#ITS HIS MINI VERSION

[bobodemais]

I-I'M GONNA EAT GUN!TUN

He- HE LOOKS SO TASTY... CAN I BITE HIM-

... Well, you can eat him I supose. Just don't get bothered if he look for revenge later.

[fawfulydoo]

dunking on ai by looking at something it made and going "yeah i could do that but better and tangible" and doing so by exhibiting my artist powers. im gonna add flocking to him so he's fuzzy

[dreamersdwell]

More personality swap bc I thinks it's funny and I'm learning how to draw sm

[quirkedupkicks]

good for you, todoroki

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

out of curiosity did the zombeh attack ever happen in this world? if so do any of them remember it or how would they feel about it? if not what would you believe would happen if so?

well...

one of my favorite things about eddsworld is how it uses the classic cartoon trope of everyone dying at the end of an episode and then being totally fine by the next one. fuck continuity!

the zombeh attacks definitely did happen. at some point. in some reality. i guess i would say, Edd, Tom, Matt, and Tord remember what happened in the eddisodes. outside of that...

they're not really sure.

Text:

Tord: Remember that zombie apocalypse?

Tom: No.

Matt: Ugh, don't remind me!

Edd: Oh, that was a BLAST!

Td: How did it... uh... end again?

Tm: Oh I have to be WAY drunker for this

SFX: FWOOM

[ninjautizm]

I was reading the garmadon comic and found this

Do you see it.. do you see what I see.. DO YOU SEE THE RESEMBLANCE..

[miinteaa]

Sskk redraw of a panel from The Disabled Tyrants Beloved Pet Fish

[mechazushi]

Don't ask how my brain came up with this...

Kafka as Spiderman and Hoshina as J. Jonah. Jameson and they're in a secret relationship with Hoshina knowing who Spiderman is. Which leads to a whole different interpretation of menace.

Hoshina: That Kaijuman is a menace!

Kafka(as Kaijuman and outside Hoshina's office window.): You're just mad because I made you cum first last night!

Hoshina: *whips around and tries to launch a coffee mug through the open window at his Kaiju/spider lover* *Kafka catches it and webs it to the high ceiling of his office, just out of reach before he swings away.*

Hoshina: KAIJUMAAAAN!

[sl8bqqa8]

The creature is coming together

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I dunno how long ago it was I was talking about it or if I ever did, but I was just thinking about the way some of the animatronics have unique ways of recharging separate to a recharge station.

Like I've had DJ and Roxy using special lamps for recharging for a while with recharge stations being a big risk to the systems, and this has developed a bit since then. Mostly just the reasoning behind why Roxy has it, and it's being given to a few other animatronics in Plex History stuff too. Then there's Chica with a biofuel stomach that converts all food consumed into a power source, and can be used with a recharge station (thanks @/phroggslayer!!) which is neat, even if I keep forgetting about it. Those were the only unique ones I had (I had something for the Minis but I don't remember it) but I've just had a thought.

Now, I don't have the game so I can't just wander around and have a look, but there's water in Gator Golf, right? What if the water has a current and Monty can charge via a fucking water wheel in his chest? Like a stomach hatch where it pops open while he's floating on his stomach like the gator he is and this wheel drops down so the current can turn it and generate power? Seems really inefficient ngl so maybe multiple wheels or something? I dunno I think that would be kinda cool but also kinda goofy???

An alternative could be that the water is electrified and whenever he goes in it, his body absorbs the power through the water. I feel like that would give him the side effect of slowly power draining some animatronics if he hugs them or something though which honestly could still be pretty fun?

Like, he can lie under the restoring lights with Roxy and DJ and cuddle with them (I'm thinking platonically but it doesn't really matter) to charge himself through them. They get to take an extra long nap because he's draining their power while they're getting it from the lights and they like their naps so they like this arrangement actually.

And then you could have Monty hugging Chica to drain from her while she eats, biofuel speed at maximum and they're testing whether or not Chica can eat faster than he can charge. That could be pretty funny. Some fun emotional stuff to look at too with him being unable to touch his friends without draining their energy, but if it's slow enough then it's probably not too big a deal. Even less of a big deal if he can turn it on and off at will.

The waterwheel thing is just so funny to me though??? It's like those cartoons where the robot opens their chest and there's a little hamster running on a wheel in there to power them lmao

But if he can drain power from electronics then he can grab your phone and drain it dry within a few seconds out of spite and I think he deserves that actually. Of course I'd let him be able to use the recharge station as well, but why would he choose to use that over floating around the Gator Golf water features?

[attila-werther]

spent too long looking at busts from the late republic....the pseudo corbulo cassius one.........if I were a more dedicated student of architecture, I would do another long-ish form comic modeling cassius off of it...........................maybe.....I will combine my version of (inspired by various portrayals) cassius with it........at the very least I'll remember how to draw his hair consistently instead of going 'uhhhhh crassus is fine, actually.'

[tonycries]

Dream A Little Dream - G.S.

Synopsis. For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. fem! reader, established relationship, implied sex, fluff, soft and sleepy Satoru, very slight manga spoilers, just Satoru loving on you and your future together.

Word count. 0.8k

A/N. Probably gonna delete. Art by @_3aem on X.

It’s times like this - when the quiet morning sun is just peeking in through your window, in the still haze of your naked body peacefully intertwined with his that Satoru allows himself to dream.

He dreams of everything - from the strawberry lollipops he snuck into the Gojo Estate as a kid to the time when he forgot Megumi at the mall. 

But mostly, he dreams of you.

Eyes still veiled with sleep, wandering the expanse of your face, a hand tenderly running along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Thumb softly catching on the corner of your mouth, slightly quirked up, he wonders what you’re dreaming of. 

Do you dream of him too?

Because Satoru’s favorite dream will always be the one with you. 

Your laughter in the morning light as he smothers you in kisses, how it rings in his ears and carries through his day. If there’s one thing Satoru knows, it’s that he would burn this entire godforsaken world down to keep it there. Even in the face of violence, his favorite song.

Reaching out to softly kiss your fingers, the hands which hold his heart and his future. 

Unhurriedly, he caresses that empty spot on your ring finger. Soon. 

Little black box burning a hole into that hidden corner of his dresser, Satoru absentmindedly wonders whether you would go for a flowing gown or more of a sleek design? He dreams of the delicate lace under his fingers, the gentle sway of the fabric and the blue bouquet to match his eyes. 

A huff of laughter, followed by a melancholic twinge of his heart, finds its way into the still morning air as he imagines the way Nanamin would have been crying very reluctant tears of joy.

Long fingers deftly run along the expanse of your body, drawing patterns on the marks he’s left to remember him by, resting on your stomach. He dreams of a world where he is there to see you run around with a few white-haired bundles of joy. All of them with your personality of course - he couldn’t handle having to fight with some mini versions of himself over you.

And they may be closed for now, but he dreams of the twinkle in your eyes as they meet his, the promise of a beautiful day ahead. 

He can only pray that they always look at him that way. Even when the shine of your eyes dim with age, the chapters of your story showing on your face. The dream where you two complain about your first gray hairs - him cackling about you finally joining the club. 

It might not seem like it, but in the blood and merciless gore of jujutsu, a part of the strongest always thinks back to the heaven he’s found in you. 

The heaven where you both cry over your kids leaving the nest, and later he’d fervently deny his teary eyes - secretly wiping the tears off his glasses. 

Where you spend quiet evenings on the porch, wrapped in blankets and reminiscing about the adventures of your youth. Did he ever tell you that story where he lost the tickets to a movie and had to sneak into the theater with Shoko and Suguru? Boy, did he get an earful from Yaga that day.

The dream where he’s surrounded by you and all your warmth. In the cold pain that comes with being the strongest, he can only hope that a day will come where his strength - rather than being used to kill - holds your future with ready arms. 

Ripping his eyes off of your face, they wander the room bathed in the soft morning glow. Mapping the empty spaces which you two would fill with pictures. The walls which would echo with laughter and whisper tales of serenity.

First days at school, graduations, all the friends and foes lost along the years - and one big picture of you in that beautiful white dress, right in the middle. All beauty and grace. His beautiful bride. A dream where his last name is a melody not a death sentence.

He dreams he’s there to fetch your walking cane to stroll through your little garden with a cup of his famous morning tea. He’d hold your hand as he always does, both trembling and frail with age. He dreams he would kiss the beautiful wrinkles on the corners of your eyes, only for you to push him away bashfully complaining about the grandkids seeing.

Blue eyes faded and the joy of the years showing on his face, not as strong or as vibrant as he once was, limitless nothing more but a trick to make his grandkids smile. Not a weapon, but just your Satoru. He hopes you’ll still be there to love him.

And he dreams he’s there.

He wants to be there. 

“Satoru?”

Satoru’s heart lurches as those beautiful eyes crack open, still foggy with sleep. A glimpse of that smile he found heaven in, and you pull him closer. Understanding. Skin heated against his, no one but you two in this quiet world.

All is well in your little heaven.

Today, the strongest will face Ryomen Sukuna, the fate of the world burdened upon his shoulders. But for now, Satoru is held fragilely in your arms.

For now, he is yours. 

He only dreams he can be forevermore. 

A/N. Tony writing something that isn’t smut??? The world is coming to an end.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[pedge-page]

I hope this makes sense but I’d love a cute and sexy little moment where Mama does the “mom chop” after having Sarah and Ellie bc the babies are always pulling on her long hair when she hold them and she doesn’t want to worry about all the time she spends to style it. Joel sees her and think she looks so sexy with her hair short (like a short bob cut) and he’s begging to get her pregnant again lol

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Making a Mom out of You

warnings: more detailed descriptions of hair, unprotected sex, breeding kink, doggy, feral Joel, not really a Mommy kink but really into Mommyfication kink? , descriptions of post-pregnant body

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It’s not her fault at all. She’s just a baby. Sarah was no different. Those chumba little fists were strong as hell.

But you were ready to cuff those hands behind their back if Ellie yanked on your ends one more fucking time.

As if on cue, she looks you dead in the eyes. Held hostage by one of her bitty hands curled up in a ball is your long hair. You balance her sippy cup in your other arm, unable to defend. 

You could see it in her eyes. The way she’s telling you that she saw how you ate Daddy’s last cookie, and blamed it on Sarah. And now she’s about to exact her vengeance upon you…

A tense moment passes between momma and baby. And then—

“OW!!” You screech.

From the stairwell echoes a booming thumpthumpthumpthum—BANG, and Joel, limping with impressive speed while rubbing his shin, appears with concern.

“What happened??”

You wrap your fingers gently but firmly around your 1 year old’s hand, trying your best to detangle her fat claws from your strands. “I’m done. IM DONE!”

Joel helps by offering his arms out to Ellie, which she immediately bounced right out of your embrace and into Joel’s.

“Done… with…?” He almost worriedly looks to his little innocent baby girl, surely not suggesting that you were disowning her now?

“I just—I need a hair cut. This isn’t working anymore—“

“Your hair is beautiful—“

“I know it is!” You huff. “But it’s just not easy with the girls.” Between Sarah now wanting to paint your hair with marker and Ellie determined to get you a freeway pass to early balding, having each to access long hair was no longer ideal. “Can I just—I’m gonna run for a walk-in appointment and I’ll be back in less than an hour—“

Joel soothes your worry with a warm kiss to your forehead. “You take as much time as you need. Get one of these head scalp rub things. And the—the conditioner—treatment—soft rubbing—you know the one.”

You smile as he holds and bounces with Ellie. Pecking him on the lips a few times, he sends you off your way in the car.

As you back away, Joel carries Ellie back inside. “Mama just gonna get a little refreshing’ cut. She’s be lookin’ just the same, just our same pretty lady.”

Except you didn’t come back lookin’ quite the same pretty lady.

Joel is mid changing Ellie’s diaper on the floor when you come in and drop your keys on the counter.

“How’d it go—“

He pauses when he finally looks up, and the content expression from his face vanishes:

Who let this hot fucking milf in his house??

“S’okay,” you mumble, still running your fingers through the voluminous and now much shorter strands. They practically bounce back with an effortless glow. 

Your once glowing, youthful hair was now cut back in, daresay, an even sexier, mature look? How is that possible?

You were still you… beautiful woman and all just as he’s always seen…but suddenly he was staring at a different version of you now. You were a hot sexy girlfriend turned wifey he would fuck in the backseat- of his car like a whore, turned into to the hot sexy wifey turned MOM who he’ll be fucking in the backseat of a mini van before pickup from soccer practice like the neighborhood affair.

Its just as good… but so new… he doesn’t know how to contain himself.

You shake your head, the hair bouncing with each little jolt and then quickly back into place. “I didn’t like the mousse they put in so I’m gonna rinse it out and take a shower. Be out in a few minutes, ok?”

Joel is still drooling into Ellie’s belly button. He barely registered you had spoken to him, let alone where you were suddenly disappearing off to.

He wipes his mouth hastily and scoops Ellie up like a football. Running to Sarah’s room, he grabs her as well, iPad still clutched in her hands without a care in the world of being held on her side.

Car.

Seats.

Buckled.

Door.

Ignition.

Vroom.

The door to Tommy’s newly moved in house gets kicked in, making the younger brother yelp like a bitch. Just As qucking, in comes Joel with two squirming kids in either arm, his biceps flexing like he was carrying logs from a hot day of chopping wood. He tosses the girls on the couch next to him, their squealing laughs ringing deaf on their dad’s ears.

“Joel-what the—“

But he doesn’t look at him as he’s already storming his way out with heavy thuds of his boots. “Watch ‘em — 1 hour—“

He slams the door shut.

Tommy blinks, then checks out the two kiddos next to him, smiling, like they were about to make this the most painful hour of his life…

Joel is speeding back down the street, barely coming to a stop at the intersections. His fists white knuckling the steering wheel, he’s never gritted his teeth so hard in his goddamn life.

When he gets home, you’re just stepped out of the shower: skin still warm and moist, barefoot with your smooth legs paddling around the carpet. You’re sporting one of his large T shirts while rubbing your now half damp hair with a towel, your head tilted to the side to get the water out.

“I was thinking for dinner, I could make us some pasta —“

You hadn’t noticed he had left, that the girls weren’t home, let alone the way he’s barreling to you like an avalanche about to consume your valley whole.

He quickly wraps himself around you, his arms under your butt and lifts you into the air like nothing. “J-Joel!”

With your legs now firmly wrapped around his middle, he carries you off to the bed, and falling forward with you caged underneath him. His strong, burly body suffocates you. Dominant hands gliding over your thighs and up your shirt, revealing your nakedness before him. His touch is insatiable, rolling his jean clad bulge into your core. Before you can protest, his tongue slips into your open mouth, and he kisses you with such fervor, you nearly pass out with the combined heat of the shower still radiating your senses.

“W-wh-w-mmf!” He seals your lips again with an even hungrier kiss. Between his fingers tweaking your nipples with his massive paw groping your tit, to his knee nudging your legs even further apart, elbow hooking underneath to get your ankle snugly latched over his back. He doesn’t relent, tongue chasing yours with he snarls through his nose just to breathe without separating from you. It’s suffocating in the best way possible. 

Finally you curl your fingers in his hair and tug, earning a low growl from the beast above you. 

“WHAT is going on Joel Mill—“

“You look so fuckin’ good, Momma,” he rumbles from deep within his core. You get a good look at him now above you: pupils dilated like a fuckin’ demon, his back and shoulders expanded with his breath, his tongue caught between his teeth as he licks his lips scanning over you. “I ever tell you that, Momma?”

“I—I mean—yeah—you—you usually say I’m pretty—“ you bat quietly, unsure where this extra level of attention is coming from—

He cuts you off as he rolls your shirt completely over your tits. Looking at you now, he falls even closer, both forearms laying flat on either side of your head. “No,” he breathes into your lips, nose grazing yours. his digits filter over your new hair, barely straightening before loosing the strands completely after a moment. “I ain’t tell ya just how good you look, like a momma.”

His gaze roams over your whole body, spread out on display for him: squeezing your plush hips, all widen beyond your youth, up to your soft belly, who’s miraculously carried not one but two babies already, and lookin’ like she could use a third; kneading your tits—your now twice-breast-fed tits, which are even softer and supplier in his thick palms. Jesus. He really did alter your body completely into a mom’s didn’t he?”

“You’re such a hot fuckin’ mom, baby.”

You’re not tracking it. “I—I’ve been a momma…for like…a few years now, Joel. Baby are you okay?”

“I’m so fuckin’ good,” he cackles, grinding his body deeper into you. “SO fuckin’ good.” He can’t stop looking at you like you’re his first and last meal, and like its the first time he’s having you like this all over again.

You can tell he means it.

“I—“

He buries his head into your neck and starts rolling his bulge into your heat.

You gasp.

“What if I made ya a momma again? You want that? FUck look at what ya do to me.” Another punctured rut of his throbbing cock desperate to break through his jeans and wedge itself inside you elicits a moan.

“Is it…is it my hair?” Ask you curiously.

He lets out an even more desperate growl, humping you like a dog while his fingers tangle in your strands.

It’s the hair, you nod with a self satisfied grin, wrapping your hands tightly around his broad shoulders. 

“Do ya see yourself, momma? Do you see how fuckin’ breedable ya are—how breedable I made you? You always been but… fuck…you’re like… like a fucking MOMMY now baby look at you. All of ya, my fuckin girl, a momma now, no hiding it no more…fuck…fuck…fuck” he hums into your temple.

“You did that to me yourself,” you whisper, clasping his face in your hands.

He groans louder, rutting his hips deeper into you. “I wanna do it again. Ain’t gonna let ya leave this bed till ya bloated with another one.” He pets over your stomach. “You remember that? All pregnant n’ full of me. Bet ya body remembers it. How bout we dump the birth control again huh?”

Your mad man is talking again.

“Joel…” you whine. He’s getting to you though, with the incessant hands roaming all over your body, his lips attached to your neck and hips thrusting against your mound, your body is begging to let the man have his way today.

“Where are the gi—“

“With Tommy.” He shushes your worry, almost drunkenly with heavy lids. “Gimme 40 minutes, momma, just you n’ me. How about it, Momma?”

-

You should have said no. But god damnit, Joel Miller know’s how to make good on those 40 minutes and show his wife a good time.

You’ll have to send Tommy a nice gift card for his trouble. Maybe a vacation package for him and Maria. Right now, you’re too focused on the way Joel’s cock is carving a whole new home inside your cunt as he rails you from behind.

And he’s fucking—hard.

“You like that, baby? You n’ me fuckin’ in the car—gettin that stupid mini van ya want— before those parent teacher conferences or behind the bleachers —oh fuck baby squeezing’ me just like that—like a whore mom who can’t keep that pussy at bay—and—”

He’s just been babbling, images flooding your mind of all the naughty things he wants to do to you, with more energy than you can even calculate he has stored right now.

And you? You’re teetering between insanity and falling unconscious from the heaping amounts of pleasure he’s forcing into you. Your one arm is extended to its furthest reach, fingers just barely grazing the headboard for stability. Joel’s steel grip digs into your waist  with each clash of his thighs against your ass. His other hand is scrunched into the roots of your hair, holding you in place with a gently yet arousing grasp. The satisfying slick slap of his balls kissing your clit make your nerves curl deliciously.

He hisses through his teeth with each forceful puncture.

You might actually pass out from sex.

“J-J—Joel-oel-oh-oh-oelll—“

He pulls you up until your back is flush against sweaty chest, nowhere for him to go but deeper. “Yeah Momma, you feel it yet?” He brushes over your stomach, down to your naval and below, pads of his thumb rubbing tight circles into your clit. His other fingers grave on other side of your folds, and he can feel just how much pressure changes each time his girth slots back into your tight heat. “Shit—shit—you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous…” he squeezes his eyes shut, concentrating and just feeling you. All of you.

You nod helplessly, surrendered entirely to his control.

Your eyes fall to the side to meet his wild, desperate ones staring back at. “Amazin’,” he rasps before planting a hot hiss on your pulse.

The point of his nose grazes along your vein in your neck, his lips sucking sickies into your skin. His breaths are fast and harsh, tickling your ear. 

You close your eyes, letting yourself fall into him.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His eyes flutter open, the hand tangled in your hair now squeezing tighter as he forces your lips to his once again in a passionate clash. He won’t let you breathe, but won’t let you fall either. 

His stomach presses perfectly above your ass. Bodies strained in a thin layer of sweat, and muscles aching in all the right places, Joel holds you captive against him. He hasn’t stopped paying attention to your sensitive zones. Between flicking your clit and tweaking your nipples, he’s made excellent work of keeping you on a dizzying edge of pleasure without pushing you over.  

“Auughhh!” He yelps, falling forward onto you. Your hand can’t hand the surge, and you’re falling face first into the pillowy mess below. His forehead sticks to the nape of your neck, kissing it, while his thrusts increase in shallow, harsh punches, completely battering your walls.

You can’t even form coherent words. Just eyeballs rolled back, and hums of ecstasy as you bite into the pillowcase.

“You’re gonna cum for me, Momma, yeah? You’re gonna cum, and I’m gonna—fuck—fuck!—cum inside you, and we’ll make a little baby in there, an’ you’re just gonna be a momma forever okay? You n me, babies every year—“

If you had half a braincell left that hadn’t been Molded into Joel Miller shaped penises, you would remind him no, you two were done. 

But right now all you can do is nod for him. He’s so close, recklessly humping and slapping into your ass without thought. Your clit is smashed against the bunched up comforter, dragging deliciously, but oh no, Joel won’t let something else get you off this time.

He forces his hand beneath your body, palm splayed across your lower stomach and pushing inward. At the same time, his pointer and middle finger twiddle with your swollen clit, all sticky and warm under the mass of him.

Your voice is hoarse, cracking as you let out a cry. He can feel your cunt pulse before absolutely clamping down on him like a vice, and cumming harder than you had in years. 

And Joel Miller always makes you cum during sex. But this? 

You shouted. shook and cried, sang like a mantra of moans just never ending as the white hot pleasure courses through you, filling your every senses and exploding them until you’re nothing but an empty shell, incapable of processing anything else but ecstasy.

‘That’s it that it momma holy fuck—you cum s’goodformeyesyesyes—ahh fuck I can’t—I can’t—I’m gonNA—!”

He bares down with all his strength. A tense moment of his held breath passes before he’s erupting in a chorus of groans and growls. Your body jolts with each spurt of his seed finding its way deep inside your womb. He’s laid completely boneless atop you, heavy and breathing in your skin like it’s his lifeline.

When the final pulses from both of you have subsided, you lay still, sweaty and collapsed. 

His soft kisses find their way to your neck again, like he’s trying to rouse both of you to stay awake but stay still, exactly as you are.

It’s been on both your minds: you hadn’t fucked like that in years.

Sure, you and Joel had a very active, amazing sex life. Always had. But you realized a lot of the desperate, harsh, steamy, raw sex had been disbanded when the girls came along in favor of naps, lazy oral, slow grinding, and quickies. When was the last time you both acted like savage animals on one another and let it play out like this?

He thinks about how much he’s missed out on you. How much the two of you had let being parents dictate your schedules. How little he’s opened his eyes to seeing this new woman right before him, the woman who not just the mother of his kids but has actually become a mom, and how he’s cursing himself for not having taken ever advantage to show you just how hot you are every day by being like this , and —

“Joel,” you whisper beneath him.

He shakes his head and lets up. You roll over to your back, with Joel settling right above you again.

As if you could read his mind, you cradle him with a smile. “Joel, look at me.” 

He obliges, and your sink a little more in love with him when the soft, vulnerable, (slightly more sane) brown baby eyes find you again. 

“I feel so loved from you. Every day. I feel sexy because of you. Its never faltered. You make me feel like a woman, a mom, a wife, a partner. A hot sex kitten and a sexy forbidden affair. I could not have asked for a better man oogling me up every day like a slab of butter on popcorn--“

“Why, you craven’ popcorn?” His ears perk up. “Is that a baby—“

“There’s no baby, cowboy.”

He chuckles. Bringing your palm to his lips, he sucks a sweet kiss into your skin. “I know. I’m happy with us. Just love seein’ you a mom is all.”

“I’ve been a mom for like, 5 years now!”

his eyes wander off course slightly. He fiddles with your hair, a little grin tugging the corner of his lips. Irises practically heart shaped, like a toddler who got distracted by pretty lights as he fits his fingers in your new mom-cut.

“Joel.”

“Huh?”

You laugh, slapping his shoulder before bringing his face back down for a legnthy kiss.

Tommy won't mind watching the girls for the whole night…right?

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @jeewrites

[lostrologyy]

okay so this may be a hell of a concept for my first post but I rewatched The Boy yesterday and just IMAGINE

being hired to babysit brahms!simon riley

you see the ad on the town's newspaper: couple looking for a full time babysitter, at a first glance it seemed a bit unconventional and too good to be true, apparently the job required for you to move to their explendid mansion —which is casually really hard to find, like you had to drive a couple hours into the woods and pray not to get lost the first time you went to visit them— for who knows how long.

during the interview the marriage seemed really lovely and treated you well. the wife only talked wonders about her son, emphasizing in how sweet and well behaved he's always been, making it almost impossible for you to reject the offer —and obviously it has nothing to do with the fact that you need some easy cash—

but just after you sign the contract they insist on talking to you about something they forgot about, some regulations you must follow when you're alone with their child, especially because they are going on a trip soon and won't be there to help you.

woah, they must be really strict with the poor kid, you think after reading the step-by-step list describing Brahms' daily routine.

imagine your surprise when instead of meeting a little eight year old boy you're introduced to some creepy ass doll, with its shiny eyes and pale ceramic skin, dressed in an expensive looking mini suit. yeah, not scary at all.

brahms!simon who inmediately becomes obsessed with you the moment you step into his house, his stare following every of your movements while his mommy introduces you to the mini version of him, your face doesn't show disgust like many others ladies that applied to the job before, at least not from the crack of the wall from where he's watching, and in that moment he swears you're gonna be his—forever.

brahms!simon whose head is over the moon after he finds his parents' letter where they explicitely present you as a goodbye gift to him, they aren't coming back but he doesn't give a shit, not now that he has you.

he starts showing small signs, like baby steps— the sound of footsteps from another room, things that aren't where you left them before, you swear this part of your hair was longer and, the doll isn't moving by itself, or it is?

after some time, you get to the conclusion that whatever is going on, it doesn't wanna hurt you, it seems to care about you, actually.

maybe it's a ghost or the doll is posessed—you've thought of every posibility, you really don't care anymore.

the marriage never came back, which only led to more questions, why did they hire you? to take care of a toy and live in this gorgeous house as if it was your own? what stops you from moving in permanently? and most important, if there isn't anyone alive to take care of, why do the paychecks keep appearing on you bank account?

lostrologyy © 2025

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James’s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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[leefail]

This is just a mini info dump from an Arab batfamily fan because I find Damian calling his siblings Akhi... adorable (for me as a native speaker watching a writer use Arab words) and, not painful, just... itchy, it URGES me to make a pptx with 300 slides and just? Talk about Arabic?

So... أخي, Akhi, Brother.

It's not incorrect. The word is used in the right place and delivers its intended meaning. Other Arab speakers might not find a problem with it. They'd feel odd like I did but will likely go "eh" and carry on. But I'm an Arabic enthusiast, so...

Like with every language with geographically widespread users, the Arabic tongue kind of- deviated from its roots. The language has naturally branched out into so many dialects I myself can't keep track of.

Arabs from different regions can understand each other. They use the same words but for different purposes and with different pronunciations.

The original root language that holds them all (Quranic Arabic) was simplified into an easier, standard version that is used for formal speeches and as a communication bridge (seeing that you can't, say, translate something to Arabic and say it's for all Arabs if you use a certain dialect. Because an Arabic dialect is an identity at this point, tell me somebody is Syrian, and I know them already)

Now, with the fun part.

See, no Arab calls any sibling of theirs Akhi, I myself would burst laughing if mine did.

Yakhoi يَخوي (nonstandard, everyday Arabic for o, brother) , maybe, if I'm calling a stranger from the streets or an offender I'm going to give a piece of my mind.

Or, hold your breaths, my brother is crying, and the lights are out and I NEED to use the tenderest, most loving, most adoring, most revering tone I could muster so he just knows he is loved and family. Y'know? This specific situation.

And other Arabs might just say, no, I use it when, I use it when, I don't use it, etc.

The point is, nobody will mention Akhi. Because it's a Standard Arabic word, a formal word, and a word used in translated texts and stories when a foreign character we don't consider part of us call their brother. It's weird, it's devoid of emotions, and it's like watching a robot trying to be emotional, but it's a translated text. That's what translated texts use, and it's fine.

It is fine, Standard Arabic has been used for stories so much that nobody questions its influence on a character's characterisation.

I'm not saying Standard Arabic shouldn't be used for story writing, quite the opposite, in fact. I'm just saying that if Arabic is used to represent an Arab, its usage should also consider an everyday Arab experience and manners.

Now to Damian.

Akhi is robotic. Damian's personality does allow him to fall under that category. If for his well refined manners and polite, formal speech.

But even the King wouldn't call his brother Akhi.

He'd call him by his name. For my community (and most, I'm sure) siblings are called by their names, and if we look up historic Quranic (Root) Arabic speakers, they, too, call their siblings by their name. Yes, even the Sultan.

If not by actual name, then either endearing or demeaning names.

Arabs LOVE endearing names, but they're dipped in a pool of honey I don't think Damian would like to dive in.

Talia, on the other hand, would most certainly call Damian Mama. Arab parents call their kids by their own titles. It's the ultimate expression of parental love of all times, in my opinion.

(Don't make Batman call him Papa, though. Pretty sure Damian would malfunction)

-

Well, I said all that, but watching writers include Arabic words in his vocabulary is still sweet. Tt is not even a word, but it's such an Arab thing it's my favourite.

If only I could make subtitles of everyday Arab talk and show you, their speech is heavy with, excuse my English, word softeners, it's like they're talking in a TV drama and not the real world.

Watching Damian adopting it would be interesting :D