interview and report him for sexual harassment.

He doesn’t expect you to let your weight settle down against his thigh. Doesn’t expect you to finally look over at him out of the corner of your eye with tears swimming in your lashline and let your mouth fall open on a silent moan. Couldn’t have dreamed of you reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to that pretty mouth of yours.

“Please don’t stop.” 

Your voice comes out in a whisper, lust dripping from each syllable and he caves. He blames the pain behind his eye, his shitty knee, the lack of sleep, he blames it all for the way he buries his face into your neck and bites the tendon there. Blames it for the way he reaches down to grab at the meat of your hips and pull you higher up against his cock.

You’re so caught up in the feeling of him rocking against you that you don’t even register the doors opening behind you.

Suddenly you’re tripping backwards and Aizawa is stumbling forward with you, his legs tangled with yours as you’re forced onto the platform by the passengers getting off. You finally catch yourself, back bent and your free leg pushed behind you to balance your weight. When you look up Shouta is there above you, handsome face bright with embarrassment and shock.

You hear a few people complain about the two of you just standing there and you pull away from him, standing straight and frantically trying to fix your clothes in an attempt to ignore the tension settling.

Shouta is left blinking at you completely speechless. What the fuck just happened. 

He opens his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything to acknowledge what he did to you but you beat him to it, smile tight on your pretty face, “So, uhm, would you like to walk the rest of the way?”

He stares for a moment in complete disbelief, his cock twitching in a desperate attempt to keep going, to pull you back toward him and finish what you two started.

“Yeah. Let’s walk.”

You pointedly ignore the dark wet patch just above his bad knee.

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - you feel the baby kick

tw: pregnancy, tw: nausea (mention)

Sitting on the front porch, a pile of mending in a basket at your feet, you lean back in the chair and close your eyes, tipping your face up. A soft spring breeze plays with the tendrils of hair falling from your braid, sunshine splashing into your lap, and if you listen hard enough, you can hear Billy singing to himself as he repairs a saddle in the little shack that passes for your stable.

Oh, how I love her, ain’t that a shame…oh, how I love her, good-bye, Liza Jane…

You smile to yourself, absently humming along. More often than not lately, you’ve started dozing off in the afternoons, a habit which you know alarmed Billy at first — though he promised to fuss over you less (and  he’s definitely gotten better), you did overhear him taking the doctor aside after a recent visit, asking if it was normal for you to be so tired.

“Yes, son,” the doctor had assured him. You’d been pretty sure you could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s perfectly normal, and in fact, I’d encourage it. It’s a lot of work, bringing new life into the world.”

Without opening your eyes, you smooth a hand over your belly, your faint smile widening. Loose nightgowns can’t hide your condition anymore, but you don’t mind, because with every change to your body, you know your baby is growing. Not to mention Billy simply can’t keep his hands off you. 

Most often, he’ll start with his hands on your shoulders, coming up behind you and squeezing gently, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Then his hands will slide down your arms, pausing to cup your elbows and pull you flush against him. You’ll relax in his arms, glad to take the weight off the small of your back, and he’ll spread one large, warm palm over the curve of your belly.

“How’re my girls doin’ today?” he’ll ask, which never fails to make you giggle. 

“What if it’s a boy?”

Billy always shakes his head firmly. “Mm-mm, that’s my baby girl in there,” he’ll tell you. “I know it.” 

When the two of you are laying in bed together, Billy will hold you in his arms all night, both hands resting protectively over your stomach. Other times, throughout the day, he’ll pause just to kiss you — your lips, each cheek, your forehead — before putting his palm against your ribs, thumb moving in soothing circles over the fabric of your dress, which is becoming more and more tightly stretched with each passing day. 

“You’re so pretty,” he’ll tell you, smiling in a dreamy sort of way, like he can’t quite believe this life is actually his. Or he’ll ask you how you’re feeling, or he’ll ask you what you did today while he was working, or he’ll tease you with more whimsically intricate Gaelic baby names (Gobnait, Odhairnaith, Dubhghlas, Muircheartach). 

Sometimes, when you find yourself worrying — about the pain to come, about taking care of another little living being, about if you’ll be a good mother, a good wife — you think of that smile.

You have always known that Billy’s story diverges from the man, a tributary branching off from a river; the truth was clear, cold water, sweet and filling, but it seemed most people weren’t interested in that. They were rabidly fascinated by that little stream, by the waters churning with blood, spent shells, dirt and sweat. Tears. You love all of Billy, tributaries and all, but you know that he earnestly wants to follow the river, tracings its path to the future. A future with you, with your baby.

When you see his peaceful smile, his contentment radiating from him like an angel’s halo, you’re reminded of how far he’s come. Of how much he deserves this peace, this life the two of you are making together, and you feel at peace yourself. Whatever comes, physical pain or self-doubt, you know you can take it on, as long as you have him by your side.

Which — 

Your eyes flutter open as his shadow falls across your face, and you smile up at him. “How long have you been standing there?”

Billy grins sheepishly, shrugging. Rather than loom over you, he kneels beside your chair, putting his hand against your stomach. “Not long,” he says, as you cover his hand with your own. You can smell the scent of leather clinging to his skin, mixing with his natural musk, and you’re glad that your stomach has finally settled. A few months ago, even scents like this — scents you loved — would have driven you to a bucket. 

You remember how attentive he had been then — not that he was any less attentive now — even though your illness had embarrassed you. You’d known, logically, that you couldn’t help it, but it had made you cringe, nonetheless. You worried that he would find you disgusting like this, but you should have known better. Billy had never once flinched, instead holding your hair safely back, helping you into bed afterwards, fetching you water to rinse your mouth and crackers to soothe your tender stomach. 

“What are you thinkin’ about?” You feel his fingers grasp your chin, turning your face toward his. You smile and shake your head.

“You.” 

Billy raises an eyebrow, a faint smile coming to his lips. “Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head expansively. “Only about how you repulse me, actually.”

“Ah!” He puts his hand over his heart, as though mortally wounded. You bite your lip to keep from giggling. After a moment of consideration, he says: “That makes having my baby a little awkward for ya, huh?”

“A little,” you agree. 

He leans up to kiss you, moving his hand from your stomach to the arm of the chair to brace himself. It’s then, as your own palm settles on the curve of your belly, that you feel it. You gasp against Billy’s lips, and he straightens up at once, his eyes widening.

“What?” he says. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is it the baby?”

You just smile at him, shaking your head. You hold up your free hand, indicating that you need a moment, and Billy sits back on his heels, his forehead still furrowed with concern. “Here,” you breathe, and you take his hand, putting it over the spot where you think you felt something.

“Darlin’, wh—?” His voice falters as he feels the same thing you felt, and his eyes go wide, his face shining like a child on Christmas morning, faced with every gift he could ever want. “Is that…?”

“I think so,” you say, laughing weakly, tears starting in your eyes like a pair of stars winking into life. “I think it is.”

And then it happens again, and you’re certain. 

“Billy, here,” you say, taking his hand and moving it to the new spot. 

It feels like a fish swimming beneath your skin, a fluttering sensation that reminds you of ripples in a pond — and then — 

“Oh!” 

The two of you exclaim at the same time, and under normal circumstances, it would make you laugh. His deeper voice melding with your lighter one is like a kitten and a mountain lion being startled in unison. But all you can think about is the strong, solid jab you both felt — you, against the drum-tight curve of your stomach, and Billy, in his cupped hand, as if he’s catching a firefly. 

“Do it again,” Billy says, wide-eyed, and you almost tell him — gently — that you can’t really control it, when you realize his eyes are trained on your stomach. “Please? Do it again for your papa, please?”

You both sit there for a moment, waiting, and then — 

Another little flutter, like the baby is rolling over inside you, and you guide Billy’s hand over the ballet beneath your skin. There’s another sharp jab to your ribs, right into Billy’s palm. “Oh, my sweet girl,” Billy says softly, and it isn’t until he looks up at you with glittering eyes that you realize he’s talking to you this time. “That’s our baby.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Ours,” you agree. You love the sound of that word. 

“And she listened to me,” Billy says, offering you a cheeky grin. “You think that makes her papa’s girl already?”

“What are you going to do when this baby is born and it’s a boy?” 

Billy smiles. “Then we’ll name him Patrick William, and we’ll try again.” 

You snort, raising an eyebrow. “And how many babies do you think we’re going to have, Mr. Bonney?”

He leans up to kiss you again, brushing his lips, butterfly light, over the curve of your cheek. “As many as you’re willin’ to give me, honey. An’ you know I’ll love every one, whether it’s just this little one, or…”

He cuts his eyes over at you, raising his eyebrows to give you a cue. You laugh and hold up two fingers. “Or two more,” he finishes, and you giggle.

He sits in the rocking chair next to yours, pulling your feet into his lap. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, boy or girl,” he says. “I just want ’em to be happy and healthy. That’s all.”

You lean your head back as his thumbs dig into the arch of your foot. “I know,”  you murmur.

There’s silence for a moment, and you let yourself drift idly, relaxing at the pleasure of his touch, of his words. 

“I was thinkin’, though…”

You crack an eye open. “Hmm?”

“If we have a little girl…my ma would have liked…I mean, she woulda…she really woulda loved…”

His throat works, and you lean forward, taking your feet — with no small measure of reluctance — out of his lap, taking your hands in his instead. “I know,” you say. “Our firstborn daughter was always gonna be Kathleen Bonney, whether it’s this baby or another one.”

He smiles, his eyes bright again. “Thank you, darlin’.” 

You kiss him gently, before pulling back with a grin. “Much better than Gobnait…”

His head tilts back with the force of his laughter, his broad shoulders shaking. “Aw, come on now, you didn’t really give that one a chance…”

“And I won’t,” you say, shaking your head with a giggle. “No matter how many we have.” 

[timethehobo]

Manfred when [fill in your own scenario].

[formulanni]

Parley!

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo

(Please lmk if u don’t want to be tagged in my non f1 art!)

[zehl0w]

Zenitsu agatsuma has got to be the biggest egg I have ever seen in my entire life

[moog-enthusiast]

flower & basil baking with granny

[mothsartart]

happy disability wrath month. this has been sitting in my head for weeks now, and i finally was able to do something with it

[lepeltge]

Hopefully this uploads with good quality bc this was a BEHEMOTH of a piece (mainly bc I made my file size too big lol). Anyways, here’s my rendition of @nnnnnnnothingtoseehere ‘s pirate/mer ateez au!!! I REALLY enjoyed their fic and highly suggest it!!

Admittedly, I got a bit carried away with this and have wayyyy too many pirate pictures saved to Pinterest and my phone, but alas! I will never escape my love for historical clothing (with some anachronisms for aesthetics of course).

I thought way too long about colors and outfits, but it just goes to show you how in depth N’s writing is (thanks for the extra answered questions)! I kept on finding myself having so much fun thinking about the why behind the outfits lol.

Lastly, this is my first fanart in a while, and moreso, my first fanart of Ateez ever!!! I tried to do them justice but if you can’t tell who’s who, well… my bad 😅 Hope y’all enjoy bc I know I sure did!!

[seagull-scribbles]

By unpopular demand, 💕 Val

[satindregs]

Merlin s05e13 spoilers

“But here’s what no one says—when it’s your child, a part of you, a very tiny but nonetheless unignorable part of you, also feels relief. Because finally, the moment you have been expecting, been dreading, been preparing yourself for since the day you became a parent, has come.

Ah, you tell yourself, it’s arrived. Here it is.

And after that, you have nothing to fear again.”

So that quote is from Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life. It’s kinda self-explanatory, but I left out some context soo…

A father is talking abt mourning a kid and when they die you feel some relief bc the day you’ve dreaded since before they were born has finally come and it isn’t gonna happen twice (to the same kid lol.)

Now that we’re all on the same page, I just wanna mention something.

Merthur.

All throughout the show Merlin is told time and time again what he’s destined to do and how they’re counting on him to keep Arthur’s little butt on the throne and bring magic back to the land. Then surprise, surprise, the Once and Future King dies.

And yk obviously Merlin is… distraught. but do yall think j a tiny, tiny part of him just… relaxed?

Ik u have to make some jumps for this hc (?? ig?) to work but this is my post and i’ll do what i want. also ya they’re not father and son so… get to jumping

[periwenkle]

Save me MizuMafu save me

I <3 when pink/purple ships who understand each other’s issues a bit too perfectly share the same motif with different meanings

This was a gift for a friend and I couldn’t be prouder tbh

Process + dresses under the cut

Without effects + lineart only (because I’m rly proud of how it turned out tbh)

Sketch

And the dresses :]

[blue-rhapsody]

Minor spoilers for vol.8 of tgcf

He did not pass his perception check

[archersartcorner]

Just a fuckton variety of Skip n Norm doodles. *points* I like the sluge…

[wrylywriting]

Maude’s Instagram post… I am crying at work.