#health things are mostly under control :)

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

When I was hired I was told I'd probably be a night manager but next week I'm exclusively starting at 5 or 6am. She's actually pushed my schedule earlier and earlier. Which is fine.

[vintageandroid]

Horror movie for social anxiety sufferers called Unexpected Interaction. The poster tagline is like "There's a knock at your door...and it's Some Guy."

[dogbunni]

also I am tentatively beginning to feel more alive. I took a walk earlier and sat in the park for an hour and worked on CTTD. I think I have enough for a decent chapter so I might make an iced coffee and try to type it up and do some edits. idk it feels good to have the bandwidth to write again. I've been all but dead for over a month now

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative��� going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[caramel-maive-chiato]

Stuck with you pt. 2 - Viktor ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

✦ summary: You two are figuring out this whole unexpected pregnancy thing (mostly by arguing). It’s late, raining outside, and you’re both still at the lab, too stubborn to go home, somehow, he’s actually not being an asshole.

Requests open! recommendations and prompts list

masterlist | Part 1

✦ genre: drama/hurt-comfort

✦ pairing: fem!reader (afab)

✦ warnings: mild cursing, Viktor being kind of an asshole to you (a bit softer now)

✦ author`s note: godddd I'm so nervousss, I rewriten this like 3 times, I was scared this part couldn’t reach the same hype part 1 did :(, so I really hope you enjoy it! (no proofread btw)

Some weeks had gone by, now you were three months pregnant, your bump started to be more noticeable even when you tried to cover it up with your clothes.

You and Viktor fell into a steady rhythm of serious conversations about paternity and then came back to insulting each other like any other Friday afternoon.

Though his concern for your health started deepening, the worst part wasn’t that you were pregnant.

It wasn’t even that it was Viktor’s. No, the worst part was that Viktor was being Viktor about the whole thing.

Annoying. Sharp-tongued. Infuriatingly composed. And somehow, somehow, still the most brilliant person you’d ever met, which only made it worse.

Life had settled into a bizarre phase at the lab. No screaming, no dramatic arguments. Instead, it was small things;

Viktor shoving a glass of water at you in the middle of a long work session, making sure you didn’t forget to eat, tossing out a casual, accented: "perhaps you should sit down"

'don’t dive your head into a fantasy that does not exist'

That was the mantra you kept repeating to yourself whenever that warm feeling started to swell in your chest, whenever he wasn't being an asshole. As if his bare minimum of decent behavior was enough to set off a whole internal war within you.

But he was still him. Still determined to get under your skin.

Which was probably why, after days of suspiciously thoughtful behavior, you weren’t at all surprised when he ruined it. One rainy, stormy afternoon;

“Your calculations are wrong” he said, not even looking up from his notes.

You glanced up from the blueprints you were working on, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”

“Your stabilizer formula for the gem holder. It is incorrect, very incorrect actually." Viktor tapped a page in front of him, his usual smirk edging into something even more insufferable.

“Oh, please. I’ve been refining this formula for months. There is nothing wrong with it.”

You saw a flash of light before a raging thunder made the windows tremble. His eyes flicked up, sharp and amused.

“Then you will not mind if I...” He took your notebook from the table before you could stop him, scanning the equations.

Your blood pressure spiked. “Viktor—”

“Ah, here it is.” He tapped a line of calculations with his pen. “a rounding error, pretty basic mistake for the mastermind you pretend to be.”

“It’s fine” You grabbed the notebook back before he could say another word.

“Hmm.” He leaned back. “It is unlike you to make such mistakes. Distracted, aren't you?”

“Maybe I am, in fact, distracted. I wonder why” You huffed, rolling your eyes.

His gaze flickered to your stomach—just briefly, just enough for your heart to do something stupid in your chest—before he looked back at your face, unimpressed.

“Do not blame me for your inability to multitask.”

You wanted to throw something at him. Instead, you exhaled through your nose, willing patience into your voice. “You are so lucky that I am too tired to fight you today.”

“Lucky,” he repeated dryly. “yes, that is exactly how I would describe this situation.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “You are so infuriating—”

“and you are exhausting”

“You don’t listen to anything”

“You always have to control everything”

“I am very frustrating, after all, you have said it many times actually" he hummed, shifting his weight onto his cane.

“because you clearly are" you muttered.

"And yet, I am offering you emotional support," Viktor continued, his tone light, almost playful."a noble man, truly a gentleman."

"Such a noble man, nothing screams chivalry like making fun of a poor single mother."

The words hit like punches in a boxing match, neither of you willing to back down.

Then it came out of your mouth before you could stop it—

“no matter how much you hate me, we still have to raise a child together.”

Silence.

Viktor’s expression flickered, just for a second. He exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“…I don’t hate you.”

His voice was softer than you expected.

Your anger didn’t vanish completely, but it dulled around the edges.

His tall -cane suported- figure getting outlined by the lightings that cracked behind him made your body tingle in waves, as if the thunder had strucked you.

You frowned, arms still crossed.

“you sure act like it sometimes.”

Silence.

The next time you saw Viktor around the lab, it was late, far past when either of you should have still been in there.

You were sitting at your desk, staring down a half-eaten sandwich with the kind of exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too many unspoken thoughts.

If Jayce wasn’t a complete mess at doing his annotations, you would probably be sleeping at your cozy, warm house.

Away from your emotionally supportive co-parenting bastard.

The only sound was the scratch of chalk against the board, the occasional tap of his cane against the floor, and the rain outside.

Until, of course, he broke the silence.

“You are eating that as if it’s your last meal on death row, it’s pathetic.”

“I am tired.” you sighed, setting it down, your hand sliding down your face.

“Well, you are here, but you could be cozy at home already." Viktor hummed, flipping a page in his notes.

“So are you.”

He smirked, not denying it. “I have an excuse. This is my life, I do what I want, and what I want is to work.”

For all his stubbornness, all his arrogance, you knew he was carrying this research like a burden. That he had convinced himself he had to solve it, no matter the cost.

"Well, let me tell you something that might surprise you, I work here too," you said, tapping the desk. “Monday to Saturday from 8 to 8."

“So do I" Viktor tilted his head, studying you. “But you never stay this late.”

“Yeah, well. Things change.” You hesitated, fingers tightening around your pen.

There was a long silence. A pause, like he wasn’t sure whether to step past whatever invisible line had been drawn between you since this whole mess started.

Then, quietly, “Are you feeling unwell?"

You blinked. The question was so… simple. Not teasing, not smug. Just genuine worry.

“…I’m fine” you said, but even you didn’t believe it.

Viktor didn’t continue further, just nodded. But something in his expression softened just a fraction, just enough to make your chest tighten.

A few more minutes passed in silence before you let out a breath.

“You know,” you said, your voice quieter, “I still haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to tell everyone.”

"Perhaps not like you told me, you almost gave me a heart attack"

There was a pause, a beat where neither of you spoke. Your voice was softer when you continued.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” Your fingers traced patterns on the desk. “I thought I was going to be a sad single mom"

“You thought I would leave?” Viktor’s smirk faded. His fingers stilled as he fidgeted with a loose screw, and his gaze flickered toward you.

You swallowed.

“I didn’t know.”

His brow furrowed. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“No!” you said quickly, then sighed. “I just… I didn’t want to assume you’d want this.”

You motioned vaguely, meaning the baby, the responsibility, the entire future that came with it.

Viktor studied you for a long moment. His voice was softer when he finally spoke.

"I was an ass," he admitted. "Stomping over you, claiming your research. I shouldn’t have done that."

His hand rested on your shoulder—not pressing, just there, warm through the fabric of your shirt.

His thumb idly brushed against your spine as he moved it down, waiting, patient. Giving you flashbacks you didn’t want to have right now.

"Wow, you are the most morally intelligent person I have ever met, Vik" you said with the most mock-serious tone you could produce.

"I think it is way too late for an apology, sorry buddy.” you continued

"I hand you the best material to argue with me like old times, and you just bitch me around?” he said, eyebrow raised

“You want my attention so bad?"

You didn’t know who moved first, if it was you or him. But the space between you vanished, and then—

Then you kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t some heated, reckless moment.

It was slow. Gentle. Like neither of you wanted to admit how long you had been waiting for it.

Viktor exhaled softly against your lips, like he had finally given up trying to fight something inevitable. Rain drops tickling the windows still.

When you finally pulled away, you were still close enough to feel the warmth of him.

“Hmm.” he tilted his head slightly.

“What?” you frowned.

“That was… unexpectedly pleasant.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“Shut up.”

His smirk was small, shy even.

“Make me.”

You kissed him again.

Just once. Just because you could. And somehow, that was the most dangerous part of all.

Requests are open, here is my request and recommendations list!

thank you for commenting on part one my loves! @ocean-mochi @21-princess @biscuitsaredelish @spongelll @zanate-in-the-stars @rainyforest777 @iviorienne @demigoddesofchimichangagod @my-horniness-is-okay

[doumadono]

A toast to the past - Dabi x Reader

Warnings: a lot of sadness, grieving

Synopsis: some bonds and moments never truly die, no matter how much time passes. This is what you've learned not only from the League of Villains, but mostly from Dabi himself

A/N: as we say goodbye to 2024, I want to take a moment to wish you all a very Happy New Year, filled with good health and an abundance of positive energy. A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to visit my blog, read my stories, or offer the support - your kindness means the world to me. I’m looking forward to welcoming the new year and sharing even more with all of you. Here's to more adventures together in 2025!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The icy wind gnawed at the edges of the dilapidated bar, rattling loose boards and curling under the gap at the door. The League of Villains’ ramshackle hideout wasn’t exactly the place one might expect to find themselves celebrating. It wasn’t often the League found a reason to celebrate, but tonight was an exception. New Year’s Eve was as good a reason as any to drag out the stolen liquor, laugh a little too loudly, and forget - if only for a few hours - about the vain world of heroes that loomed outside.

Yet, the hideout was alive with chaos. 

Spinner had begrudgingly joined Twice and Toga in their frantic attempts to decorate, though the results were predictably awful - streamers dangled half-heartedly from the ceiling, and a mismatched assortment of paper lanterns cast flickering light across the room.

Mr. Compress sipped his drink, attempting to draw Giran into the conversation.

Shigaraki, for once, seemed to tolerate the festive atmosphere, though he sat hunched in his chair, lazily swirling a glass of a cheap champagne, scratching idly at his neck and glaring at anyone who came too close, his Switch laying on his lap.

Kurogiri had been busy behind the scenes, thoughtfully preparing colorful drinks for everyone. He made sure to mix several non-alcoholic ones, particularly for Toga, knowing she would enjoy them without the risk of getting drunk.  He'd always kept an eye on her, knowing well that she could easily lose control if left unchecked, just like Tomura. At the same time, he carefully prepared extra shots for Shigaraki, who had openly mentioned earlier that he wanted to get wasted to dull the unbearable itching sensation crawling beneath his skin. Kurogiri had always been attentive, and tonight, he was doing what he could to ease the discomfort of his comrades, in his own quiet, efficient way.

And then there was Dabi.

The black-haired man, as usual, lingered on the outskirts of the noise, a silent observer. He stood by the window, cigarette in hand, eyes half-lidded as the faint orange glow reflected off the sharp planes of his face. The scarred corners of his lips twitched occasionally as he watched the others, though whether in amusement or annoyance, it was hard to tell.

It was a strange thing, this party. A group like yours wasn’t exactly built for celebrations. You were all too fractured, too worn by the world to embrace something as frivolous as joy. And yet, here you all were, crammed into this shabby room with mismatched streamers hanging crookedly from the ceiling.

"Five minutes to midnight!" Toga announced, clapping her hands together with a giddy grin. She darted to Twice, who was balancing a precarious tower of plastic cups, and immediately knocked it over in her excitement.

"You little menace!" Twice cried, his tone swinging wildly between indignant and adoring.

It was impossible not to laugh. Even Shigaraki's lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk before he buried his face back in his hands.

You glanced at Dabi, who hadn't moved from his spot by the window. Smoke curled lazily around his head, his expression unreadable. Something about his stillness drew you in like gravity, and before you realized it, you were walking toward him.

"You're missing the party," you teased, stopping just short of leaning against the same wall.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking to you. "Looks like I'm not the only one."

"Fair," you admitted with a small smile. “But you’re really going to sulk through New Year’s?” You leaned your hip against the wall, tilting your head as you studied him.

“Sulking implies I care,” Dabi shot back, but the retort lacked its usual venom.

The countdown began, Toga’s voice leading the charge. “Ten! Nine!”

As the countdown began, the League’s mismatched voices filled the air, a cacophony of excitement and half-hearted participation.

Dabi didn’t move. He didn’t turn to the others, didn’t even glance at the clock. His gaze remained on you, sharp and heavy.

“Eight! Seven!”

“You’re staring,” you said softly, though your tone lacked any real accusation.

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk. “So are you.”

“Six! Five!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he took a step closer. He stopped just a breath away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him despite the chill that crept through the cracks in the walls. His hand came up to cup your cheek, rough fingers brushing against your skin with a surprising gentleness that made your breath hitch.

“Four! Three!”

The noise around you faded into nothing, the room dissolving into a blur as his thumb traced along your lower lip.

“Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The room erupted into cheers, Toga’s high-pitched squeal cutting through the din as the others toasted and clapped, but none of it reached you. 

Dabi leaned in, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative - he wasn’t the kind of man for that. Dabi’s lips were firm, his touch possessive, the kiss rough and consuming. The heat of him, the faint taste of smoke on his lips, made your knees weak, and you clung to him as though letting go wasn’t an option.

The world seemed to pause, time itself holding its breath as the moment stretched. 

Dabi pulled back, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. His breath ghosted over your lips as he muttered, “Happy New Year, doll.”

Before you could respond, Toga’s delighted giggles shattered the moment. “Dabi kissed Y/N! I knew he would!” she crowed, clapping her hands in glee.

Twice let out a loud, exaggerated whistle. “Didn’t see that coming. Well, maybe I did. No, I definitely didn’t!”

Even Shigaraki seemed momentarily stunned, though he quickly muttered something about idiots and looked away.

Spinner groaned, muttering something about how he couldn’t believe he was spending his New Year with these people.

Compress raised a toast to the unexpected romance, and Twice fumbled with the camera app on his phone to snap a blurry picture. 

But none of it mattered. 

All that existed in that moment was the way Dabi looked at you as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

“Alright, show’s over,” the black-haired man groaned, shooting a pointed glare at Toga before grabbing your wrist and tugging you toward the door, leading you straight to his bedroom.

The night passed in a blur of heated whispers and shared warmth, his body a steady presence against yours as you made love for hours. The two of you stayed wrapped around each other long after the world outside went quiet. Dabi’s arm draped over your waist, his breath steady and warm against your shoulder. Neither of you spoke, content to exist in the stillness, in the rare, fragile peace of the moment.

The memory still lived in your heart, as vivid and searing as if it had happened yesterday. The hideout filled with laughter and chaos, Toga’s delighted clapping, Twice’s off-key singing, and the way Dabi’s lips pressed against yours at the stroke of midnight - it was a fleeting moment of happiness in a world that had given you so little.

But that was last year. That New Year’s Eve was the last you all spent together.

Everything changed after that night. The war came, tearing through your lives like a storm, leaving devastation in its wake. Too many lives were claimed, too many futures snuffed out. The League, the world, you - it all fractured, irreparably changed by the battles fought and the losses endured.

Now, you sat cross-legged in the grass, the late afternoon sun warm against your shoulders. A simple summer dress clung to your frame, and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. In your lap was a handmade bowl of soba, steam curling lazily into the air.

“I started a job last week,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “It’s nothing glamorous, just working in the back of a diner. Washing dishes, peeling vegetables, that sort of thing. It’s hard, y’know? People don’t exactly trust someone with a past like mine.” You picked at the soba with your chopsticks, twirling the noodles idly. “People stare. They always do. Even when they don’t recognize me, they can tell there’s something off, like they can smell the smoke that clings to me. I can’t blame them. It’s not like I’ll ever really blend in.” You laughed softly, though the sound was hollow. “It’s funny,” you continued, wiping your cheek where a tear had fallen unnoticed. “The normal life we used to joke about… it’s so much harder than I thought it’d be. People don’t smile much, not really. And some days, it’s like I’m invisible. Maybe it’s better that way.” 

You held the bowl tighter, your knuckles white against the handmade ceramic. “I brought this for you,” you offered, shifting slightly to place the bowl in the grass. “You probably would’ve made some snarky comment about how it’s not your style, but I thought… I thought you might like it anyway.”

The words caught in your throat, and before you could stop them, the tears came - hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as though the dam you’d built over the past year had finally broken. You didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point?

It took everything in you to get here. Reaching out to the Todoroki family - people you’d once thought of as enemies - had been harder than you could have imagined. But you needed to know where he was, where they’d laid him to rest. You couldn’t keep carrying the weight of his absence without a place to grieve.

The breeze shifted, and for a moment, it seemed to carry a faint, fleeting scent of fire - charcoal and smoke. It wrapped around you like an embrace, stirring the strands of your hair. It was fleeting, barely there, but it made you pause. Slowly, your lips curved into a small, trembling smile. “You’re listening, aren’t you?” you whispered, wiping at your face. “You always were good at pretending not to care.”

What you didn’t know - what you couldn’t know - was that he was sitting right there, just as you’d imagined. His spirit leaned against the gravestone, one knee drawn up, his chin resting lazily on it. He was watching you, his pale eyes filled with a mixture of longing and sorrow. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, aching to wipe away your tears. But it was futile, of course. You were here, in the world of the living, and he was there, trapped in the world of the dead. Dabi whispered, “Stop crying, doll. You’ll ruin your pretty face.” But the words faded into the breeze, unheard and unspoken.

He watched you carefully: the way your hands trembled slightly as you set the bowl down, the way your lips quivered as you spoke his name, the way your tears reflected the light of the setting sun.

You couldn’t see the way his jaw clenched, the frustration in his eyes as his hand passed through you like mist. The space between your worlds was too vast, and all he could do was sit and observe.

You didn’t know he was there, couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze or the ghostly touch of his hand. “I miss you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you rested a hand on the cold stone. “Every day, Touya.”

He closed his eyes, his head tilting back against the gravestone as if to steady himself. The scars on his face softened in the glow of the afternoon sun, and for a moment, he looked almost at peace. “I miss you too,” he whispered, though the words were meant only for himself.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cemetery. Your fingers brushed over the gravestone, tracing the letters carved into the cold stone: Touya Todoroki. The breeze swirled again, wrapping around you like an embrace. It felt warm, comforting, almost like him.

“I miss all of you. Toga, Tomura… even Twice and his constant grumbling.” You laughed weakly, but the sound was hollow. “The world’s quieter now, but it doesn’t feel better. It feels empty.” And with that, you sobbed more. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of you. I’m so fucking sorry…”

When you finally stood  and brushed the grass from your dress, you glanced back at the tombstone one last time. “I’ll keep going,” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute. “For you. For all of you. I promise. I promise I won’t let go. I’ll never forget you. And you guys will always live in my heart.”

He watched you turn to leave, his gaze lingering on you as if memorizing every detail - the way the sunlight caught the strands of your hair, the way your shoulders straightened even under the weight of your grief, and a faint smile crossed his lips as his scarred hand rested on the top of the tombstone. “We all know that, doll,” he murmured, his voice soft and low. “Live the life we weren’t destined to have. And don’t forget - I’ll love you forever.”

As the wind swept through the graveyard once more, Dabi’s spirit winnowed like mist under the light of a chilly morning, fading into the air that surrounded you. And a promise, carried on the breeze, was as eternal as the love he left behind.

tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[dollgxtz]

My first and only statement on all the accusations

Hello, I’m sure most of you are aware of the accusations about me and some of the stories I posted on my account. This post is not only an apology post, but an accountability post that details everything that happened from beginning to end. Everything will be here, so I will not be making more posts about this unless it’s to direct to this one.

Adding a tw now for suicide baiting, death threats and mentions of razors. So sorry but it must be included.

First I just wanted to say, no I wasn’t avoiding any of this. When this all started I was still in the middle of finals week, and I don’t live on tumblr 24/7. I had to focus on my finals to ensure I can get my degree and graduate. That was my number one priority. If anyone was blocked or comments were restricted during that time, it was my mostly my irl friend ensuring I wasn’t consumed by tumblr and could focus on my finals. I was already under a lot of stress and she offered to take over until I was finished with finals.

I was also getting death threats (people telling me to skin myself I alive and to jump). So she was ensuring that when I returned to my own blog, I would not see such triggering content. I have a history with suicide attempts and this was necessary for my mental health. The appropriate people were unblocked and remain unblocked to this day.

I always intended to make a statement, I just prioritized my real life first. It also took time to craft the post you are seeing now. I wanted it to be authentic, no misinformation, and well written.

So, as far as plagiarism goes, yes I did plagiarize specifically 3 of zombiekillerbiceps stories. I can’t actually remember the names of them and the author has removed their account from the site. But on my end specifically “Getting Closer”, “Edge of Control” and “Thrills” were not my own writing. Before they deleted their account I had already reached out via dm and apologized. We came to an understanding. I do not know why they deleted their account but they essentially said in DMs they accepted my apology and wanted to put this behind us but they were very hurt that I had copied them.

Edit: I found the post they made calling me out and will attach it.

As far as His Watchful Eye goes, the only plagiarism that took place was specifically the first chapter of it and only the first chapter. The first chapter of Something Permanent and His Watchful Eye are very similar. The remaining 13 chapters are my own writing and ideas. I have already reached out to @explorevenus and apologized. She has responded and made her own statement regarding it if you want to go and read it.

The only reason it was in anon is because this account (dollgxtz) is my side blog. I couldn’t figure out how to send a non anonymous message without exposing my main blog, so anon was the best thing. I didn’t want people sending death threats too that one too. I should’ve put my username in the anon, but it was already very late for me and I hadn’t slept in about 26 hours. I just wasn’t thinking very clearly and for that Venus I am also very sorry.

@manika-whims (the person that first wrote about all this) will remain blocked and some of her followers because I do suspect it was that group of people telling me to die. Manika wrote a very long post as she was upset that I “mischaracterized” Xavier in His Watchful Eye, called me a bitch and a loser because of a fictional man in a fictional story, and I will not entertain such immaturity. Full stop.

One of the anons that sent the suicide bait also called me a bitch and a waste of space. It was just too similar.

I also got this one. It’s too graphic to show the entirety of it.

I apologize for the plagiarism. But I will never apologize for writing characters the way I do or for writing dark content. It’s just not that serious. After she posted that I started getting these death threats and more.

You had every right to call me out for plagiarism Manika, but I stand my decision to keep you blocked. It had nothing to do with plagiarism accusations or me hiding from them, but I do believe you egged on your audience to come attack me over a fictional story and for that reason you will never be unblocked. I’ve attached screenshots below of the entire exchange. This is not to deflect from my own actions. This is simply to explain why she is blocked. She will say it’s because I was trying to hide from this but that is not true. I am just very sure the death threats came from her or her audience. This isn’t to say that she absolutely did but just in case, for my own mental health and safety I had to have them blocked.

Now that that’s discussed, I would like to address my readers and any future readers of mine. The plagiarized stories “Getting Closer” “Thrills” and “Edge of Control”. have been deleted and will remain deleted. Those of you asking for copies, please do not. They are not my writing nor my own works. Any remaining single work story on my blog is my own work and 100 percent my own ideas. My masterlist has been updated to reflect this as well.

When I first made my blog and posted those stories, I was a very insecure writer. I did not think I was truly capable of writing or making a good story. I did those things out of insecurity and not feeling good enough. But as time went on, I began to create my own stories and realize that I can write if I put my mind to it. These are not excuses, only explanations. Nothing excuses my behavior.

If you want to defend me, that is your own choice. I ask that you do not though in terms of plagiarism because I ultimately did plagiarize and that is 100 percent wrong of me to do. But in terms of AI usage accusations, these are not true. I have never and never will use AI to write.

I have spent countless hours writing chapters for His Watchful Eye, pulled all nighters, and even lost sleep making this story. I have timestamps in google docs that show me editing and writing my own story. I didn’t even know AI had advanced to the point that you can write fully blown novels. But make no mistake, Ai checkers are not reliable. I had an incident in my first year of college where a paper I wrote got flagged for 77 percent ai generated content. That paper was written 100 percent by me over countless hours and still got flagged. It was a very scary time in my life and for that reason alone I will never use AI.

If you want to unfollow me, please do so. If you want to block me, please do so. I would never hold that against anyone and am not mad at anyone for doing so. Just don’t come in my anon box telling me to jump, don’t message me rude or disgusting messages telling me to die. I am a human, I am a real person behind the screen. What I did was wrong but you are no better telling someone to kill themselves. Please just block me.

All in all thanks for reading. If you unfollow, thanks for being here. If you don’t, thanks for being here. If you want to be removed from any taglists, please just message me. You will not be blocked. Just removed from any future taglists! I have vowed to only post 100 percent of my own content from here on out, so if you stay I can promise you will only be reading my own work.

I am no longer the insecure writer that I once was, I now know my abilities and am confident enough to make my own stories. I have a 240,000 word fic out right now, I genuinely am still shocked I have done that. Writing has become a joy for me and I will not stop now. I should’ve never been afraid to make mistakes or be bad at it. I’m sorry to the people I hurt, my readers, and anyone reading this in the future. I am still growing and learning from my mistakes, and this has been the biggest lesson I will never forget.

Plagiarism is wrong and hurts authors. If you are reading this and have done so as well, please rethink your decisions and take them down, just as I have done.

I love interacting with you all, when you send me asks and messages about HWE or any of my original single fics. It is amazing getting to explain stuff or gush with you guys over the things that I have truly written. I truly love being an author and want my future as one to be honest and communicative.

The comments on this will be monitored, but not restricted. Voicing your thoughts is okay as long as they are respectful and not a direct threat to me or anyone’s life. Questions are okay as well and I will answer to the best of my ability. Please no:

insulting me or any of the people mentioned in this post (manika, venus, zombie, etc)

death threats or suicide baiting anyone

I want this to be a mature and honest discussion, and that can’t happen if I allow such comments. Despite what has been said about or to me, I do not want to replicate any insults/drama on my own blog. You can voice your displeasure or opinions without name calling.

Same goes for any messages or anon box messages you all may send to anyone involved here. We are all real people with feelings. Keep that in mind please before you message anyone.

We all make mistakes. Without mistakes, we cannot grow as people. It’s what we do after we make those mistakes that truly attest to our character. And this is what I’ve chosen to do. Lay it all out for my readers and the rest of the LADS fandom to see, apologize to the people I hurt and only write my own stories from here on out. Thank you to the readers and friends who approached me with kindness and encouraged me to keep writing authentically. And thank you all for reading, I wish all of you the best in life 🤍

-Umi ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Edit: The first chapter of His Watchful Eye had been rewritten shortly after this statement was released. It now reflects my own writing. That was the only chapter that had ever been plagiarized. All other chapters reflect my own writing and ideas, now including chapter one.

Just putting this here to clear up accusations in the reblogs. I never claimed that either author was okay with me plagiarizing off them…I simply apologized and linked to Venus’s original statement. I stated Zombie accepted my apology, but was never okay with the plagiarism. Venus never accepted my apology, and that’s okay. I even told her I understood and that I didn’t expect her to. I’ve never expected anyone to be okay with what I did. I did everything I could to remedy the situation and that was it.

I apologized, deleted the stories, made a statement and reworked what I needed to. Everyone’s feelings on this are still 100 percent valid, and it’s totally okay to still be mad at me for this. I never expect Venus or Zombie to ever truly forgive me. However, let’s not spread misinformation. Reblogs are off from this point on to prevent the spread of misinformation. If you want to further discuss, you’re welcome to make your own posts. Thank you. ☺️

[baby-tini]

All timeline Mikeys easily manhandling their gf/wife. How often and why they'd do that👀

Manila!Mikey would do it the most often, this version of Mikey loves the physical control aspect of your relationship, and given just how easily he exercises control over people, and just how easy it is for him too put people down physically, it's extremely likely that, that would be relatively abundant in the dynamic that you two share. One of the things that he's notorious for doing is grabbing at your hair when you have an attitude and try too walk away from him, he really doesn't like that. So he'll fist at your hair and bring you back towards him, pulling your head back as asks you too repeat yourself for him, and when you don't, he'd tell you that it'd be best if you drop your little attitude now, before something worse happens. He'd also be very into pinning you down and taunting you, you must not when him too get off you because you're not even trying too push him off... oh, you are? Well you're not very good at it, and he knows that's not the case, Manila!Mikey or just Mikey in general is insanely strong and you not being able too push him off, is no big surprise and he thrives off you struggling under him.

With Bonten!Mikey though, it's not often and he doesn't really. Now don't get me wrong, he's still got a bit of strength but.. he's very malnourished and under-weight. So, manhandling you isn't super common with him, mainly because he kinda can't. That's why he sticks to guns now, because he's not able too exercise the same strength he used too when he was younger and more up to par with his martial arts. Now, if he's pissed with you, he tends too grab at you, mostly grabbing at your shoulders or arms and holding you their, but even then, it's still not that hard, it only hurts because his hands are relatively big and he squeezes tight, so the spot that he's squeezing will start too become sore and it'll start too hurt you.

Kanto!Mikey though, he's a force and he's insanely strong and he's also in relatively good health so he's very physical with you, and I rarely mean in the affectionate way. He's very big about exercising just how much stronger then you he is. Now, he's intimidating enough, so he doesn't have too physically handle you often but it's not rare either. He's pretty big on forced submission, as in, he'll make you sit at his feet and he'll pet you.. like you were a prized pet for him. He's very big in making it known that you are beneath him and that he's stronger and obviously you know this but he likes too keep you on a rather tight leash, not literally, and he wants too keep that in your head that you can't stop him. He's also really into grabbing you up, like if you're throwing, as he calls them, a temper tantrum. He'll grab you up by the arm as he leans into your ear, in a scarily calm voice, he tells you that you need too, "behave or you'll find yourself crying on the floor."

But with Street Racer!Mikey it's only in a playful aspect, he likes too play-fight with you it's actually really fun, because while yes, he is stronger then you, he still lets you pin him down and get on top of him as he pretends too struggle with you, and while you know he's pretending, it's still fun as you guys giggle about and there's a struggle with each other while he pins you down and tickles you. Sometimes that leads too quite intense sessions as he has your hands pinned above your head and you're breathing heavily as he stares you down, his eyes starring you down as they're lidded and he's grinning your face as you squirm under him.

Toman!Mikey really likes manhandling you, he gets quite the thrill from it and you makes it even better when you lean into and playfully provoke him. It's more affectionate with him in a way as he'll hold you to him and keep you their, right against his chest. He's very big in physically leading you, as in he'll grab you by the hands and pull you with because when he has you, and when he's able too be with you, when he's not working, he likes too touch you as much as he can. With this version of Mikey, he's also still pretty strong and pinning you down or picking you up is rather quite easy for him. He likes too grab you by the face and get your face as he squeezes your cheeks together as gives you a peck to your lips.

[richarlotte]

What did you do/use for your facial beauty glow up?

Lip Filler.

I have 1.5 mL of lip filler at the moment and probably won’t get more any time soon. In my mind, it’s the perfect amount; it gives my lips a delicious, just bitten look, and it doesn’t look or feel unnatural. I’m someone who loves subtle changes; I’m not the sort of girl who’d go crazy with surgery, and I prefer to make my changes slowly. I started with .5 mL, slowly went up to 1.5 mL over the course of two more appointments, and I think plumping my lips up completely changed my lower face and made me look younger and more feminine.

Polynucleotide Injections.

This treatment is major in South Korea; it’s very popular, and one of my best friends went and came back singing its praises. After weight loss, this is the most important thing I have ever done for myself. These injections boosted my collagen production and made the terrible dark circles and puffiness under my eyes disappear. It took a few weeks for me to see the results, but I look like I’ve had an upper and lower blepharoplasty now; my eye area is completely rejuvenated and the skin is bright, and while my initial reaction to the set of treatments I had was intense, the end result was better than I could’ve ever hoped for.

A Comprehensive Skincare Routine.

The skin is the body’s largest organ, and the first step to learning how to care for it is understanding that you and it must be hydrated. Learning that what I put into my body was just as important as what I put onto my skin helped me change my approach to skincare. I mostly use French, Korean, and medical-grade skincare products, and I switch them out each season so that I can approach my needs correctly. Washing and changing my sheets twice weekly, going on a low estrogen birth control, and adding N-acetylcysteine to my supplements helped me more than I could ever say.

Minoxidil. 

Using Minoxidil to grow my eyebrows out was one of the best decisions I’ve made for myself. I love the look of thick, lush eyebrows, but I don’t actually like thick brows. I used minoxidil to grow my eyebrows until they were thick and I could have them threaded and thinned out just a bit, straightened, and tinted until they were the shape and shade I wanted. Minoxidil is a great tool; it's decently affordable, and while the results take a while to appear, once they've been appearing, they’re very noticeable. I also use a regular lash serum on my lashes to grow them; it’s from The Ordinary, and I think it works slowly but nicely. You do have to be very precise with your application of Minoxidil, but other than that, it’s very good for filling in sparse eyebrows.

Weight Loss.

Losing over 80 pounds, doing a complete overhaul of my diet and limiting the amount of processed foods I consume, making an effort to care for my body and mind, and changing my mental and physical health for the better completely changed my world. My insulin resistance is totally gone, I’m healed from the PCOS that once plagued me, I no longer eat the foods I have sensitivies to, and the inflammation and water retention I’d have the morning after are gone, and I feel like my best self. My double chin has been vanquished, my bone structure is visible again, and I love the way my nose looks, and I am so much more confident about the shape of my face. Losing weight is the best thing I have ever done for myself, and I’d recommend it to anyone who feels like they need to overhaul their life.

Proper Styling

Learning how to do my makeup, contouring my face with self-tanner, and styling my hair were all major parts of becoming more confident with my face. Now that I know what I’m doing with myself and I’ve been able to identify what suits me best, things come easier. Proper styling is what’ll make or break you. You could be the most beautiful woman in the world, but if you don’t care for your appearance, you’ll struggle. I put a lot of time and effort into learning what looked best on me, learning how to style myself, learning what worked with my facial shape and bone structure, and figuring out which lash maps, brow shape, makeup style, and colors suited the overall aesthetic I was going for. Learning about makeup products, trying a variety of different makeup styles, and new makeup techniques made a world of difference for my styling journey too.

Braces.

I had braces on for just over a year—traditional metal, power chains most of the time—and they were worth every cent. I was always insecure over my teeth, and fixing them has really made it easier for me to smile and express myself. Although they’re not perfectly straight or blindingly white (Kirsten Dunst is known for her smile for a reason), I’m confident, and I love them. Taking care of my teeth is something that I really struggled with at one point, and I have had to make a real effort to get better at that. I still have my dental routines, wear my retainer at night and through the day, and do brightening treatments, but I’m focused on the health of my mouth instead of aesthetics now.

These are the major things.

[centaurianthropology]

One thing that I think a lot of Disco Elysium meta misses (likely because a lot of it is very clearly written by young Americans writing from an intensely American-centric cultural perspective without even really realizing it) is that one of the singular and central themes of the game is massive-scale generational trauma in a home that is economically collapsing as its resources and people are being drained by an occupation.  People have noted that no one tries to help Harry, despite the fact his mental illness is incredibly obvious to everyone around him.  He tells Kim that he completely lost his memory, and Kim politely asks him to focus on the work.  He tells Gottlieb that he had a heart attack, and Gottlieb tells him that if he’s still alive it couldn’t have been that bad.  That he’ll drop dead sooner or later, but then so does everyone.

And that’s the most important thing: so does everyone.  Look at Martinaise.  Look at the world in which Harry lives.  It is not our own, but it is adjacent to ours.  More specifically, it is clearly adjacent to the states of the Eastern Bloc: overtaken and occupied by a faraway government that clearly doesn’t care about Revachol or its people.  And that is obvious in every tired face, every defeated citizen, everyone trying to eke out a little happiness or meaning in spite of the overwhelming trauma and damage around them.  The buildings are still half-destroyed.  The bullet holes are still in the walls.  The revolution was decades before, but it still feels to the people there like a fresh wound.  The number of men of Harry’s generation who are not alcoholic or otherwise deeply fucked up are very few.  Some, like Kim, hide it better, but the deeper you dig into his history, the more you realize how damaged Kim is.  He’s more than a little trigger happy, and hates that about himself, but he is a product of his environment: Kim’s entire life is seeing people he cared about shot and killed, so his instinct now is to shoot first himself, to protect those few people left who still matter to him.

Harry is not unique in his trauma.  He is a distillation of an entire culture of people who tried to rise up and make something beautiful, and were instead routed and occupied.  He is trapped between the occupation and the people on the ground, along with all the rest of the RCM.  Their authority comes from the occupying government, but it is implied that they were formed out of the remnants of the citizens militia which sprung up from Revachol itself as a way to try to mitigate some of the horrors being committed on its streets.  The Moralintern sure as hell wasn’t going to get their hands dirty, so they happily conscripted (and therefore could better control) this group, who are only recognized in certain places, and whose authority mostly amounts to giving out fines.  The RCM is corrupt, but it is corrupt in the same way its culture is.  Bribes are considered standard with them, not a moral failing, but a necessity, so long as those bribes are correctly logged as ‘donations’.  It’s how the RCM stays afloat, and the rest of Revachol completely understands that.  Everyone would take a bribe if it meant they kept eating.  Everyone would take a little under-the-table money if it meant keeping a roof over their heads.  The officersof the RCM certainly don’t make enough to see a doctor.  They have an in-house lazarus, and if he can’t fix them they just die.  Mental health care?  What mental health care?  Harry doesn’t get it for the same reason no one else does: it doesn’t really seem to exist.  There are no counselors, no psychologists, no psychiatrists.  How would they even start?  If the world is what is broken, if everyone is suffering a similar catastrophic amount, it makes sense that Harry’s trauma would simply get rolled up with all the rest.  Kim asks him to get on with the job because Harry’s suffering is not remarkable in Revachol.  He is one of an entire generation who have an astronomical number of orphans from the revolution, and so many younger people are left more or less orphans as their parents drink themselves into oblivion like Cuno’s father.  So Harry’s truly unique attribute is embodying all that trauma, having it all inside of him, filling him to bursting.

To really engage with the themes of the game, engaging first and foremost with the reality of Revachol is imperative.  Imposing our own reality onto Revachol, particularly if coming from an American perspective (which tend to have the habit of both viewing the world through an American lens and not realizing they’re doing it because they’ve never experienced a different lens), will always feel shallow to me because of this.

All that is to say, I would love to hear some more explicitly European meta about this game, and especially Eastern European meta.  If anyone can point me to some good, juicy essays from that perspective, I would be grateful!

[signanothername]

hii, hope you're having a good day, but I was wondering if you think Killer repeats or keeps any habits/quirks he picked up with Nightmare, like calling Color 'Boss', or doing chores Nightmare had them do, idk just something along those lines.

also friendly reminder to drink water

Hello!! I am, hope you’re having a wonderful day too <333 (thanks for the reminder, definitely need some water dhhdhdh)

Actually yes!!! Killer definitely tends to call Color “boss” sometimes

In fact I showed it in this comic here very quickly/briefly as it was not the main focus of the comic

Ironically, that comic’s main focus is to show what Killer’s expectations are with what is reality when it comes to his view of his relationship with Color, and if you notice, Killer sees Color’s genuine acts of kindness as “guilt tripping” when it’s not in reality

And Killer definitely shows a lot of other habits/quirks he picked from when he worked under Nightmare, especially those of what shows that he’s under the enslavement of someone else, like bowing down, taking any request as a “mission”, waiting for punishment when he fails at anything, letting himself be manhandled without much resistance, bending himself too much for Color, etc

Like Killer’s view of relationships is fucked up, he doesn’t really believe in “equals”, it’s either he’s in control or the other person in the relationship is in control of him, and while I usually believe Killer tends to be a follower more than a leader (mostly cause he never knew otherwise) he tends to give up his freedom too easily and too quickly for Color’s comfort, Killer even tends to test the waters by doing things that Nightmare usually considers “rebellious” and that Nightmare punished him for, as well as even going as far as causing Color as much trouble and as much pain as possible to see if Color would show him his “true” face, only for Color to show him nothing but love, care and so much patience

And Killer definitely gets confused by Color’s resistance to accept/do anything that gives him an upper ground above him, he gets confused when Color asks for permission before touching him or his soul, or when Color pats him on the shoulder and smiles at him whenever he fails at doing something, or when Color cares for his injuries

Killer is confused by Color’s genuine care for him, and I wholeheartedly believe that at first, Killer believes that this is simply Color’s way to manipulate and condition him rather than a genuine act of care and love, that eventually changes as time passes and Killer learns what true love and care is

But let’s hope Color’s mental health doesn’t deteriorate too much trying to teach Killer that xhhxhxhx

[lovelynim]

Sick Leave

Zenless Zone Zero - Wise x Asaba Harumasa

A/N: To think this is the first thing that I managed to finish after all this time... well, it is what it is, but I think I like it.

Summary: Is 'tickled to death' a good reason to ask for a day off work?

Word count: 1304 words

Wise blinked in confusion, still trying to process the absurdity - or reasonability - behind Harumasa’s explanation. He sat back down on top of the other man’s lap; his hands, once poised to strike, now hesitating, clenching at the couch beneath them.

“But-”

“If you really care, proxy, you can’t,” Harumasa insisted, even crossing his arms behind his head before laying back down. “Doctor’s orders,” he added, making Wise pout slightly.

How could such a good, priceless intel be wasted just like this? Be discarded like a spam e-mail or like a troll post on the Inter-Knot? Still, Wise would probably die out of regret if he actually ended up hurting Harumasa because of something like that.

Seeing the upset frown on Wise’s face, a lighthearted chuckle broke the silence between the two men. “I’m sorry ~,” Harumasa cooed and Wise could swear that there was some mockery hidden in those words, “I’m such a disappointment, ain’t I?”

“Don’t say that,” the proxy sighed, shaking his head before resting his arm on the couch’s backrest, “it’s just hard to believe.” 

Too hard, actually, to the point that Wise could cross his heart and hope to die on it. Asaba Harumasa, elite agent, part of the armed forces under H.A.N.D., member of the Hollow Special Operations Section 6… couldn’t, for medical reasons, be tickled?

Wise heard this absurd merely moments ago. He and Harumasa were watching a movie (yes, cuddling together on the couch, but that’s not important *caham*) and, on the screen, one character tickled the other. A brief, short-lived moment, mostly irrelevant to the plot itself. Still, that scene lingered just enough inside Wise’s mind and sparked a question, the question.

‘Are you ticklish, Harumasa?’ Wise had mumbled with his cheek still pressed on top of Harumasa’s chest, his words barely distinguishable from gibberish. ‘Yes, but don’t do it,’ was the other’s plain, calm answer.

Oh, but why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he tickle Harumasa to tears right there and then?

As if controlled by some sort of bigger, incomprehensible force, Wise felt the need to tickle Harumasa at that exact moment. The agent’s words had barely made it inside WIse’s brain and he could already picture all sorts of scenes - Harumasa laughing, blushing, hiding his giggling face behind his hands…

He had to do it!

The proxy, then, moved his hands - his fingers trailing up both Harumasa’s sides at the same time, lightly grazing and wiggling against his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt - and, seconds later, wise could already feel the grip around his wrists, stopping his hands in their tracks and holding them away from the other man’s body.

“I asked you not to, proxy,” Harumasa repeated sternly, his golden eyes leaving the movie aside to look down at Wise’s face.

“Why? Are you that ticklish, Harumas-”

“Because I will get hurt.”

Maybe it was the dead-serious tone in Harumasa’s voice or the (fake) concern in his eyes when he said that, but Wise’s mind went blank. He expected a plea, an angry facade or even some silly excuse… but ‘get hurt’?

The agent, then, explained that his body couldn’t stand being tickled - not because of its apparent sensitivity - but because of his health’s condition. 

“My lungs are too weak to let me properly breathe while I’m… under such stress, not to mention my heart could literally explode trying to keep up with it!” It did sound serious, a bit convincing, even. 

Wise did think about arguing back, saying how Harumasa could tear all sorts of horrors from the hollows apart effortlessly, and, therefore would be able to stand a bit of tickling, but fighting ethereals and protecting citizens sounded like a much better use for his energy than getting tickled just to please the desires from a single proxy’s heart.

“But what if I am gentle?” Wise suggested, back to present, still trying to find a way into it.

Harumasa’s only answer was a sigh. “That’s not how it works,” he mumbled, softening his tone to add to the dramatic charge of his act, “before we notice, my skin will be covered in bruises, I’ll be coughing like dying man and my heart will be as good as a broken bangboo left-” 

“Okay, okay, I get it…” Wise interrupted, waving a hand close to his chest in the hopes of sparing himself from any other gruesome detail of the consequences of tickling Harumasa. Still, that was starting to sound a bit… too much.

“I’m glad you understood it, proxy,” Harumasa smiled, pushing his body up for a brief moment just to wrap his arms around Wise’s neck and drag him back down with him right after. “I really wish I could experience such a thing, but you know how my life is extra diffi- p-prohoxy?!”

 Before Harumasa’s act could come to an end, a strained chuckle interrupted his line. With widened eyes, he looked down at Wise’s face - inches away from his - as if hoping that the source of the sensation that just crept up his spine was a mere accident.

“Yes?” Wise grinned slightly, his chin resting by the top of Harumasa’s collarbone.

Harumasa could feel his throat closing, the pressure inside his mouth as his teeth gritted, and his muscles tensing up while Wise’s thumbs rubbed into his lower ribs. “I-I thohought you- ahAH - w-would spahare me of suhuch pain!”

“Wrong,” Wise clicked his tongue, feeling encouraged by the reactions he was managing to draw out of the other guy.

It didn’t take more than a couple seconds for Harumasa to understand that Wise managed to see through his act. That whole discourse may have fooled Seth and Soukaku, but it definitely didn’t seem to work on Wise, the agent noted mentally.

“W-Wise, wahahait! I was seheherious! AHah, plehease, let m-me explahahain!” Harumasa whined, one of his hands reaching for Wise’s while the other latched onto Wise’s shoulder, trying to push him away. None of these attempts, however, had the desirable outcome.

Harumasa couldn’t help but smile - genuinely, this time - as Wise’s fingers wiggled and traced his ribs and the sides of his chest, searching for any ticklish spot like a carrot program collecting data from a hollow. “Your body seems to be handling it pretty well, huh?” Wise teased, as cheeky as possible.

“It’s nOHOhot!!” Harumasa whined, kicking his feet on one end of the couch and pressing his head back on the other. “W-Wise, plehehease!! AHAhah! ~”

“Wait, are you ticklish here too?” 

“W-wahait, not thehEHE-”

“...”

[The next day]

“Asaba-kun, you don’t expect me to really approve another leave this week, do you?” Yanagi sighed, looking at the papers her colleague had handed her. “What are these symptoms even supposed to indicate? Cheek and abdominal pain, labored breathing…” 

“Y-you don’t need to read it, vice-captain, just sign it” Harumasa groaned sheepishly, standing next to her desk, “I don’t even need it to be long this time, it’s just so I can get checked and make sure my condition isn’t getting any worse.”

Yanagi looked at him with the corner of her eyes, over the lenses of her glasses. She wasn’t convinced. “Please, vice-captain! It’s been like this since- since yesterday! It’s hurting so bad that I had to put up a battle this morning just to come here and talk to you!”

“...sigh, I hope you already have the compensation for this in mind, Asaba-kun. But, of course, you may go see a doctor.”

“Thank you, vice-captain! You’re the best!” Harumasa cheered, springing back into life as if cured just with the idea of getting a day off. 

He could hear Soukaku asking Yanagi about his leave while he walked out and an unpleased groan coming from the vice-captain, but it didn’t matter. If anything, Wise was the one to blame this time, not him.  

[eldritch-spouse]

You mentioned that Mooncalf goes through heat, what is ue like during a rut?

TW: Altered states of mind (consensually or not)

Fey mostly breed with other fey. But when that's not on the menu, or they simply have different tastes, that's when things get interesting.

A non-fey partner has to be hunted. Different strokes for different folks, but most hunting methods for these types of monsters usually work on the basis of luring and deceiving.

When his rut approaches, Mooncalf gets an intense desire to trap those who he finds attractive (or just people his hormonal mind will nod towards), and in this case, that would be you.

Presuming you haven't met yet, you wouldn't know he's a fey at all, initially.

He'll target you when you're alone, or at the very least, drive others away so he can get you alone.

Mooncalf glamors himself in a humanoid figure that, at first glance, appears to be no more than a conventionally attractive man. His eyes may be a little too striking, and his speech can sometimes seem awkward, but he looks charming enough that you won't want to pay attention to details... Such as how his long hair will be arranged to cover pointed ears.

He'll usually be on the verge of tears when he approaches you, or crying to himself waiting for you to politely initiate conversation.

The fey has a number of strategies he uses, from claiming he desperately needs help finding a lost possession to, if you're particularly gullible or charmed by him, saying he has nowhere to stay for a number of really sympathetic reasons.

Eitherway, you're getting isolated and pushed into a pocket dimension sooner or later, especially if you end up seeing through him. It's possible you do, given the longer it takes to put you in the perfect spot, the sweatier and less composed Mooncalf will become.

Ideally, he gets you to eat something he made for you, as a reward for being "ever so kind" and helping him. For a fey in heat, getting their partner to accept their meals doesn't just give them more control over you, it also offers them gratification and soothing.

As soon as you've been transported to the pocket space, something probably a little traumatic for you considering it feels like suddenly passing out- Mooncalf drops, or attempts to, the human glamor.

While his glamors are more responsive to his will when Mooncalf is inside his own territory, the magic inertia he suffers from sometimes still flares up, he has to wait in agony a bit more before he can become his "real self" and chase after you.

He wants to impress you, in some way. Whether the impression left is fear or awe, Mooncalf just feels that he needs to stand out and capture your attention. You can essentially play your cards in two ways: Keep rejecting him, and chance the fey's mood going from playful to irritated, or playing along and get smoother treatment.

An irritated Mooncalf will make a game out of breaking you into a pliant bedtoy, all too eager to snap things this way and that just to lightly maim you into submission.

A secure Mooncalf will melt under your touch and ply you with drink, sweets, gifts upon gifts.

A core element of this process, regardless of how willing you are, is to get you drunk. Drunk, in a mystical land, you'll be filled with an infectious, endless joy, dancing with the fey that kidnapped you, until the trance lands you in a bed with him. Or even just a field of impossibly beautiful greenery.

He's not gentle. Mostly because it's been too long, and he's dying to have this kind of fun again. You're not likely to complain anyway, so he'll waste no time roughly ripping clothes aside and driving into you so furiously and consistently that you'll lose what's left of your mind. Sometimes, his old and monstrous nature will get to him, reducing Mooncalf to a drooling, guttural mess, eyes rolled back and head twitching around.

He's present enough to understand when you need breaks, caring for your health when you're too fucked out to move, and effectively repeating this cycle of "court-ply/chase-mate" until his rut starts slowing down.

You're let out of the pocket space disheveled and wondering how to resume life, but one thing's for sure, you'll never really be the same again. You might never feel as high as you did in the fae's pocket.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Night cap (Ending 2) (Astro x reader)

Poll under the fic to choose the next ending

Notes: gn toon reader, possible ooc, pre game, sleepy astro, astro isnt so much awkward more so he doesnt really know how to like. be romantic. subtle hint dropping that he wants to spend more time with you, mutual pining, open ended i SWEAR some of these will end with a kiss its just not all of the toons strike me as the type to kiss casually during a game </3, first fic/piece of writing after my return from my mental health break so i may be a little rusty, poll at the bottom to determine the next winner of course! note that may or may not be needed since im writing this before the final vote and its CLOSE so this may be repeated if astro isnt the winner for ending 2- but the poll will be shortened from 1 week to 3 days for now!! no real reason for this asides from "im itching to write and i dont have many ideas for fics and this is really one of the only two writing projects that arent for october that i have going on rn"

Word count: 2.7k

CWs: none

Everyone’s eyes glue onto you as you reach your hand into the opening of the sack and pull out…

Something soft. Almost fuzzy in your fingers as your thumb subconsciously rubs circles into whatever you were- the material almost soothing in your grasp. You had absolutely… no idea what it could be or who had put it in- at least, you didn’t until you pulled the item out into the open. A bluish purple night cap… and in an instant your eyes were on Astro. You didn’t even notice until now that he had taken his cap off and he looked… so weird without it. Quickly- almost too quickly, like you were offended to see him without the accessory- you stretched your arm out to him. 

“I uhm… think this is yours..” You mumble under your breath. Astro’s blanket shifted just enough to free one of his hands… his actions almost seem. Tense under all the eyes on him. “It is,” He finally managed to draw out after an odd pause of silence. From the corner of your eye you catch Dandy’s jaw grow tense for half a second before he ordered the two of you to go to the gift shop. 

He didn’t have to tell you twice- Astro seemed more than happy to get out of everyone’s line of sight as he backed out of the crowd; only slowing down just enough to allow you to catch up to him without having to go over a brisk walk. 

“Nerves?” You ask softly as soon as you are both out of earshot. 

“I don’t blame them for staring, but…” The toon trailed off as you stepped through the gift shop’s main door… it didn’t take long for it to click that you were both meant to go into the storage room. How Dandy had managed to unlock the door was something you’d have to touch on later… Astro lets you step through first. 

“Right… you don’t like having eyes on you,” You commented as you looked through the room. It was dim. The lightbulb had burned out, or maybe Dandy had taken it out to add to the mood of the game. Whatever mood he was hoping to achieve though… you had no idea. Being locked in a room for seven minutes wasn’t the worst thing in the world but you weren’t too keen on a room that smells vaguely of dust and old paper… fabric that needed washing- the material having captured the scent of the air around it… mostly shirts of less popular characters. You feel a soft pang for Shelly. 

“At least it’s dim in here, hard to see…” You trail off as you give Astro a glance over your shoulder. The blue crescent of his face glowed softly and doused the room in its hue. 

Ah…

You had forgotten that was something he could do- and something that he didn’t exactly have control over. 

“That’s alright, honestly it’s better this way- it's a little… spooky in here, all dark and stuff,” You try to shift the subject as you press yourself into the wall and allow yourself to sink to the floor… only somewhat comfortably. Hard wood could only feel so nice. 

Astro followed inside- and just when you thought he was going to take the wall opposite to you… he slips to the floor a few feet to your right. Enough room to give you your space, but close enough to ensure that you both didn’t need to talk across the room to hear one another. 

He shifted himself to try to become more comfortable. 

Hard floor or not, he already looked about ready to lay down for a nap. A part of you envied him for being able to sleep anywhere. He slumped slightly into the wall- almost melting right into it. 

The silence drags on for a few seconds. You didn’t know what to say and Astro- as always- looked ready to doze off. You were convinced that if he wasn’t on his feet and surrounded by the others and- more than likely encouraged- joined the game he would have already found a nice quiet corner to rest after such a busy day. 

He’d be valid for that. Even with less visitors focused on you, the constant bouncing between floors to help everyone prepare for the party had left you a little worn down. 

“Your hats soft,” You suddenly blurted out. Astro’s closed eye cracked itself open. 

“Like, the.. Fabric-” You continued on. No shit the fabric was soft. What else could you have been referring to? Your hands shift around against the floor- the tip of one of your fingers tapping against the wood. 

“Yeah…?” Astro shifted his head to prop it on his shoulder. 

Your eyes lingered on his face for a second or two before you stared straight ahead- the reminder of his hate of being stared at hanging in the back of your mind. 

Though… he didn’t seem to hate it as much when it was just you. Or maybe just one person.

“I could give you one of my blankets,” Astro spoke up after the moment of silence stretched on a little too long. “I’ve got more than I need, I need to free some space anyway,”

You steal a glance from the corner of your eye. “You? Need space? Your rooms massive, Astro-” 

It’s a light tease but it was the truth. All the mains had massive rooms- in fact they all had their own dedicated floors… on top of the themed floors that were open to visitors. Astro’s personal room shared the same overall feel of his themed floors. But there were more areas dedicated to rest. Sofas, bean bags- his bed was massive and nearly resembled a round nest. The staff were kind enough to keep the Toon’s rooms off limits to visitors. 

“Well…” Astro’s eye dragged itself away from you and settled to his feet… before he tucked them under the blanket he clung to. “The offer is still up… Most of them are blue.. Purple… but I think I’ve got a few in different colors, if you want something else… scented ones, too,” He rambled before falling silent. “I won’t make you take one, if you really aren’t interested,” 

The tapping finger against the floor grew still and curled to match the rest of your hand. “I wouldn’t mind looking through your collection- maybe we can run up real quick to your room to sift through it,” You flash a smile. “So long as it doesn’t take all night- I’d like to at least enjoy the party a little more before everyone winds down for the night,” A soft laugh. Astro actually returned it. 

“I’m sure it won’t,” Astro hummed. His jaw visibly tensed as he bit back a yawn. Today really must have been taxing on him. 

“For your sake so you don’t fall asleep?” 

Astro lightly waved your jest off with a hidden hand. “Only a little,” 

Another beat of silence. 

“Well be sure to eat something when we get back, if you’re going to go to bed after,” You stretched your legs out across the floor once keeping them folded and began to cramp them up. The room was… cool. But not cold… but it still managed to crawl through your form. The wall felt… weird… now warmed from your body heat. 

“Maybe… I’ll think about it…” Astro mimicked your legs- his feet dragging his blanket forward and pulling the material slightly taut. 

“Sprout told me you helped him in the kitchen today,”

Instantly you perked up. “I did! Well- Kinda- I mean, I did help but he did a lot of the…. You know, giving the recipes and making sure I didn’t… you know, mess up?” Your now clammy hands pull off of the floor with a soft peeling sound- the sweat sticking your skin to the polished wood uncomfortable- and rest your palms on your knees, patting them softly before allowing them to come to a rest. 

“I promise I didn’t mix up the salt and sugar again- I swear you’ll have sweet dreams tonight-” It was a bad joke but he at least gave you a pity laugh. 

Astro’s head lowered into the blanket as his shoulders scrunched- he tended to curl into himself when he was laughing.

Maybe… it wasn’t a pity laugh after all. 

“I’m sure if I could I would… your baking is getting better, regardless of any outside help.” His shoulders fell as the roll of laughter calmed itself. The compliment nearly went right over your head. 

Maybe he worded it weird, but…

“You would if you could?” You finally turn your head back to face him. “Are you not sleeping well?”

Astro’s smile falls neutral… but he doesn’t really look uncomfortable or upset about the question. “I don’t dream, I’ve been sleeping well otherwise.” 

He said it so casually. 

“Like you just… don’t dream at all- or like, do you mean to just don’t remember your dreams?”

You catch his hands shifting under his blanket- running over each other you had to guess. “I don’t dream at all,” He shrugged. He didn’t seem all that bothered by it… you weren’t sure if that made you feel better about it, though… not that it concerned you. “I’m more interested in giving everyone else dreams and checking in on them,” He only shrugged.

You shift slightly. 

“I don’t usually pry into other people’s dreams, don’t worry,” He added. You fall still and untense. “It’s… hard anyway, and it’s easier to ask what someone wants than trying to look myself,” He continued on. Astro hardly ever rambled. He wasn’t much of a talker in general… so it was a nice change to hear him lead a conversation. 

“You haven’t seen anything weird from my dreams, right? I’ve been having a few weird ones for a while now-” Your mouth curls into a grin. 

It wasn’t a lie. They weren’t nightmares but they often left you vaguely confused as you woke up. The details that didn’t slip away as you’d wake up only left more questions. People speaking backwards, toons not looking or acting quite right, toons and visitors swapping places. It was… weird but harmless, just to name a few examples. 

“I must have missed it, then,” Astro lowered his head- his brow furrowing in thought. A hidden hand scratched at his chin through the blanket before coming to a rest against his jaw. “I don’t check often… but each time I’m always in your dream- not… me, but…” 

You were dreaming about him. Of course he’d sometimes be there with the others… but there were a handful of times where it was just him. 

They were never intense or embarrassing dreams. But the frequency of which he showed up would make one wonder. You certainly did at each encounter… non encounter. You knew it wasn’t actually him. He acted too differently. Didn’t look quite right- but it was close enough to know it was him. 

A quiet noise came from your mouth before your head turned to the opposite side for a second to look anywhere but him. 

“You look like you’re having fun in them, that’s good… I’m glad I give you good dreams, even if I’m not influencing you,” His hands fall to his lap. He shifted into a more straight position against the wall, the blanket making him slip against the wall slowly over the past few minutes…

How much time did you have left? 

Not much you would assume. 

“Well,” Your throat feels awkward- even the back of your mouth felt weird as you tried to pick the right words to not sound as nervous as you felt. There was no reason for your nerves to spark now. It was all innocent, as far as you were aware. 

“You can always come visit, if I can have the real deal-” Your fingers spread across your knees before pressing close to each other a second later. “Of course only if you want to- it feels like I don’t get to see you all that much, since you’re you know…”

“Tired?”

You snap your head back to him and shake it. 

“Busy, more like it. I actually… don’t mind taking a nap with you sometime,” You pressed on even as the glow of his face grew brighter- soft blue shifting paler, closer to white. “I mean- and obviously it’s not your fault but you always get so many visitors… sure not as much as say… Dandy or Vee- or Bobette since she’s…” You trail off. 

“Limited?” His voice has a light waver to it. Like it was coming from the back of his throat- the noise lingering there and rapidly losing momentum as it was pushed out into the air. 

You nod. “Yeah… limited… but- you know, you uhm…” You finally let your odd attempt die off. At least you got your point across- hopefully. 

“Maybe…” Astro didn’t let the air remain quiet for long. Maybe he wanted to keep you from feeling even worse if it had stretched too long… or maybe he already had a response ready before you were done speaking. “We can spend some time together, when Gardenview’s closed,” 

Your eyes darted to him again for a second. “Like on Christmas?”

There weren’t many days where Gardenview was closed. Mostly reserved for holidays… and on occasion when maintenance was required for the building that demanded more than simply closing down an area or two. At your words Astro’s mouth curls back into a soft smile. Faint, barely there… but present. 

“If you want it to be Christmas,” He holds your gaze. You give him a nod. “Right… Christmas.. Today’s the… twenty third, right?” 

Astro hummed.

“Right… Christmas, then- I’ll be sure to hound you as soon as you wake up-” You laughed slightly. Nerves quickly unwound and replaced themselves with a warm giddiness that fought back against the chill of the room. 

The warmth was cut short as a series of knocks reminds you both that you were playing a timed game. 

“Ah,” You mumbled. Time was up, and Dandy’s voice on the other side only cemented that. He didn’t even wait for one of you to speak up before he opened the door- his face softened when he saw you and Astro were a respectable distance away from one another. The light of Astro’s crescent dimmed as the light outside began to floor the room. 

“Time’s up you two,” Dandy leaned forward in the doorway before pulling himself back and stepped aside with a light bounce in his step. Something got him happy, but you were too preoccupied with Astro’s offer of spending time together to ask if you had missed something while you were playing. 

“Do you still want to get a blanket?” Astro asked softly as he shifted out of the doorway behind you. Dandy’s movements stopped for a split second before he resumed his walk down the hall to the party.

“We’ve got plenty of blankets- I made sure of that!” He called over his shoulder. 

Your jaws roll against one another before you find your voice. “Astro’s blankets are softer- we’ll be back soon- promise!” 

The flower doesn’t give you an answer. He simply continued walking a few paces ahead of you and Astro. “We’ll just take the elevator… and we’ll come right back,” You added, though mostly under your breath. 

“I already have a few ideas of which blankets you might like, we shouldn’t be long…” Astro completes your murmur as you briefly rejoin the party and turn to one of the massive elevators. You only vaguely note what everyone else was doing before they regathered for another round of the game. 

“You’ll have to show me which ones you made,” Astro suddenly said. 

Your eyes followed his to the table full of treats near the entrance of the room. The door closed as you pinpointed the plate of cookies you had baked. Ginger was kind enough to arrange them nice and pretty on one of the nicer plates. 

“Will do,” You nodded softly.

The ride up was… nice. The soft shake of the elevator is enough to keep you in the moment. It wasn’t long until the door opened again and Astro led you to where he kept his collection of blankets.

You could only hope it wouldn't take too long. If you were lucky there’d still be some of your cookies left behind- maybe spared by toons who had a rather nasty sweet tooth. 

Hopefully…

[moonlume]

This was mostly for Instagram as I've always felt much more comfortable on Tumblr, whether I'm on or off-topic, but I figured it's good to post it here too just as an update on what's been going on with me! I'm slowly getting back on track with things, I'll do more varied posting here too now I think :')

Plain text version under the read more:

Hi! Long time no see! Apologies for the sudden radio silence. I needed a long overdue break from social media. The truth is that I've been struggling with severe burnout for the last couple of years now. Between failed projects, changes in social media, and health issues, I've sadly developed a really negative and unhealthy outlook towards myself and my work, and I got really stuck in that mindset for a long time. Recently I heard a quote that was very fitting for what's been going on with me: "Don't start cleaning until you understand the mess." That is what I've been trying to do! I've been thinking and overthinking how I want to move forward with Moonlume, trying to understand those negative feelings and where they come from, and maybe, just maybe, I've found a path that I'm comfortable with. I'd like to delve into some of these topics with you, so read on if you're curious! Changes are coming!

SOCIAL MEDIA

I've been "in a relationship" with social media since I was about 15. I used to love it. I'm 30 now, and I've been trying to understand what made me so negative about it nowadays; not the parts I can't control, (algorithms, scams, AI, ads...) but my own presence and interaction with it. In hindsight, I should have realised what the main problem was sooner... When I was younger, the blogs I remember having a fun time running used to mostly be about what other people have made, and the things I enjoyed. I've been a small biz girlie since I was 16 (I used to run @FrozenCrafts before this! :D) but I've never liked being in a position where I only share my own work and nothing else. It's too much spotlight for me, too much pressure, especially with social media requiring consistency nowadays. I've always been an anxious, introverted person, and I now realise that this spotlight has been eating away at me. (Which is odd to say as someone who runs a small biz, I know.) I started getting even more anxious when, due to multiple reasons (more on that later) my output of new art really dropped off. Even though I've been working on Moonlume this whole time in the quiet background, I had very few new things to show for it. I couldn't help but compare myself to artists I really respect and look up to, who make new things every month, every week, and yes of course comparing yourself to others is a recipe for disaster, but... we all do it to some extent.

(And I definitely went overboard. At my lowest, I voiced some really awful things about both myself and my work...) Over time, the anxiety and frustration with myself got so bad that I couldn't stomach doing anything creative for a while, and eventually, I stopped all social media activity entirely. People say that burnout catches up to you and what do you know - the people are right... So... What's the solution here? Again, in hindsight, this should have dawned on me sooner. I've put myself in a cage just because "well that's how I've seen other people do it". And I'm sure many people will agree with the idea that a shop/smallbiz/brand account should just be about the brand! I totally get it! But I've realised that's not for me. From this day forward, I'd like to work towards making the Moonlume social media spaces be about everything cute, colourful and fun. I'd like to create an environment where it's not just about "Moonlume the art and products", but a place for everything that has inspired me, a place where I can share my favourite video games and artists with you, a place that isn't just a spotlight for me, but a spotlight for everything and everyone that made me fall in love with the cute and colourful aesthetics of this world. And I'd like to try and just have fun with social media again! It's been so long since I've been genuinely excited about making posts, yet here I am thinking "ohh I should take cute colourful layout pictures of my old 3DS and ask people if they're still using theirs!!". It is so relieving to feel excited again. Even typing this out feels like a rock being lifted from my heart.

And don't worry - the heart and soul of Moonlume is not going away. The colour explosion you see on my profile? That won't be changing! That is the vibe I'm going to keep here. Just with more variety, and less pressure on myself :)

HEALTH ISSUES

I mentioned that there are multiple reasons why I've become incredibly slow at releasing new designs. One of those is that I'm genuinely swamped with work all the time - running Moonlume is 95% emails, admin, customer service, etc. (I've been stuck in a "too much work for one person, not enough work + income for two people" stage for a long time now and I'm still trying to figure that one out.) I may not have much new creative work to show for it, but I DO have quite a few announcements to make soon! Opportunities for art I've already made kept coming up, so I've been prioritising those. The main reason, however... My joints. Ohh, my fail joints... For the last 3-4 years my wrist has been declining, or at least I thought it's just my wrist - it may be all my joints. Getting any answers from doctors as a "totally healthy" 30 year old has been frustrating - I still don't know what's wrong, scans have been booked and then lost, "oh just do stretches", "just wear a brace", "just need to rest". I listened to their generic advice at first, but considering that my hand was in pain almost all day yesterday, without me doing anything, I don't think rest is gonna save me here :/ All I can do is continue bugging them until they give me some answers. Until then... I have to work around my joints screaming at me. All this hit me really hard, because over the last couple of years, I've been trying to accept that I will no longer be able to draw the way I used to. Which sucks. I learned to do something I'm happy with and now I can't do it anymore. The work I used to make is just too detailed for me to tackle now - every set of designs would take about 4-5 days of intense drawing, and, apparently, I've also been holding the pen wrong since childhood which put extra strain on my wrist?? I've tried to unlearn this and couldn't... Holding a pen any other way is alien to me lol. But yep, that checks out - sometimes even writing grocery lists gets painful towards the end of the list, which takes like 5min. Or, sometimes, lifting a mug "wrong" sends lightning through my whole hand. So... How can I move forward with this? I doubt my joints are going to get any better, but I still want to continue running Moonlume. Besides using old designs for new products (not very exciting, I know, but people want them and that has helped so much - we are saving up for a family and I'm thankful for any income I can get!), creatively, I think I'd like to start calling myself less of an illustrator, and more of a product/stationery designer? A mouse doesn't strain my hand as much, depending on the day anyway, and I've been able to release at least something new with simple shapes recently - like my “You can never have too many stickers” sticker book! I'm really glad it's been well received, I've just gotten a second batch of these books in, it made me hopeful that there could still be a future for me in the world of stationery if I just change things up. Yes, I will forever be sad that I can no longer tackle the dreamy, detailed designs anymore. I had a lot of sketches and ideas ready to go, I had goals and skills I wanted to reach for... But I've been grieving this for way too long now and I want to learn to let go and move on.

FINAL THOUGHTS

So... Yeah. Everything I've just said, that cocktail of emotions and problems, it was really affecting my mental health over the last few years. I've been stuck in an endless cycle of disappointment in myself. The shame over not doing enough, not making new things fast enough, or as interesting/meaningful as other people, on top of struggling to let go of past failures and getting frustrated with joint problems... all that made me develop some really messy feelings towards both myself and my work. There were points where I was fantasising about burning it all down just to have a fresh start. It was bad :( BUT! With a clearer head and armed with perspective from people I love, I can say this: I AM proud of what I've made so far! I no longer look at my work and loathe it like I did for a while. Looking back, damn, that was a super unhealthy perspective and I'm glad I can recognise it now. And even though, thanks to my fail joints, I'm no longer able to make things the way I used to... I'm learning to accept this and I'm looking forward to the future. I'm excited to talk more about things I love, excited to make the Moonlume social media space be more varied and give it a breath of fresh air! Posting about my work/products all the time also left very little room for discussion and chatting with you guys, and I miss the feeling of community, so I'm excited to make this a livelier space! That doesn't mean that the art part of Moonlume is going anywhere - it's still my beloved little shop, and I'll still be making things for (hopefully!!) many years to come, just at a slower, much more comfortable and sustainable pace. ♥

Thank you so much for reading this and hearing me out. The support I've received from everyone here over the last 8 years has been genuinely invaluable - my head spins daily from the thought that my little creations have had the chance to travel the whole world thanks to you... It's truly magical. I hope that with this new chapter I can reconnect with the community once more, and move on to a brighter future! Love you all! ♥

Maple

[kendallroydefender]

Cowboy take me away (Kayce Dutton x Roy!Reader) Chapter 1

Masterlist

Summary: You’re Y/n Roy the youngest daughter of one of the richest men in America but all that money can’t make you happy and you decide to move to Montana for a while. But what happens when you meet the youngest son of another influential man?

A/n: it’s here!!! This is mainly a Yellowstone fanfic and you don’t have to watch Sucession to follow along!

You stepped out of the car. The car you bought a week ago, when you were sure leaving was the right thing to do. The warm weather hitting your skin. Breathing in the fresh air after a long drive.

You were the daughter of one of the most influential men in the country. Your father, Logan Roy, was a media mogul and owned one of the biggest news networks in the world. But that came with a price, you had always been in the public eye and on top of that your father wasn’t an easy person to grow up with. Now you’re siblings still fought over being his favorite, still fought for his love. A few weeks ago, after thanksgiving where he hit your nephew you finally realized that he would never change.

So you’d made the decision to leave New York behind, to take a few months off in the country side. Hopefully your mental health would get better out here. And you’ve always wanted to visit Yellowstone after seeing pictures of the stunning landscape. To no one’s surprise your family wasn’t the biggest fans of your decision to go, especially your father who always wanted his kids close to control them. But you were a grown woman, yes you were still in your twenties but an adult nonetheless.

Your siblings thought the idea was ridiculous except for your oldest brother Connor who loved that you would follow his footsteps (as he said). He had also bought a ranch in New Mexico where he spent most of his days.

Now you weren’t so sure anymore if this decision was the right one. You had never left the city for more than a few weeks, hell you were a city person. And you had never been alone anywhere. Your family and they’re staff or your personal staff were with you. But if you’d never tried you would never know.

You took your suitcases and brought the to the small house you were renting. You had put all your clothes into the closets and your toiletries in the bathroom before you went into the small garden behind the house. It was well kept, a bit whimsical and overgrown in some places but beautiful nonetheless. A set of chairs on the lawn and a swingseat under a tree. Yeah, you could do with this.

You made some food with the groceries you picked up on the way here and ate your dinner on the couch. Everything was nice until the evening arrived.

You should have seen it coming, It was your first night and you were already bored. 'Off to a great start' you thought to yourself.

After a quick google search you made your way to one of the bars in town.

Inside it was quite crowded. A band played country music and some people danced. You went to the counter and ordered a simple drink, nothing too fancy like you would have ordered in New York.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, it were mostly cowboys and cowgirls. You must have stood out quite a bit - not too much though since you’ve left your fancier Roy clothing in New York, taking only sweaters, shirts and jeans with you. It was nice though.

”Hey, Tom have you seen my sister?.“ a voice next to you said. You looked to your right and spotted a quite handsome man. He seemed to be around your age maybe a little older, with longish brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a trucker cap backwards on his head and a dark shirt. He looked rugged in the best way. His eyes landed on you and you quickly averted your eyes even though it was probably too late - he had caught you staring.

You felt his eyes linger on you for a moment and you waited a second before you looked back at him.

”'ve never seen you around here.“ he said

”Just got here today“ you told him with a shrug and a smirk appeared on his face hearing that you didn’t sounded like you were from Montana at all.

”Where’re you’re from?“ He asked

”Uh, New York.“ You said and he let out a low blow

”She’s over there.“ the barkeeper interrupted your conversation, pointing his finger in one direction

”Uh-huh. Thanks Tom.“ the man said before he turned to you again

”I’ll have to go but have fun in Montana.“ he said before he turned to leave. After a few steps he turned his head and your eyes met again, with a small nod he turned around once more.

You would lie if you said you weren’t disappointed by him having to leave so quickly. But it seemed like he was just here to pick his sister up anyway and you didn’t even knew if he was single.

The next few days you spend getting settled into the new house. You went to the grocery store, something you haven’t done in years since your family always had people to do these kind of things. But you liked it. Liked being responsible for yourself and you liked being able to meet and converse with others.

Your family always stayed in their circle, almost every meeting with someone you didn’t knew was business related and talk was always about work.

You took walks around town and enjoyed the scenery.

Today you had planned to go on a hike. You looked up the route beforehand so you wouldn’t end up lost. There were other people on a hike but not too many.

Everything was going well. That is until you must have stepped onto a stone.

You fell and felt a sharp pain shooting through your ankle. Shit, if this wasn’t the biggest city girl hurts herself while hiking was the biggest prejudice.

You started to get up when you heard the sound of a horse walking close to you. You looked up as the animal came into your view and felt yourself getting warm. Of course it was the hot Cowboy from the other night.

”You alright?“ He asked and you shrugged

”Yeah, I just sit in the dirt for fun.“

”Shit no reason to get all fuss .“ He said but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He got down from his horse and tied it on a nearby tree.

”Lemme see.“ his voice had softened as he crouched down next to you, carefully taking your foot in his hands. Twisting it gently and putting some pressure on some spots. At one point you let out an ”Ouch.“

”It’s not broken - just twisted. Come on let me bring you down.“ he offered his hand to you and you gladly took it. He helped you up, looping his arm around your back so you could lean on him.

Once you were sitting on the horse he got up too, sitting in front of you.

”You can hold onto me.“ he told you, voice kinder than you’d expected.

You intertwined your fingers in front of his stomach. You felt warmth spread in your stomach.

He took the reins and the horse started moving. You looked around, taking in the scenery.

”Wow it’s even more beautiful up here.“ you said in a low tone.

Kayce smiled at your words. To be honest he was maybe a little glad about the fact that it was you who he found. You had come to his mind a few times since he’d met you a few days ago.

You had intrigued him, there was an air about you that he liked and felt like he wanted to find out more about you.

”Where are we going by the way? Not that I think you’ll kidnap me on a horse.“

”My fathers Ranch. My cars there, I can drive you home.“

”Oh. Thank you.“ you said

”No need to. Just basic human decency.“ he said and you cold hear the smile in his voice.

”Yeah, I’m not used to that in the city.“ you chuckled in wich he joined in.

”Why’d you come here?“ he asked

”I needed a fresh start. I wasn’t happy in my, uhm, my living situation in New York. I knew I would get depressed if I stayed.“

He hummed

”Are you feeling better now?“

”To be honest I’m not sure. It feels great that I’m away from everything but I don’t know anyone here yet… so it’s kind of lonely.“

He hummed as an answer.

The rest of the ride to the ranch was filled with easy chatting. You found out about that his Dad owned a Ranch where he worked as a horsetrainer. You told him you worked in Media at your fathers company, not telling him who your father was.

The ranch was gorgeous. A big stone house as the main building, some stables and a few smaller houses. You earned a few looks from some of the cowboys leaning against a fence.

He got down and helped you safely get back to the ground.

”I’d show you around but I think your foot wouldn’t be too fond of that.“

”Maybe another time.“ you told him and he studied you for a second

”Yeah, another time.“

He had given the horse to one of the men standing close by, who was called Jimmy. Telling him to bring it back into the stable.

He helped you into his red truck and closed the door after you sat in the vehicle.

You told him where the place you stayed in was and he seemed to know where to go. The conversation was easy between you, he pointed out some places.

”You can get good burgers there.“ he said pointing to a diner

”We could do something if you’d like? I mean because you said you felt kind of lonely.“

”Oh? Yeah that be great.“ you smiled wich caused him to smile too

”Okay.“

He helped you up the front stairs of your place and you waved as he drove away. With a warm feeling and the thought that maybe you had made a friend you went inside.