#i have no idea how to draw vomit

[surreal-duck]

master artist and his number one fan

guy who is being so normal about the new additions to their profiles. i think abt midoris initial infatuation with his art slowly developing into appreciating yuzuru himself as a person and idol to the point he worries about how he sees him (ex: a bit of home party and in workplace survival rules) sometimes thats a lie i think about it a lot. and yuzuru learning to enjoy art just for the sake of drawing!! seeing the lets try diy story where he doesnt even refute drawing on midoris desk and was only worried that his doodles might cover up the mascot design compared to how discouraged he usually would be in earlier ! stories. everything to me i adore their dynamic if that wasnt obvious by *gestures to basically everything*

and happy pride month 🏳‍🌈

[risenshiney]

💛🐶SCRIMBLY GOOD BOY HOURS

SKRUNKLY POTATO MOMENTS🐶💛

[greenerteacups]

Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.

My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?

Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.

I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!

I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.

I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.

So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.

Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.

[jellyfishvibes]

Legend of Zelly update

Looks as rgb ven diagram i can make a religion out of this

[beeapocalypse]

<-- it was forced to think about the honey sweet magic system

[palskippah]

Hi! I give you this Stobotnik fankid I made a while ago :'y

She's Sofia --or Ivania or some other name ending in 'ia'-- Robotnik (coolest last name)

It's a compilation and also there's some Stone for practice bc I have no idea how to draw him pipipi Eggman is easier bc it's just his Sonic Boom design (I love it)

Some stuff about this universe under the cut!

(Btw if there's incongruencies is bc I can't make up my mind about the facts whwhw)

-Robotnik and Stone are married, very much married. Cartoon villains in love, I love that for them.

-["MARTHA I'M COMING HOME SWEETIE-"] Mixing up the movie things and the whatever's going on in the Sonic Boom, so Robotnik was gone for eight months and when he's back she's already born.

>Also the drawing is a reference to Icarly's "Whatcha got there?" "A smoothie" but she was clearly asking about the ostrich Spencer brought with him.

>Alternatively, Eggman's there and they go through the journey together yippiee. Choosing names, making evil parenting plans and whatever, being their idiot selves.

(After celebrating because they're good news actually) "I want a boy or a girl-" (Eggman) "Yeah me too." (Stone) "-and we should name them a single, worth of remembering name! Like... Eggette for a girl and Eggson for a boy." "I'm not letting you name them any of that, doctor..." "Okay, then how about Beyonce for a girl and-"

>They wouldn't have kids (?? maybe? I don't really know, I only know sonic boom and the movie :'U)- but she was probably the 1% the birth control warns you about. Also, Stobotnik got a very active seggsual life, and I'm imagining she came to be from a quickie over the desk, why not.

>Helpful diagram of Eggman + Stone kissing and then = baby. They were in work hours.

-In the one where he comes back and the baby's already there, Eggman does a terrible job as a father the few first months, but then he gets the hang of it and it's not so bad.

>He gets projectile vomited on and he's immediately asking to get an abortion (the baby's already born) (he didn't give birth to her), Stone says no anyways.

>"Surprisingly, I'm a good father" he thinks one day and it's because he's still very much an orphan here with no frame of comparation or example aside from researching the matter.

-In the one where they wait for her together, he does all the research necessary in all those months, absolutely refusing in doing an average job in that matter, he's the great Ivo Robotnik c'mon. He excels at anything and he'll be a great father (jk he's terrified of fucking up).

-The Stobotnik family is an evil but loving family, like the bears in Puss in Boots whwh criminal family✨

-For the funny of it, Sonic and Eggman got a sort of relationship like in Sonic Boom, so sometime maybe our favorite boy, Tails and Knuckles had to look after their child.

-Also since Knuckles broke Stone's and Robotnik's hands with their handshake, let's have him handle the baby with the most careful grip ever, just to demonstrate that he didn't have to grab their hands that hard aksdjask

-She's a big fan of Sonic and friends (Sonic the Hedgehog, not Sonic Wachowski, the second guy hadn't done even half the things she admires him for, but no one has the heart to tell her when she's a kid). Has a bunch of merch and all the comics of Sonic the Hedgehog.

>When she's a teenager she proudly uses her Sonic backpack in the same way Deadpool uses his Hello Kitty backpack.

-BTW Sonic, Knuckles and Tails are all brothers and Maddie and Tom's kids bc that's the best idea ever made.

-ALSO I'm definitely gonna draw that scene where Knuckles was about to put the baby in the blender and Sonic shouts THE CHILI DOG NOT THE BABY. Some day, you'll see pipipi.

-SAGE was created for various reasons, to be her sister (since she wouldn't stop asking for one but neither Stone nor Robotnik were willing in raising another human kid, thanks very much), to protect her, and also to answer the tedious "why?" questions that neither father had the patience for (A+ parenting right there). Maybe she was used for the original purpose too idk (I don't know that sonic game where she debuts).

>The child's delighted about having a sister, then she grows up and SAGE doesn't, so she has a little sister.

>METAL SONIC TOO MAYBE? Perfect lil american family, the two happily married parents and their three kids (one human girl, an IA and a robot clone of their alien enemy).

-On her early months she was called Pebble, because she really was a mini Stone, Robotnik went along with it (bc he also looked at her and only saw his husband whw) until she was a little older and they started calling her by her name.

>Alternatively, since Eggman was gone, Stone waited for him to return in hopes of choosing together a name for their child, and Pebble worked as a placeholder since she was just a bebi.

>Alternatively alternatively, Eggman came up with the nickname. ROCK-ONNAISSANCE 🗣️ also yeah I know he was going crazy from the mushroom stuff, but he's not above making silly puns, he's a dad now and also he's naturally silly.

(NGL I really gotta make up my mind about how it all happened ajsdkad)

-She's a spoiled kid and also a little menace, unintentionally evil, she can't help it.

>Good-hearted too sometimes, she loves Sage and does her best to protect her back (it's not necessary but it's appreciated anyways).

-Robotnik calls himself 'daddy' way too much in the live-action movies to ignore it, so he's daddy and Stone's dad (dada when she was younger).

>"These are my daddies!" (points to what's clearly two villains -but also good fathers-)

-She has Robotnik's eyes but as big as Stone's. They're the lethal-est sad puppy eyes ever (they work wonders on both parents and other people) (both men got beautiful dark brown eyes with visible eyelashes fight me).

>Look at Eggman's silly eyelashes:

>Also, you know that picture of Lee Majdoub with the beautiful everything? I think he was wearing eyeliner so my Stone wears eyeliner too in contrast to Eggman's dark circles under his eyes JDJS😭

-She's the five-year-old that made Sonic fear them because 'they can be so cruel when they sense weakness' (she was brutally honest as any young kid is).

-Stone and Robotnik got Gomez and Morticia Addams kinda parenting. They see their child beating up someone and they're like:

"What did we do wrong?" (Stone while shaking his head in disappointment) "I know... she lacks resourcefulness." (Eggman) "Exactly, there's her baseball bat right there, why doesn't she use it?"

-Remember that Shadow said in a game that he wouldn't mind taking a candy from a baby? (fandub I think but still) This comes in handy when neither Tails, Sonic or Knuckles want to upset the kid (so Shadow does it instead).

-She plays sports too because she got too much energy. In each of them she loses her patience. She grabs the football and hauls it at the nearest team member, she throws her baseball bat to the ground and starts beating up whoever threw the ball that she missed, she stomps in frustration if she loses, she's great at dodgeball (sends her classmates to the infirmary).

-Throws tantrums and stuff and overall's an annoying kid if she's upset. Eggman's like UGH WHY'S SHE LIKE THIS?? and Stone's like Because of you, doctor (terrible temperament runs in the family and also Robotnik just spoiled her too much).

-I'm kinda dressing her up in the clothes that existed in my mind that supposedly Eggman wore (the weird dress-like jacket with the big zipper in the middle). Under her jacket there's a dress in the same pattern as the original Eggman's clothes, also she wears a baby onesie like that too.

-When she's older she's definitely proud of her fathers, but she doesn't appreciate the rumors that she's prone to go power-crazy like Robotnik did. Especially because it may be true, but what do they know.

-For the irony, she can't stand drinking coffee, but loves the smell of it because it reminds her of home (omg).

-THEY HAVE A PET CAT like I read in some fics and her name is Robot and she's a lil shit and also grumpy like Robotnik.

>Maybe she brings her alive mice to experiment on all sort of stuff (like Pávlov and his dogs and the guy Skinner with his mice and cats (??))

-She gets to hang out with Sonic and friends under the condition of annoying him as much as possible. So, she complies. (She loves Sonic the Hedgehog, but she loves making her fathers happy more).

-Very smart kid but not to the level of Tails or Robotnik at that age, she's just got very good memory and learning skills and knows a lot of stuff ever since she was a little kid. More like a Matilda-kinda intelligence.

-She's a scientist when she grows up too but the kind that makes evil potions and serums and stuff aksjdk probably (chemistry things? biochem idk). She can make silly little robots for the fun of it but it's not her passion, unlike Robotnik and Stone's. PROBABLY. I'm still deciding.

-BTW LOOK (it says 'carefully crafted ploy to distract space porcupines')

>While Eggman's there with the baby and Sonic in front of him going AWWW BABY BOO and making her laugh, Stone is sneaking up on him holding a chair above his head to knock him out.

THAT'S IT THANKS FOR READING ✨✨

[need-a-name-101]

You know in that episode of how I met your mother where they find out that Barney always looks good in pictures no matter what. Yeah that’s Dick Grayson. No doubt.

A paparazzi is trying to catch him off guard while he suddenly sneezes, later they check the camera it’s Dick with the most dazzling smile.

Jason tries to take a picture of him when he is barely conscious, Dick is smiling with a peace sign and he looks good.

Tim on purpose collides with Dick in manor with hot coffee in his hands to have it spill down on Dick’s white shirt, Babs clicks a picture as Dick is telling Tim it’s okay. In the picture yes the shirt has spilt coffee but Dick looks poised and handsome.

Jason makes a deal with Damian to have Dami paint Dick’s face as he sleeps. They proceed to click a picture, Dick is on the sofa in a pose, laying on his side with a hand on his hip and the other supporting his head.

Wally tries to take a picture mid vomit, and boom there stands Dick Grayson with disheveled look, which looks as if done on purpose. (It wasn’t Wally knows, at the start of the night it was slicked back) and the top buttons of the shirt open, Dick is giving a blinding smile to the camera. No vomit in sight.

Jason draws penises on Dicks face, when he looks back on the picture. He face is clean, Dick is giving the camera a lopsided smile and when Jason looks up Dick is no longer there.

Steph tries to click a picture when Nightwing losses his balance and slams face first into a wall. Some blood drips down from his nose and yet he looks poised. He is giving the camera a thumbs up.

Duke tries to get one as a thug tries to slam Dick on the hood of the car. In the picture Nightwing is perched on the thugs back, whose face was smashed on the hood of the car by Dick.

Cass tried to take one when Dick nearly chocked on some food at a gala. When she looks at the picture it’s Dick holding a glass of Champagne (he was not holding that before) and leaning on the wall beside him.

Tim looks back on all his stalker photos he had taken and realises it’s the same case in all of them. He has one photo in which Robin Dick had fallen in Gotham Harbour and was soaking wet, still in the photo he looked sort of posed, straight back, a slightly tilted head.

Cass breaks in Dick’s apartment to catch him off guard. Dick had just woken up. She clicked a picture and it’s Dick in a shirt and shorts, in the perfect I just got out bed look. But he had just literally gotten out of bed.

Babs tried to take one as Dick just got out of a shower when they were dating. He walked out with a towel around his waist, and he was drying his hair with another towel. In that he didn’t even pose, the photo just looked fucking amazing.

She even went back and saw all the pics they had when they were in school and In all Dick looked great. Even the one she had managed to click when she and Dick had messed up a chemistry experiment because they were talking and parts of Dicks lab coat were signed.

Bruce banned taking photos on patrol because all of them tried to take a picture of Nightwing as he fought some low level thugs. Which lead to robin getting distracted as he tried to take a picture while grappling and hit a wall. Red Hood forgot to switch off his flash which lead to his position being revealed , and he got shot. Red Robin lost balance and fell of a gargoyle. Spoiler got distracted while sneaking around and blew their positions. On the rare occasions when Signal was with them he tried to take a picture and walked right into the drug deal they were about to bust surprising the criminals. Orphan got distracted and nearly got hit on the head. Even Oracle got distracted while trying to get embarrassing pictures of Nightwing while she was supposed to be finding a bank robber. She found the robber but not the a single embarrassing moment of Nightwing. No one had gotten the picture they were trying to click.

Even Bruce has no idea how Dick pulls it off. He refuses to partake in this silly competition set up by his kids. The betting pool is so huge that it involves all of Dick’s friends, the JLA and most of the people in the caped community. The money in the pool by now must be more than what Bruce makes in a year.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

-

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets. 

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think. 

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body. 

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew. 

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

-

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year. 

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand. 

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

-

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works. 

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?” 

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place. 

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did. 

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter. 

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face. 

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation. 

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

-

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

-

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks. 

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls. 

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to. 

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine. 

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her? 

Will she even let you?

-

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment. 

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt. 

He has always been all she has and needed. 

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

-

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

-

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing. 

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard. 

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control. 

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

-

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

-

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class. 

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even. 

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls. 

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug. 

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully. 

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice. 

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up. 

“Have it your way.”

-

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers. 

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit. 

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does. 

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you. 

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance. 

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

-

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt. 

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

[levshany]

how do I put this. Even those who actually track our blogs and are interested in our Aus can get a little confused about what's going on here. but I'll try to explain anyway

we already mentioned the crossover between Anarchists and Tandem and even DRAWED them once, back when Tandem was in development (and by the way, this crossover is canonical for both AUs). Now this story has been continued >:D

Here's some context: It so happened that the Colibri wanted to see what alternative timelines looked like and ran into the king and the jester. Phil was delighted with Colibri and wanted to flirt with them. Jester Collie was categorically against it. so he immediately possessed Phill and tried to fight Tandem. he didn’t succeed because his fusion with Phil is extremely unstable. and here we are

Initially, @angstyhikka and I just drew these three pages, but then @lasymit supported the idea and made a drabble which she allowed me to add to the post :3

------------------------------------

"Let go, bitch! I'm not done with you yet!"

The savage creature desperately squirmed in Philip’s hands. It grabbed onto him, trying to either break free or, on the contrary, rush closer, glaring furiously and baring its shark teeth.

He held the clumsy, collapsing fusion at arm's length and looked at it with slight disgust. His tandem with the Collector was a strange but harmonious union. And what was writhing in front of them right now was the direct antipode of the word harmony.

“Well, I am,” he said distantly.

And with his other hand he grabbed the one sitting inside the demon’s body. Under the flesh soaked in titan blood, he felt a soft essence, like rubber or hot wax. The Collector from this universe felt completely different to the touch.

He stretched them, pulling them away from each other, disentangling them from each other. Paradoxically, bodies that should repel each other by the nature of their forces, like unipolar magnets, clung to each other very stubbornly. But Philip was still stronger with the power of the Collector in his hands, power which he clearly used better than the local... king of demons...

“Ouuuuch ouuuuch,” a boy in the robes of a jester, painted in red and black, shrank on the ground, wrapping his arms around his own chest.

He was not at all like his Collector. Philip had never seen his friend's material body before. But he knew he looked different. For some reason he knew this for sure.

"Who pulls a guy out like that!? Fuck!!", the now-green demon yelled nearby. And he clutched his head painfully.

What Idiots. They vomited three times while chasing him. Philip did them a favor by stopping this outrage.

Now these two were lying helplessly at his feet, groaning and gasping, trying to catch their breath and come to their senses. Now they are separated.

"What were you trying to achieve?" His question was almost rhetorical.

"It wasn’t me, it was all him!" like a child, pointing a sharp, protruding finger towards the Collector, the demon yelled. "I didn’t want to fight at all!"—here he gazed up at Philip with some strange look and batted his eyelashes expressively—"I wanted something else– something more interesting."

"Ohh fuck off, Maggie! You traitor!" came the shout from the red Collector. Philip silently decided to call him the Jester and the demon, by analogy, the King. Philip had already guessed his name. But he couldn’t bring himself to call this savage by that name. Not even in his mind. 

He ignored the King's vague attempts to take a tempting pose while still lying on the ground and grinding his teeth from the headache. He turned to the Jester.

"So you're in charge?"

Judging by King's behavior, it would indeed be reckless to put him in charge. But, having always been the decision-maker when paired with the Collector, by right of being the adult, Philip is accustomed to his friend almost never taking the leading role unless circumstances require it. Like a couple of years ago...

“Nuh-uh,” the Jester raised himself up on his elbow and rubbed his chest, inhaling deeply, greedily. "We're bros! Equal rights and stuff."

And he twirled his funny yellow gloved hand in the air.

Something in the Jester’s words pricked Philip. He didn't fully understand what exactly.. Until the King said, in a dramatic whisper:

"I no longer have a brother. You’re dead to me!"

And Philip stood there, trying to remember that the air was not hard, dense lumps, that it did not clog in the throat and did not press in the chest with a dull phantom pain. Meanwhile these two idiots, after a couple moments of aggressive looks, laughed out loud.

“Yes, I would strangle such a brother,” the King squeezed out, wheezing and squinting through laughter, “with my own-"

And he bent over, swallowing the end of the sentence with a cough as the toe of a boot hit him in the stomach.

"Philip! Philip... They've had enough... He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Philip's cheek twitched.

"Ouch... bro, save me!" the King squeaked hoarsely.

And this completely infuriated Philip. He swung his foot again, this time at the face. But he was met by an elastic wall. And the ground under Colibri’s feet, along with all the space, suddenly curved.

If it weren't for years with the Collector in his head, he wouldn't have realized what happened. But now he clearly saw how a couple of dimensions were distorted, folding space into a loop. He suddenly found himself not between the King and the Jester, but at a considerable distance. And these two were already close together. The boy helped his “brother” get up from the ground; King was now leaning on Jester’s shoulders, clutching his stomach. Perhaps Philip miscalculated his strength a little. This happens sometimes... Especially when it comes to emotions.

“Hey! Hitting people who are down is against the rules,” the Jester frowned. "Give us a timeout!"

Philip felt his jaw tighten. How the nodules rolled across his face. But the flaring rage, as it often happened to him, went away as easily as it filled the air in his chest, leaving reddish streaks before his eyes and pulsating power in his fingertips.

“Get out of the way,” he let his hands glow slightly.

"Ohhhh, what about a last kiss, star boy?" the King whined, clinging to the Jester and trying to straighten up next to him, as if hoping to reach Philip from a distance of ten steps and still get the coveted—

A kiss? Seriously, what the hell? Philip directed a confused, irritated look that bore all these unspoken questions at the Jester. He awkwardly shrugged his sharp shoulders, caught in the King’s grip.

"Don’t be mad... Philip, right? Don't be mad at him, Philip. His Majesty has a reason to be an idiot. And he didn’t mean it out of malice about the ‘brother’ thing.”

Philip looked at the Jester more carefully. The collector in his head was silent. But Philip sensed something from him. Philip also noticed the King’s uncomprehending expression.

“What’s wrong with ‘brother’?” The King sounded surprised.

And then Philip understood. And his face froze.

Yes... yes, what need is there to remember such things? He himself tried to forget for a long time... If he succeeded, would he be the same now as the king in front of him?

Looking at this wretched shell of a “King” who’d forgotten everything important about himself and the loyal “Jester” still standing steadily at his side, the Collector in Philip’s head began to sob. They both, it seems, had the same thought. It’s scary to look at the reflection of a future that never happened.

The jester smiled at him guiltily- at both of them. And then he confidently and widely showed about fifty teeth to his King.

"People don’t like such familiarity, you fool! You can’t just kiss someone the first time you meet."

"But it's okay to fight them when you first meet?" Philip was indignant...

Yes, it's Philip. He cannot refuse to call this man by his own name. Philip himself could one day become such a “king.”

------------------------------------

also @kenku97 helped us with translation and added this comment, I gotta show it to you ;v;

"I thought “The collector in his head sobbed” needed more context for people who aren’t as tightly wrapped up in these AUs as we all are. To understand why Collie’s crying, you need to point out how Tandem Collie sees himself in the Jester. They’re both caring for a Philip who is forgetting himself and the people closest to him. Jester is living out Tandem Collie’s worst fear: what will happen when Philip can’t remember anything anymore? What will become of their friendship? And it’s bittersweet because the King and the Jester are still friends, even though the Jester basically had to start over from the beginning. Jester Collie is quietly carrying all of those memories inside his heart of a friend who has basically disappeared while still learning about and loving the brand new person his friend has become. It’s so sweet and so sad.😭"

that's pretty much all for now It’s hard to return to drawing after the holidays. and this is not even a new art you see, but last year’s. therefore this comic cannot be considered the first work of this year sadly

[headspace-hotel]

I've been able to neither read nor write stories in a long time. Poetry too, for the most part. I guess what I mean is that the art of the written word has become a stranger to me.

I hate what poetry classes did to my writing. Yes, the Wikipedia poems, but they are easier because they're not my own words, and I have gotten so many comments on those saying they are powerful pieces of art, but for me personally they're a way of hiding from the awfulness of trying to assemble my own words into poetry.

I hate the poems I wrote in poetry classes. I hate the version of me I showed others in those classes. I hate the way poetry classes taught me to draw from my own experiences and thoughts for poetry. I hate everything I learned about how to interpret poetry, the eye with which I learned to read poetry, and the vocabulary I learned to talk about poetry, and ultimately, I hate "literary" poetry.

"Literary," by the way, is the category of art that has more meaning, value and legitimacy than the "other" category, which is not "literary." A "literary" poem is published in special, fancy "literary" magazines and almost invariably written by a person with a MFA or PhD in poetry.

You could say that the distinguishing feature of "literary" art is its overwhelming sense of legitimacy. A "literary" poem is a poem in the same way that a nonprofit organization is charitable, that a CEO is rich, or that an SAT score demonstrates your academic prowess. It is a poem completely immune to the possibility that someone will think it sucks. It expects to be absorbed, analyzed, studied, and discoursed upon because something feels "official" about whatever designates it as Good Art.

Literary poems are not only written by and for a special subset of people that have been formally taught to read and interpret poetry, they are written exclusively for audiences that will automatically assume they are Good Art; beautiful, meaningful, and worth interpreting. Because of this, most literary poems are literal incomprehensible nonsense.

Just take this one:

Say I climb the ladder of wheat/and at the top there is a faucet dripping beads of water/but the water takes a year to turn into an eagle/and the sky's forty-three shades of gray pierce/the first inflection of my heart, the point where the signals/throw grass into the river. Say the river sags/and the horizon sucks the lance out of the ghost's hands/like the moment of being born, the point where a shadow's/tongue slides through the faultline./Grace. Sunlight, cherries.

(it continues like this)

And conceptually, I love art as collaboration between the creator and viewer, where abstract, indeterminate and murky things are forced to take shape through the participation of the viewer as they interpret and associate things that stand out to them in the work! The "aliveness" of art in the abyss between what the artist attempts to communicate and what the viewer feels is the coolest thing to me!

But this philosophy of art is incompatible with the idea that there is an elite category of art that is worthy of interpretation, analysis, and reverence. I can fuck around with this random word generator and get something that is roughly as meaningful as the above. I don't mean that as demeaning to the poem, I mean that I feel demeaned by the poem, because its linguistic play and experimentation is something that everybody can do, that everyone should try doing, but this poem has been designated as something exceptionally meaningful and worthy and its writer teaches writing at the University of Chicago. You can click through that website for hours and not find a single soul without a MFA or above in poetry or creative writing.

For me, the world of "literary" writing was like a room with a splatter of vomit across the floor that no one else would acknowledge. The ability to formally study poetry in college was a privilege, but I was constantly aware of privilege, and the thing about privilege is the more you have, the less you think about it. What of the ability to pursue a PhD in poetry? What small fraction of people could expend so much time and money on something that didn't really have a career associated with it? And of that fraction, which fraction would be seen as "good enough" to publish poetry books and to teach? With poetry this indeterminate, how were the "good" poets selected at all?

Literary writing excludes poor people, and the existence of published literary poets who are immigrants or minorities doesn't negate this. Increasingly, published writing in general excludes poor people. A LOT of popular authors graduated from very elite schools!

But literary poetry I hate especially, because it puffs itself up on unlocking the universe and human experience and pain, as if insight into those things is a seldom-appearing gift instead of something many people have, except they don't have the time and money to train themselves into expressing it in a way that appears Literary.

The "literary" vs. "non-literary" paradigm had an inescapable rottenness to it. I couldn't stop thinking about the luminous conversations I'd had with people who lacked the formal training to express ideas in a "literary" manner, but still showed me something vital about the universe.

I've been bitching about literary poetry for like two years now, and really, I just hate what studying all that shit has done to my own writing style. It's so frustrating that the joy and playfulness won't come back.

[beneathashadytree]

HAVE A CIGAR - FUSHIGURO TOJI X READER

Warnings : older!reader, middle-aged!Toji, both reader and Toji are assassins, blood, cigar smoking, murder, non-sexual nudity, shotgunning, nightmares, mentions of hell and dying together, Shiu implied to be a lil nasty, jail, Toji is… not a good father (but because he actually poses a threat to their safety), use of “doll” and “sweetheart” (not necessarily fem! though), reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : domestic but fucked up ig?

Word count : 2.0K words (woah???)

Additional notes : I… literally haven’t written this much in over two years. Probably more, even. But I was so inspired by that one ask @textmel8r received and shared with us a couple of days back, that I couldn’t help but put it to words. It’s very messy—as it often is when you word-vomit all your ideas within an hour—but it’s honest work😔🙏🏽 Anyways, I hope you guys like it, and I hope this is what you had in mind Rae, when you wanted someone to write this!!🫶🏽🫶🏽 (and yes, the title is basically the Pink Floyd song—)

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Masterlist

“Take yours first. ‘ve still got a few calls to make.”

Weary bones dragged as they walked slowly, slowly, with nothing more than a hum to show that they’d even heard him in the first place. It only spoke volumes of their sheer exhaustion when they didn’t even protest, just tossing their gun aside with a clatter on their shared dresser.

Toji clicked his tongue in annoyance—how many times had he warned them that such a finely-made gun could be easily shattered on impact?—before he all but unceremoniously pushed them into the bathroom, his blood-slicked fingers staining the back of their shirt and then the door handle as he slammed it shut behind them.

He’d definitely be getting an earful about that later on, but he’d take it with no qualms whatsoever—but only if it were after they’d rested from the day’s shit-show. And after he’d called Shiu up to make sure that he’d cleaned that mess up after them, of course. The man was nothing if not a professional and certainly wasn’t waiting for him to remind him to never keep any loose ends untied, but still. It gave him something to do as he heard the shower run, too.

Short words. Even shorter answers came over the phone. That was the way it usually was after every assigned target was taken off the map, and Toji supposed his handler had the common sense to never question that, nor care much about the fact that he always hung up before he got more than two words in edgewise.

With the phone thrown in some far corner of the room (did it really matter, when he knew damn well that as soon as he stepped through that old creaky door he couldn’t give two fucks less about anything that happened outside their little bubble?), he went over to his half-empty bedside drawer and pulled out an almost-untouched box, a chunky metal lighter that had cost an embarrassing sum, and his pocket-knife, absent-mindedly going through the motions, until—

“Shit,” he hissed to himself, watching as he left bloodied fingerprints on the cigar next to the one he was pulling out. He hated how tiresome it was for them to clean up after another job. After a few seconds of consideration and then coming to a fuck-it-all conclusion, Toji wiped his fingers against the hem of his shirt, before quickly slicing off the end of the cigar and carefully lighting it with an out-of-practice flick of his hand.

His were clumsy hands that didn’t know how to carry a love like the one he buried in his chest; clumsy hands that could only convey it through gestures like letting them take their shower first because he knew that the hot water in this crappy apartment would only last one person, and he’d rather that person be them, or like drawing the thin curtains closed whenever he woke, damp with sweat and with catching breaths near dawn, because the glaring sun only ever shone down their side of the bed to give them a rude awakening.

But inexperienced in the realm of love as they were, at least they were hands that kept them alive, if nothing else. He’d stain them with his multitude of sins over and over again, fail to scrub them clean when he’s too tired to see straight, and grow callouses that roughened his thick palms if it meant that they’d stay safe and warm together under one roof.

And as decidedly ugly as he found the sight of his hands sometimes, he didn’t really have the heart to hate them when they were entwined with theirs—their own skin marred beyond recognition after the dozens (if not hundreds) of times they’d tightened their grip around their weapon to steady it as they sent off yet another person to meet the Grim Reaper.

Toji dragged and rolled the taste of the cigar between his tongue and teeth, holding his thoughts and the smoke simultaneously for a few odd beats, his scar stretching around his lip as it curled in pleasure. A rare habit of his, smoking cigars was, if the pristine condition of the box was anything to go by, but one he enjoyed no less as he savored the caramel-richness. An even finer enjoyment when he’d just sent three to their early graves, and simply wanted to unwind after putting multiple bullets to their brains.

Truly, it was sickening how little he cared about those silly details when the two of them wound up half-passed out in bed together at night. It even felt somewhat good, in a twisted sense, knowing that no matter how unforgivable his crimes would be in the eyes of a cruel jury or a heartless deity, they would always be right by his side, taking the same blame and going hurtling towards the same hell.

If ever there was one—hell, that is, an idea that almost seemed cynically amusing—he knew that they both belonged there, still tethered together in the next life of damnation. He’d grown rather fond of that sentiment.

He didn’t care for much else, he had to admit. When you were a man that possessed so little (and deep down he knew, somehow, that he wasn’t thinking of their financial status when that particular thought crept up on him), you could hardly be blamed for cherishing even less.

“Water went cold by the time I was scrubbing my feet,” they quietly said from behind him. Just as he’d predicted. Should he take some pride in knowing their quaint home like the back of their hand?

“Figures.”

With an exhale of smoke as he pulled his cigar away, he turned around to find them drying their hair with a towel—though nothing else covered their dewy skin. If it were any other time, Toji would feel himself stirring with the need to pull them onto his lap and make a mess of their sheets all night long. But right now, all he could think of—with all the fondness a man like him had—was how much better suited they were to looking so soft and warm.

“I tried to set aside some hot water for you in that plastic tub before it went out though.” Ah. There it is. That kindness they reserved only for him, in the exact same manner he only extended the chambers of his heart to them. There was a certain tenderness to the thought that he was indeed somehow loved in the same way.

So who would blame him when he tugged them down to the edge of the bed for a slow, tobacco-sweet kiss to their lips? “Thanks,” he mumbled into it, reveling in how their hand curled around his wrist.

They hummed, a little decadent half-smile on their lips as they pulled back, eying his still-fresh cigar. “Corona?” With a nod, he handed it over to their hand, where they twirled it between deft fingers as smoke curled around the glowing tip. “You always get the best ones.”

“Guess you’ll have to thank Shiu for that,” he smirked at them, something tugging at the spot lodged between his ribs as he watched their lips wrap around where his have just been, taking their own drag of the expensive taste and expertly undoing the band. “Bastard would take any shit y’have to praise him for.”

“Bet he would,” they chuckled, huffs of smoke slipping out from between their teeth, with no surprise whatsoever at his words. “Can always feel his eyes on me.”

“He’d have to be blind otherwise, doll. Face of an angel, swear it.”

Twisting the cigar between their fingers, they slyly cocked their head up at him. “Would you let him make a move on me?”

“Ain’t a problem f’me to put a bullet between his eyes too.” Toji might’ve been grinning, but there was a hardness to his voice that he let slip.

“Not if I did it first. Wouldn’t want you to go to jail for me, after all.”

The sheer irony made him laugh out loud, his still-sore muscles aching as he shook with the force of it—and it was all worth it when they smiled back at him like that. Jail? Him? It really was laughable, and they knew it. 40 year-olds like him didn’t wind up behind bars. They lived out of a burning spite and sheer will to lash out, like a rabid dog baring its teeth. He only knew how to bite.

And—maybe if he allowed himself the thought—to keep two hazy silhouettes shrouded in the safety he’d never be able to provide by their side. No, it was best to just blindly push on through from a distance for them, and hope it doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass. Not when they needed him.

So no prison for him.

“Pity. I’d have ya visit me.”

They arched an eyebrow at him, taking one last puff from his cigar before handing it back and grabbing him by the shirt. With a tug, their lips found his again, and he almost fucking groaned as the sweetness of smoke entwined with the taste of them that had been seared into his senses. And yet, the novelty would never wear off, not even after all these years. His palm would always find its way digging for purchase into their naked hip, grounding him and barely stopping him from going insane for them.

Hooded eyes shone up at him as they pulled back, slowly blinking (was it out of tiredness this time, or a simmering want?) and shushing him with a finger, only letting mild smoke slip out. “Idiot, I’d be getting you out the second they put you there.”

A menacing grin. He didn’t know how else to react; how to not let them feel how embarrassingly furiously his heart was pounding in his chest at the sentiment curling around the edges of their words. “Nice to know I’m wanted.” And it really was.

“You have your uses,” they quipped back, though they weren’t fooling him either. He could see it in their eyes, how they’d rip apart the ends of the earth for him. And for once, it felt good to know that someone truly would. They had the strength to keep that promise if need be.

Taking in another puff of heady smoke, their eyes fluttered shut as they rotated the cigar once again between their fingers and savored every breath. It was almost funny, how natural they looked with it, completely bare save for the towel draped over their shoulder and with half-dried hair, leaning back on their elbows to rest on the bed.

“Brat,” he huffed out, though there wasn’t any actual irritation in his voice. In fact, it was almost an endearment at this point. “You’ll get ash on the bed. I ain’t cleanin’ that up.”

With one eye open and glaring at him—though theirs was a gaze empty of malice—they pushed back up, their free hand reaching out to flick at his forehead, earning a grunt of protest. “You really don’t have any respect for someone who’s older than you, huh?” they rasped out, shaking their head. “Besides, you don’t clean for shit.”

“I sit there ‘n look good, sweetheart. ‘S enough work, dontcha think?”

A very pointed look was sent Toji’s way, eying him up and down in the state he was in, and he was painfully reminded of the fact that he was rotting in someone else’s blood, and that the water they’d set aside for him was probably ice-cold by now. So with that, he carefully set down the cigar in the ashtray on his bedside, and began to walk off to the no-longer-steaming bathroom.

“Have a cigar while y’re at it.”

They shook their head at that, a quiet admiration in their eyes as they watched him pull out clean sweats. At least he had the common sense out of the two of them to remember to take clothes with him to shower.

“Nah. They’re yours.”

He paused at the door, an incredulous look on his face. “D’y’ really want me to say it?” he sighed, exasperation laced with affection in his voice. “What’s mine is yours. ‘S our flat. Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.”

And if they noticed the tips of his ears flushing red as he turned his back to them, and picked up on the embarrassment at his own sappiness burning at his insides as he slinked off for a much-needed shower, Toji was grateful that they didn’t comment on it.

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[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /five/ Azriel X reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

They came not an hour later. You hid in your rooms like the coward you accused Tamlin of being. They didn’t put up a fight as Amerantha’s men, Rhys included, hauled them off towards the mountain. It left you in a state of dismay. Because with Tamlin gone, and the Faebane slowly leaving your system, there was no reason for you to stay here in Spring. You could easily run back to the night court and hide in one of the cabins your family owned. You could easily hide in the mountains and pray that one day Amerantha would meet her match. 

Only you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. One day you tried, only to turn and vomit in the rose bushes. You then turned around and went back to your rooms and crawled under your covers. You stayed there and didn’t move for the rest of the day. 

On the third day, Feyre showed back up. Much to your surprise, claiming to love Tamlin and willing to go under the mountain to save him. You rolled your eyes, but knew that love well. Because you would have given your wings if it meant seeing Az again. 

“She’ll kill you,” You say from your spot at the kitchen doors, “The second she realizes you’re there, she’ll kill you. But she’ll draw it out, make it slow and painful.”

“Not helping,” Alis hissed at you. 

“Who are you?” Feyre whips to face you. 

You only smirk, “A friend. That’s all you need to know. Rhys might be your only hope.” 

“Rhysand is a brute.”

“Perhaps,” You shrug, “But he wants out from under Amerantha as much as the next, only he has the power to make it happen.”

“What are you saying?” She questions. 

“If he comes to you with a bargain, take it,” You tell her, “It could just save your life. Play his games, it might just save you from hers.” 

“Don’t be a fool,” Alis said, “Don’t make any bargains.”

“Fine then, die and damn us all.”

“Why are you trying to help me?” Feyre asks. 

“Because, dear human, I want to go home,” you said almost wistfully, “And I can’t as long as that bitch is in power.” 

“Where is home for you?” 

“The Night Court. But I’ve been held here for hundreds of years.” 

“How old are you?” Her voice shook as she asked. 

You only laughed and shook your head, “My age is of no concern to you. I’m not even sure I know it anymore anyway.”

Alis sighs from behind Feyre and gathers some supplies. you  watch her carefully, wondering if she’s eager to send the poor human to her death, or if she hates the idea as much as you do. But you can only hope that Rhys will help her in any way that he can. You can only hope that he wants out as much as you think he does. 

“If you ever feel alone, look towards the shadows,” You explain, “I’m not promising I’ll be there. But if I feel I can risk it-” 

“Now that would be foolish,” Alis adds. 

“Thank you, Alis,” I hiss back, “You should go, now. Mother knows what that Bitch has done to your precious Tamlin.”

The idea of him getting his happy ending made you sick again. The idea of him being able to be happy when he’s caused so much suffering….you almost couldn’t handle it. But if this meant Rhys and the other members of the Night Court could be free then you had to allow it to happen. You had to try to aid the young girl in any way that you could. 

“Stick to the shadows,” You tell her, “You won’t get far once you enter, but always listen. And keep your wits about you.”

“Thank you,” She said in earnest. 

You watched from the broken front door as Alis led her away. You weren’t sure you’d ever see the human again, but you weren’t sad to see her go. It felt like leading a lamb to the slaughter, but it had to be done. There wasn’t another choice. Not if you wanted to survive, not if you wanted everyone to be free again. 

Each day you flung your powers out further and further, urging your shadows just a little further. They whispered back to you, telling you of what was happening under the mountain. How Feyre was dying, sick with fever and how Rhys came forth with a bargain. She headed your advice and took the bargain, marking her with a tattoo and a bond with Rhys. 

Each day you tried to find a way to contact your brother, but you knew you couldn’t risk it. There was no way you could reach his mind from so far away, not with the lingering effects of years of Faebane still in your system. 

You prayed that maybe Feyre would tell him about you and he would figure it out for himself and come for you once all of this was over. You prayed and prayed. There was nothing but silence. No news came. Your shadows were skittish, growing restless waiting for Amerantha to do something. 

You lost weight from not eating. The lack of food would kill you eventually, and maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. If Valaris parished and there was nothing left of the people you called family- no one left but Rhys who thought you were dead anyway…would death be so bad? It could all be over finally, and maybe the Mother would be so kind as to bring you back to Az in the next life. 

Three months. A mere blip in your young life, but feeling like a lifetime nonetheless. It took three long months before you saw three figures coming up the road. They were moving fast, all three of them. Feyre, it seemed, was no longer human. Your shadows neglected to tell you that when they said she’d survived and Amerantha did not. 

You made your way downstairs, towards the door which you’d managed to somewhat fix. None of them looked worse for wear, but you knew whatever Feyre had been through would stay with her for a long time. And Tamlin had the ornate ability to simply sweep things under the rug and forget about them. He would do the same with her. 

She looked High Fae, smelled like it too. With traces of my brother. So small, almost undetectable, but there. Shimmering like the bond you knew they had. You wondered when he would call in his bargain, when he would take her away from this place and show her the splendor of the Night Court, the beauty of it. 

“You’re still here,” Tamlin stopped, a scowl forming, “I set you free.”

“You set me free, perhaps, but I would have died before I made it back to my own Court. Safer to stay here until I could contact my brother.”

“That won’t be happening,” Tamlin said slyly, “Feyre, darling, why don’t you go inside with Lucien. I’ll be inside in a moment.”

Your eyes narrowed as she did as she was told. Lucien spared you a glance, pity swirling in his eye. It made a pit form in your stomach. You wouldn’t be leaving the Spring Court, you realized. You would be forced to stay here until the day you died, or until Tamlin finally decided to kill you. 

Maybe you would make it your mission to push him as far as you could so he would kill you. Maybe then you could finally know peace, and not whatever it was that you knew now. 

“I thought I was going to free you,” Tamlin took a step towards you, “But then your brother made that Bargain with Feyre, and made me look like a fool under the mountain.” 

“So once again, I’m to become your bargaining chip?” I question, “What? Me for Feyre?” 

“Perhaps.”

“I could mist you,” You hiss. 

“Ah, but you can’t,” Tamlin laughs, “Because even after all this time, the Faebane is still in your system. You can’t even winnow, because if you could, you would’ve left by now.” 

He surges forward and grips your cheeks in his hand. You yelp in pain before going completely still. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing you in pain, or anything. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of it. 

“You, little one, are going to be here for a very long time,” He squeezed your face harder, “And I’m going to enjoy finally breaking you.”

Little did he know, you were already broken. 

“Go to hell,” You spit out. 

“I was already there,” He smirked, “It didn’t take.” 

“He’ll kill you once he finds out,” You force out, “And I’ll watch and laugh.” 

“I’m counting on him trying.”

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[kittykattropicanna]

my brain is absolute mush i am in love with him!!!! he tries to get you to send him more photos — and you more than happily oblige — and he guards them like his life depends on it. slowly starts to ask more personal questions, mostly trying to figure out if you have a partner and when he finds out you don’t? the game is on. starts using pet names in his letters here and there, drawing you in deeper and you’re so helpless against him. and then the calls start and he hears your voice and then it’s all he can think about. tries to get you to say certain things — especially his name — for him to tuck away for later when he’s alone with your photo and his hand on his cock and wishing more than anything to have you instead of his fist ):

he thinks himself a good person, all things considered. but knowing you, and knowing you’re out there? no protection, such a sweet and soft thing — it worries him. maybe he asks johnny to try and find you. doesn’t necessarily disclose his true intentions, mostly out of curiosity. but then he starts thinking of when he gets out, how he can meet you, bring you back to his place, knowing he’s the best one to keep you safe and so he uses his time to get a head start so when he’s out he can finally keep you ):

hyperventilating, screaming, projectile vomiting, this, this, this, THISSSSS,

The reason im soooo obsessed with your ask is because 1, you’re a fucking incredible writer and 2, you dived so deep into PrisonPenPal!Simon’s psyche, his such a smart dude and unbelievably manipulative when he needs to be…..

Sorry everyones!! asks are taking so long to get out!! I just want to go into the most detail possible and give everyones ideas justice!! if you're waiting, I promise you its in the works rn &lt;3

TW: mentions of murder, jail, corruption kink, masterbation (Reader & Simon), public masterbation (kinda), phone sex, smut, manipulative!Simon and kinda stalker vibes I guess (not yandere)

PrisonPenPal!Simon masterlist

Regular masterlist

If you think about his sentencing, he purposely played his cards in away that made him the victim without him actually having to act like the victim if that kinda makes sense? 

The second he punched that kid he knew he fucked up bad, and then when he saw the blood seeping out of the kids skull and covering the floor, he knew he fucked up really bad. 

A normal person would either run, go into hiding, try and resist the arrest, break down and have a panic attack. But he knew this wasn’t time for an emotional response, he needed to start planning what his next step was going to be and how he was going to execute it in a way that favoured him. 

His not a psychopath, his 100% capable of feeling and experiencing human emotion and is very emotionally intelligent, but when he needs to be, his actions can be extremely calculated to the point its almost scary. 

When he sees your picture though, something definitely clicks in his brain, he just wants more.

If that means more pictures or letters or even a phone call, he just needs it. 

I think maybe its something primal as well… his a man at the end of the day, and being locked up for years in an all male prison with all male guards means he hasn’t even seen a women that isn’t a playboy model for fucking agessss 

His not dumb either, he knows you put effort into taking that photo for him, he knows you put on a red bra because he told you his favourite colour was red. So the idea that maybe, just maybe you feel the same way, or are at least starting to, really erupts something in him.

But you’re completely right. He wouldn’t show a soul the photo you sent him. He’d go to drastic measures to hide everything :( you sent them to him, you’re writing to him, not anybody else,and he knows that if any of the other inmates found out about you, or god forbid, saw a photo of you, they would have an absolute field day. 

He sees how the men his jailed with act when wives, sisters or girlfriends come to visit their loved ones. 

He hears their disgusting comments about the women’s bodies, the detailed answers of what they would do if they ever got their hands on them. It always made his throat fill with bile and stomach twist.

Si may not be a perfect man, but talking like that about another mans women? His above that.  

Thinking about how they would say the same things about you, how’d they’d all pass the photo around with a dirty smirk on their face and snicker? He wasn’t having that, over his dead fucking body. 

He writes back to you keeping it relatively normal, lighthearted and friendly, but he sneaks in a little 

“Ya’ boyfriend probably isn’t over the moon ya’ writtin’ someone like me, aye? I mean, if my missus was writin’ to a felon I’d blow my fuckin’ top love, theres gotta’ be somthin’ out there better for ya’ to been doin’, readin’ a book or somthin’ like that. It was lovely puttin’ a face to a name, just seein’ someone so happy makes me smile”

Receiving his letter makes your heart sore, you made him smile. 

Obviously you had to send him more photos right? You just wanted to make him smile…. right? :( 

You definitely didn’t want to send more because your pussy clenched when he called you “love”

Its definitely not because he was so protective over you, knowing he was so worried about your well-being, always asking if you're doing okay, asking if you’re safe…

“I worry bout’ you out there lovie, ya' gotta keep safe, look after ya’ self”

Getting your friends to help you take more photos for him!!! 

Maybe you force them to go on a hike with you… you wear those leggings that make your arse look fantastic, posing in front of a nice view and purposely sticking out your cute little bum, subtly showing it off to the camera…. Showing it off to him :((((

But its just to show him the view!!!!! He hasn’t seen a nice landscape in years!! He deserves it!!

You’re not a dirty girl :( you’re a good girl!! You would never do something so disgusting for a man who’s locked in jail, your daddy would be so disappointed if he knew you were sticking out your arse for a man like Si >:( 

Calling over your ex-situationships so they can fuck you, your dildo wasn’t enough anymore, you needed the real thing….you needed Si, but obviously you can’t have him, right? There’s no possible way you could ever experience your biggest fantasy….right?

So other men will just have to do :(((

Having them hold you down and fuck your pussy mediocrely, closing your eyes trying to imagine Si :( maybe even moaning his name accidentally…..

Its never really that enjoyable though, all you can think about is how Si would fill you so much better…technically, you have no evidence to prove that, but his such a gentlemen!! He knows how to speak to a women…he must know how to fuck one as well!!! 

It only makes sense….

It makes you so sad… he’d never think about you the same way you think about him >:( 

He’d never fantasies about your sloppy cunt the way you fantasies about licking up his fat cock, teasing his tip and ruining your throat as he shoves his meaty dick down it :(((

Rubbing your swollen clit on your pillow as you moan for him, maybe even looking at the grainy photo of his face while you pleasure yourself :(( you’re so disgusting for him, so needy, he would never want a girl as yucky as you….

When Si receives your next letter informing him that you don’t have a boyfriend as well as a photo of you posing for him, that’s when the obsession really begins :3

His not obsessed on a yandere level but his definitely deep into it :)

He never really thought about what he would do after he got out, he always kinda just guessed that he would go back to his old ways, but now he has you very obviously showing some type of interest in him, his mind is fucking racing!!!

Maybe he can get your number and use his monthly call to talk to you, maybe you can come visit him while his still locked up, maybe you’ll be willing to have him when his out, maybe you can move in together, maybe he’ll marry you, maybe he’ll finally get to fuck that sweet little pussy that his been fantasising about, maybe…maybe…..maybe..Ahhhhh!!! 

Stealing sponges and a rubber glove when his on cleaning duty :((((

Bargaining with his prison mates for hair ties and an empty Pringles can so he can make his own makeshift fleshlight :((( 

Fucking his fat dick with it while his eyes focus on your arse, imagining his got you in doggy and fucking you stupid:((( Maybe even putting his pillow in front of him and pretending its your arse, squeezing and spanking it >:(((

His corruption kink is feral…he knows his a lowlife with nothing good ahead of him, his more then aware that for the rest of his life his going to be labeled as a murderer, but the idea of him taking a pretty little thing like you and pulling you down with him makes him cum so hard his thick juicy thighs shake, fleshlight filling up with his cum and quite moans falling from his mouth >: (((

He doesn’t know were it came from, he just wants you to be with him and he knows he’ll never be able to live the white collar lifestyle you so obviously enjoy. 

The idea of taking you out of that world and reeling you into his consumes him. Shitty one bedroom apartment, cardboard boxes as bed side tables, stained carpet and a flickering kitchen lightbulb. Its almost feeds his cocky superiority complex. Being able to pull a beautiful doll like you, get you so obsessed and needy for him that you’d follow him to the shit hole he calls home. 

Being so obedient, so willing, that you give up everything you’ve worked for just to submit to him…..

Receiving that sweet little letter excites the fuck out of him, don’t get me wrong, but it also scares him a little, his protective instincts kick in a bit. 

If you’re one thing, its a little naive.

You’re so willing to give up sensitive information about yourself without a second thought, you’re very obviously extremely vulnerable and trusting…. 

As much as he wants to protect you, he also sees these personality traits to be extremely beneficial to him. 

You’re very easy to reel in after the line is crossed from polite and friendly to more flirtatious and maybe even a little bit sexual.

He addresses you differently in his letters now, no longer just using your name and actively being more outwardly affectionate towards you

“Hello my sweet girl :)”

and

“been on my mind lot’ lately, been thinkin’ about you, thinkin’ all sorts of things I know I shouldn’t ;)”

Once that barriers broken and your letters are just as enthusiastic, he knows his got you. 

His got you to a point that he knows asking for a phone call isn’t a risky move anymore :3

He plans it though, he knows exactly what his going to do on that phone call and he knows nobody can be around while his doing it. 

Like I mentioned in the first fic, his sentence was reduced because of his good behaviour, this obviously means his on good terms with the guards and most of the other inmates. They all owe him a favour in one way or another. He hadn’t asked for his good deeds to be returned, not needing them to be……until now. 

He writes to you deciding on a date and time, Thursday at 3am. 

He wanted to be alone when he talked to you, have some privacy and not be bothered. 

His on really good terms with the night guard who works Thursdays, with just a little bit of bribing, he could be let out and have his phone call with you alone. 

“Listen mate, ya’ want to know who’s movin’ drugs in and out of this joint? I can tell ya’ with no worries, but I need ya’ to do me a solid favour” 

The guard his reluctant of course, but like I mentioned, Simon can be calculated when he wants to be 

“Magin’ the raise you’d get if ya’ could give ya’ bosses that information? I saw ya had a photo of a little girl on ya car keys, think bout all the toys n’ shit you could buy er’ with some extra cash”

And obviously, he got what he wanted, it was light work really ;)

As 3am slowly got closer, you were shitting yourself, lets be real. It was hard to wrap your head around Si being an actual person, you know? Like of course his real, but it was all becoming a reality now….

You were three large glasses of wine in when it was time to call. 

When your phone started to ring from an unknown number,  you swore your heart dropped :((

The call almost rang out before you got the courage to answer it :(

When you did a very deep, rough voice with a heavy Manchester accent answered, you could hear the smirk through the phone, a confident “hello sweetheart” to match :(

His voice had your breath catch for a minute….of course you’d come up with your own idea of what he would sound like, but never in a million years did you think he would sound so charming, so confident, filled with anticipation, like he had been waiting for this moment for weeks…like he had thought of you the same way you thought about him :(((

It made your tummy swirl, that all too familiar hot ache feeling buzz in your clit :3333

On the other end of the line Si gently stroked his throbbing cock as you said your hellos :(( 

Your voice was even more memorising then he imagined, sweet little nervous giggles as you spoke to him, quietly letting him know that you weren’t quite sure what to say, that you were a little on edge, maybe a little excited. 

You could hear his laboured breath through the phone, a distant wet sound that you couldn’t describe, so quite that you didn’t know if it was real or just your preverted mind playing tricks on you, making you hear things that aren’t really there :(

Just the sound of your voice was driving Si crazy :( you’re just as sweet as he imagined you, maybe even sweeter 

He knew it was wrong of him :(

He knew that asking you to join his little game was evil. He had you right were he wanted you, and asking you to play with your pussy for him on the other end of the phone while directing you on how to finger yourself as he fucks his girthy cock with his hand wasn’t what you deserved…..

But he couldn’t help himself, not when you were talking to him like that, so innocent and sweet :(((

“Sweetheart, I need ya’ to do me a favour darlin’, okay? His cock was so hard it hurt, voice out of breath and sweat dripping down his brow. You were within arms reach, so close but yet so far away. 

“Slide ya’ hand into your panties baby, start playin’ with yourself, come on, tell me what you're doin, describe it to me”

You so easily obliged, so willing to please him :( agreeing nervously with a stutter and shaky breath as you tell him what your doing 

Describing to him what you’re wearing, an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath :( telling him you didn’t put panties on just for him :(

You let out a quite moan as you play with your tits, telling him how hard your nipples are, squeezing the pebbles and whining as he eggs you on 

“That’s it baby, play with those tits for me, yeah?, that’s my girl, squeeze em’ for me, there ya’ go” Si had to lean himself against the phone box as his tip leaked with pre cum :(((( 

Using it to lubricate his vainy cock making the wet sounds louder through the phone, you whine louder at the thought of his cock, closing your eyes you trail your hand down to your panties and slowly slip underneath the fabric to play with your wet cunt, just like Si asked:(((

“Rub ya’ clit for me baby, tell me how good I make you feel, say ma’ name, say it” he wanted so badly to commit it to memory, lock it away for later >:(

You moan his name as you circle your clit, eyes shut as you imagine Si doing it for you instead. You chant his name while your back arches a little, pleasure building at the sound of his rough grunts and wet cock being pumped through the phone >:((((

“I know, I know sweetheart’ just hold on a little longer for me, yeah? That’s ma’ good girl, ya’ not cumin’ yet” his hand fisted his cock, squeezing himself as tight as possible and screwing his eyes shut trying to imagine he was fucking your wet pussy, not his callused hand rough and dirty from the weights he was lifting early that day :(

“Finger ya’ cunt baby, finger ya’ cunt and scream ma’ name” 

You were dangerously close to the edge, the knot in your tummy tightening by the second, your once nervous moans now turned unashamed. 

Taking your other hand and slipping it into your pussy, you let out a desperate whine, muling your hips as you pumped yourself, squelching noises matching Si’s as you abused your wet pussy :((((

“That’s ma’ perfect girl, that’s it. Come on, let go for me, let me hear those gorgeous moans” 

Finally letting the coil snap your back arched like a cat, legs shaking as you moan his name, desperate whimpers as tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks 

Si gritted his teeth as he pumped himself, ropes of his sperm painting the concrete wall in front of him as his heavy cock twitched in his hands, animalistic grunts falling from his lips as that feral pleasure he’d been chasing washed over him. :((

He’d never cum that hard in his life, vision blurry from the white hot pleasure with your heavy breaths in the background :3

Just as he was about to open his mouth, speak to you again, the phone cut out, he had used up all his time with you :(

Harsh beeps filling his ear as his cock slowly softened, tip bright red from the attention…

He needed you more then ever now, protective instinct going through the roof :( 

Knowing you’re out there all alone with nobody to keep you safe made his blood boil…..

He needed to have a set of eyes on you, the constant letters weren’t enough anymore :((((

Maybe there was a bit of jealously as well, the thought that there may be someone else….

It drove him up the wall, made him feel rage he had only felt very few times in his life 

If he couldn’t have his eyes on you, then he’d 100% send Johnny out to do the work for him.

Looking through your letters and highlighting when you mentioned the name of the cafe you went to every morning, the name of the bar you and your co-workers went to every Friday to celebrate the end of the week. 

Of course he wouldn’t tell Johnny the truth, simply asking him to keep an eye on an “old friend that’s going through a rough time” while his locked up for the rest of his sentence :(

And Johnny obliged, happy that Simon was in contact with people that weren’t just 141.

Reporting back to him every week, always with a positive review :)

A soft thing like you cant be left to fend for yourself sweetheart, not in a world like this. But don’t worry, his got your back, even behind bars ;)

RAHHHHHHHH, him, my mind is filled with HIM

PrisonPenPal!Simon is open for requests so feel free to send them throughhhhh, add to the AU, ask me expand on certain topics, whatever floats your boat >:)

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[startwelve]

I Love You Too

Pairing: Maddy Pérez x male!reader/reader Summary: Maddy makes up the reader and how they met Warnings: A bit of obscenity. Without checking. Not my best, but worst job. I think the gender of the reader is not mentioned. Note: Sorry for the absence, I have a busy life, but I'm back with this Maddy fic. Sorry, she doesn't have the same narrative as my other fics, but I wanted to post something.

"Please be careful. Don't poke my eye out"

Maddy laughed.

"Stop whining"

She was straddling you and painting your lower eyelid black. You're sitting on her bed with your back leaning against the head of her bed and your hands gripping her hips, drawing imaginary circles with your thumbs. And a Pink Floyd song in the background.

You and Maddy had planned to study for history at her house, ending in a make-out session in her bed and on the way to something else. But on your part there was no desire, then Maddy had an idea; Makeup. Even if you listen to rock, it wasn't your thing to be in eyeliner and all that.

You gave her a kiss and as she walked away, she smiled.

"Your smile is very pretty," you're flattered.

Maddy smiled even more.

You were so cute with her that she didn't want you to ever leave her side. All of her previous boyfriends of hers were very… Nate. And luckily for her, she opened her eyes at it.

After breaking up with Nate, she decided to take some time, clear some things up, and meet more people. Then one night out, she met you. You were sitting on a sofa in the corner of the room, away from everyone. A friend of yours had dragged you to the place. That environment was not your thing. Pop music? It made you vomit. You'd rather be at a Metallica concert. Therefore, you were sitting, smoking a cigarette, oblivious to what was happening around you. Until you saw her in the crowd.

Her dance had mesmerized you, and you couldn't take your eyes off her. Maddy captured her and that night they ended up in a room in that unknown house.

At first, it was just that. Both you and her did not feel that you had something in common to take those meetings to something more. Well, that's what you thought until one afternoon…

You kissed her neck, while you rubbed with the rough tip of your finger, her soft and swollen clit, causing moans and sighs to spill from her lips. She was already reaching the edge of her, her vagina clenching around nothing and her moans getting louder. I grab your face, she attracted you in a messy kiss and without thinking she whispered; I love you.

You turned away from her completely and frowned at her, confused by her statement.

"I love you too," you confessed and kissed her again.

After that event, you and Maddy started dating. There were moments of tension, but nothing worrying enough to end in a separation.

Going back to the beginning…

"I'm done," Maddy said.

I hand you a mirror, and she bit her lower lip as you examined the final work. You smiled.

"I like it"

-Yeah? Maddy asked.

"Yes," you confirmed.

"From here on, you will do it to me," you said without taking your eyes off your reflection in the mirror.

Maddy smiled. You thought of continuing with her in the future, and he really liked the idea of her, because it was one of the best things he had of her in her life.

[louloulemons-posts]

Pickle

Eddie X fem!hopper!reader

Summary : You and Eddie had been so careful, so how on earth did you end up with a positive pregnancy test?

Word count : 2.9k

Warnings : Teen pregnancy, pregnancy in general, vomiting, talks of abortion, pregnancy fears, birth, probably incorrect medical talk, sweating, brief mentions of sex, minute angst, MAJOR fluff, dad eddie, use of Y/N, use of petnames, not proofread and wrote at 4am.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were fucked. Absolutely fucked. It was normal to sometimes have a late period or even miss it, due to stress, you could be anaemic, things like that happened to a lot of people.

But this was something else. After vomiting a few times you decided you’d rather be safe and just check. With a positive test in hand, you almost screamed and said every foul word that came to mind.

What were you going to do? You’d been so safe, how did this even happen. Sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet you sighed. Ultimately you got keep it or get rid of it.

You were 19 years old, you didn’t know what to do. What would people think? What would Eddie, you ever so sweet boyfriend, think? Your dad? Your sister? Oh god you were going to vomit again.

A sharp knock on the door cut that idea short, “Babe, you okay? You’ve been in there a while?” Eddie spoke to you.

“Uh .. Y-yeah, I’ll just be a minute Eds.”

“Okay babe, hurry though, dinners getting cold.”

Shoving the test into a draw, you ran your hands under some cold water, splashing your face. You were pregnant. And now you had to decide what to do.

Walking out into the lounge you found Eddie stretched out comfortably on the sofa, dressed in a wore metallic tee and some sweats. Pizza boxes lay on the table, you thought you’d have a cosy, stay at home date night.

Sitting next to him, you smiled. “Tuck in babe, it’s so good,” he said, taking another slice of pizza. Taking one for you self, you munched happily, that was until you reached a piece of pepperoni.

You heaved and dropped the food, running to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. “Baby!” Eddie shouted in alarm, getting up quickly, following you. “Hey you okay?” he asked, carefully rubbing your back, and pulling falling strands of hair back.

“Yeah I’m okay. Sorry Eds.”

“It’s okay, let’s get you in to bed.”

“Just let me brush my teeth first,” he hummed and helped you up off the floor, flushing the toilet whilst you put toothpaste on the brush.

Helping you to bed, Eddie couldn’t help but be concerned, you hadn’t been yourself for a few days now. “I’m going to get you some water and a cold compress for you head, you look flushed. Get some pyjamas on okay?”

“Mhm, okay,” you mumbled to him as he left the room. Your body felt heavy and horrible.. You were so annoyed, you’d be looking forward to this pizza all day, and this little parasite just says no I don’t want that. How fucking rude.

A few minutes later you were lay in bed, under a blanket, eyes closed, trying to keep the nausea at bay. “Hey Sweetheart I’m back.” Eddie came and sat next to you, “Drink some of this.” He passed you the glass of water.

Taking a few slow slips, you felt the cold liquid soothe you straight away. “Rest you head baby,” he said, putting the cold compress on your forehead. “How you feeling?”

“Better now.”

“Good I’m glad.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Might be something to do with this,” you opened your eyes, to see the test in his hand.

“Shit Eds.”

“Hm. I’m assuming that’s what you were doing in the bathroom?” You nodded slowly.

“So um … what are you gonna do?” he asked.

“Well it’s up to both of us.”

“Not really. You’ll be carrying it, you have to deal with stuff like this. It’s up to you babe, no matter what you choose I’ll be right here,” he said softly, brushing your hair off the washcloth.

“I don’t know what to do. We’re basically kids ourselves Eds, we haven’t got a home, I’m only in my second year at college, we don’t have money. God Eddie I don’t know what to do. We were so careful!”

“I know Sweetheart, I know. It’s okay. How about we just think about it for a few days? I’ll call a doctor and get an appointment booked okay, we have time. Sound good.”

“Yeah. Thanks Eds.”

“Don’t need to thank me, this is basically my fault,” he chuckled.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sat in the doctors office, you leg was bouncing, anxiety filling your veins. Eddie squeezed your hand softly, in a comforting manner. “It’ll be okay Sweetheart, no matter what happens. You got this, and I’ve got you.”

“Y/L/N,” you heard a voice call, standing up you saw a woman on the shorter side, a soft smile on her face, dark hair flecked with grey. “If you’d like to come in,” she said, motioning into the room behind her.

Eddie squeezed your hand again, and the pair of you entered. Shutting the door behind her, she began talking, “So you had a positive pregnancy test?”

“Yes, three days ago.”

“Well okay then, it’s very rare to get a false positive, but we will know for sure today. I’m going to have to run some bloods and a urine sample. Find out how far along you are,” she said softly, obviously noticing you weren’t as thrilled as you assumed most women expecting a child are.

“It’s okay to be worried, both of you. You’re young. Once we find out everything we need to know, I’ll give you some leaflets for different things. For if you decide to carry on with the pregnancy, or go down the other path. Either one is fine and completely your choice.”

The pair of you nodded at her, “Okay so I’ll take your bloods first if that’s okay?” You slid off your jacket and rolled up one of your sleeves, soon enough she had what she needed and was passing you a small bottle.

In the bathroom you sighed, this was really happening. You knew you wanted kids, and kids with Eddie for sure. You just didn’t expect it so soon, and she was right, you had other options. But what if you wanted this kid, you knew this child would be loved.

Even if your dad would be royally pissed off for a while, he’d love the kid. You had Wayne, El, all the kids, Joyce, Nancy, Steve, Robin. And most importantly, you had Eddie, you knew this child would be loved by him. By you.

Maybe love was enough.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Lay on a bed with your shirt pulled up just under your breasts. You inhaled sharply as cold gel was put on your growing bump. “Sorry sweetie,” the nurse chuckled.

Soon enough a small image appeared on screen. Your little pickle, or so Eddie had been calling them as that’s been your main craving for the past 20 weeks.

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand, unable to take his eyes off the screen. “Baby’s looking very good. Nice and healthy. Here is their head,” The nurse said, pointing out little parts of your baby.

“So one of my biggest questions for you today is, would you like to find out what you’re having?” she asked. You and Eddie didn’t really mind, you’d loved them no matter what, but you both knew you were too impatient to wait.

“Yes please.”

“Okay then, let’s see,” moving the probe around your bump. “Ah here we are, they’re very compliant,” she complimented, “Most little ones like to hide away at this point, make it difficult for me to find out.”

You and Eddie let out a laugh at that, this whole experience so far has been incredible. Minus the vomiting and feeling tired. Feeling your baby kick for the first time had been surreal.

“Okay so, you’re having a very happy and healthy baby girl. Congratulations.” You looked at Eddie, his eyes glassy, “Our little pickle is a little lady,” his voice broke.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Eds go, have fun. We both need a night with our friends.”

“Yes I know I know, but you’re just so close to having our pickle. I get worried if you go and pee alone.”

You laughed, “I did realise that.” Running your hands in his curls, you smiled. “We’ll be fine, and if anything happens, I’ll get the girls to call okay?”

“Okay.”

He kissed your bump and then your forehead. “I love you.”

“We love you too.”

Soon enough Eddie had left, and Max, Nancy, Robin and El had appeared. You’d wanted a girly night, kind of like a relaxed baby shower. “I can’t believe I’ll be an auntie soon,” El clapped her hands together.

“You’ll be the best auntie,” you smiled, hand on your very large bump. You were due in a few weeks and boy were you ready. Swollen breast, feet, aching back, stretched skin. You’d forced Eddie to stand and lift your stomach for a good few minutes a few days back just to help your spine.

Your little one had also taken a liking to kicking your bladder. Sitting besides Nancy, you picked at some potato chips, humming at the salty flavour.

“Thank you guys for coming, this feels like the first normal night I’ve had in like … 8 months.”

“Of course, and I brought movies,” Robin said, pulling a selection out of her bag.

“So are you prepared for this little lady making her appearance?” Nancy asked, motioning to your tummy. “I think so. We’ve had the bag packed for like a week, but I don’t think we’ll really know until she’s here.”

“I’m excited. When she’s big enough can I teach her to skate?”

“Course Max, I was hoping you would.” The red head hummed in contentment, pulling a a bowl of popcorn towards you and El.

A lot had changed in the last few months, Hopper and El had moved in with Joyce, leaving the cabin vacant. Bursting into tears when your dad handed you the keys, you blamed it on hormones. It’d be strange living without your dad, sister and Wayne, but they had visited regularly.

The cabin was now your home, you and Eddie painting Els old room a pale purple. A rocking chair, crib, cupboards filled with clothes and toys. Of course she’d spend the first few months in with you and Eddie.

Everyone had been so great, Steve and Jonathan had helped Eddie build the crib. Will painted the walls carefully, making it look beautiful. The other three boys, Mike, Lucas and Dustin had worked together to make a dragon mobile for above their crib.

You’d never felt so much love, Joyce had been around a lot too. Her being one of the few mothers you knew, comforting you when you were stressed and tired and laughing with you when you were happy.

Then there was El, Max, Nancy and Robin. Those girls were your saviours. Constantly keeping you company, making you smile, getting you emergency pickles at 1am.

Your dad surprisingly wasn’t annoyed at all, he was happy for you. He was over the moon, couldn’t wait to be a grandpa. Similarly to Wayne, who of course would also take that title.

And then of course there was your Eddie. He’s been your rock. When you’d cried out of discomfort, or fear or just cried for the sake of crying. When you needed, hugs or massages … or other things …

He’d been perfect. He was always perfect. He was going to be the best dad.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“I’ll be back in a minute ladies, little miss wants me to go to the bathroom again,” you laughed, pushing up from the sofa and waddled to the bathroom.

You couldn’t wait to stop doing that, Eddie teased that you were becoming a duck. Quacking as you walked. Rubbing your stomach softly, you smiled, you couldn’t wait to meet her.

A sharp pain shot through you. “Oh fuck, ow,” you exclaimed. You looked down, that wasn’t pee.

Shit. Your waters had just broke.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Hello, Harrington residence,” Steve spoke.

“It’s Robin, put Eddie on.”

“Munson it’s for you.”

“Hello?”

“It’s Robin.”

“Hey Robs, what’s up?”

“Okay, so like, don’t panic or anything. Y/Ns gone into labour, Nancys driving her to the hospital right now. So you should go there. Like right now.”

“Shit!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Fuck it hurts,” you cried, clinging on to Eddies hand. “I know baby I know. But guess what, soon it’ll be all over, and you’ll be holding our little baby.”

“I don’t think I can do this Eds, ow,” you screamed as another contraction went through you. “You can. I know you can, you are the strongest girl I know. You can do this.”

“Just a few more pushes and she’ll be here,” a doctor spoke. “Hear that Sweetheart, you’re almost there. Just a few more, you squeeze me okay.”

“Okay,” you cried, gritting your teeth as you pushed again. “There we go, one more push and we’ll have her head!”

“Go on Sweetheart, big push,” Eddie said, kissing your sweaty forehead. You screamed in agony as you pushed again. The room went silent, you body felt numb. Soon a loud wail pierced the silence.

You let out a sob, she was here. Your baby girl was here.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It was 3am and you were sat with your baby in your arms. 7 pounds exactly. Head already coated with her fathers crazy curls. Beautiful eyes.

She was now clean and wrapped up in her jammies and a blanket. Snoozing away happily, having just finished a feed from you.

After being passed for the nurses she settle quickly on your chest, not fussing much after the initial cries when she first arrived. A soft coo here and there.

The room was dark and quiet, you and Eddie just admiring her. “She’s so perfect,” he spoke softly. “Course she is, she’s ours.”

You’d had a few visitors, Eddie didn’t want to overwhelm you. So Grandpa Hop, Grandpa Wayne, Auntie El and Grandma Joyce had been in. All of them unable to stop smiling at the sight of your little family.

“I think I know what we should call her,” you said. “Hm?” Eddie questioned.

“Well you know how you called her pickle?”

“Babe we can’t call her pickle!” he laughed.

You did so too, shushing her as she whined softly at your chest’s movement. “Pepper.”

“Pepper?”

“Like picked peppers.”

“I love it.”

“Our little pickled pepper,” he smiled, kissing both of your heads softly.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It’d been the first time you’d been away without your baby girl. It was frightening to say the least, but you and Eds were told by your family that you deserved it.

They’d paid for you to go on a weekend trip to Chicago for a getaway. It was great, you and Eddie went exploring and stayed up late. You caught up on sleep and other activities that had been hard to do whilst an inquisitive two year old was around.

You had to admit though you were both buzzing to see her. However, that excitement would have to wait for the morning, as the traffic had made you arrive after her bedtime.

Walking into your fathers home, Eddie called out quietly, “Hello?”

“Hey you two, did you have a nice time?” Joyce smiled. “It’s was great. Sorry we’re later than expected.”

“It’s fine, she’s been golden. You too deserved the break.” Soon enough Hopper appeared, a sleeping girl on his shoulder.

“Hey dad,” you smiled. He leant forward and kissed your cheek, then turned to Eddie to hand your daughter over.

“Eddie,” he smiled at the curly haired boy, whilst your own baby, with his exact hair snuggled into her dads neck. “I’ve missed her so much,” he laughed.

“She’s staying in our bed tonight, we’ve missed out on two days of cuddles,” you said. The older adults laughed, handing your her bag, and stuffed dragon. You were on your way home.

Placing her down in bed she stretched out on the large surface. She spent most nights in her own room, only joining you if she had a nightmare or there was a storm, or if mom and dad really needed a cuddle. It was one of those nights.

“I loved this weekend, but I’m so glad we’re home,” you spoke to Eddie.

“Me too, we should take her with us next time. She’d love the pizza.”

“She would, shockingly,” you thought back to your pregnancy, and how you couldn’t stomach it, but she loved it.

Similarly, even-though she was still your little pickle, she couldn’t even stand the smell of them. Laying down on the bed, Eddie pull her and you onto his chest.

She hummed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay my love, mommy and daddy are here. Go to sleep.” She sighed, head resting comfortably over Eddies heart. Her curls tickling his nose.

You kissed him softly. “I love you Eds.”

“I love you Sweetheart.”

The three of you drifted off into a deep slumber, what a perfect little trio you were.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

[nkogneatho]

Pasi pasi psst. I am thirsty, and you're writing is god tier so if you want, tell me how jjk characters react when you suck their dick out of nowhere. Thank you.🛐

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐉𝐎𝐁𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒.

—cw: gn!reader (although I wrote it with a fem!reader in mind), public s3x, gagging, hair tugging, sw@llowing.

A/n: I AM SORRY. I word vomited. I was so horny. I felt satisfied and I kept writing and writing Didn't have time to proofread hehe😭

#m.list #taglist #kofi #milfhub.

#𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

We all know Satoru is a whore. It's easy to get this man horny. That being said, he loves risks. But what you hadn't seen yet was how he were to react if he were caught off guard. And you were the only person Satoru never put his wall up for.

Nanami had called you two for an urgent meeting to give you intel on Yuuji. He had been training and watching over him for quite a while now. It was nice having a helping hand. Plus you and Gojo got to spend more time because of it.

When you entered the room, it was empty with Nanami in no sight. He was running late which was odd since he's always on time. But you figured out, this was the perfect chance to carry out your plan. Satoru started fooling around, making jokes as he sat on Nanami's chair, shuffling his things around. He loved making him mad. He started drawing silly figures of him on a paper with stupid texts. He was having his fun until he felt something—someone between his legs.

"Wh-" You shushed him, unzipping his pants and taking his dick out. You spat on it, giving it a few strokes with your hand before taking it in your mouth. As I said, he gets turned on very easily. He got hard so fast. Your eyes never left his face as you were bobbing your head on his dick. He lifted his eye mask, making a few seconds of eye contact, but it broke as he rolled his head back for the tip was pushing against your throat. He looked so messed up, biting his lips as he came.

Motherfucker later thanked Nanami for setting up this meeting since he got the best blowjob ever.

#𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

Toji loved money. So did you. It was one of the reasons you started working and living together when you realised your skills together are unmatched. It meant getting the job done quicker and more money.

You both had a platonic work buddy relationship. But living together in closed spaces without having dirty thoughts about each other was hard. So you both eventually gave up to your desires and fucked. It was supposed to be a one time thing. But then it was even harder now that you had known what your skins felt against each others. And so, it happened again. Twice, thrice until you eventually lost count.

"The Hanemiyas said to meet here. Make sure to demand more money and not give in easily like last time," he said leaning back on the cushion of the seat. You were in this shady restaurant with like three people around. It had a booth seating system so people barely had an idea about their surroundings.

"Tsk." You saw him frowning at his phone.

"What's the matter?" You asked.

"He sent me a text said he's going to be 20 minutes late. That motherfucker."

"Why don't we use this time to ourselves then?" You smirked.

"You mean order a meal? That's a good idea. I want meat." For a man that big, his brain is surely pea-sized. But then again, blowjob wouldn't be the first thing on someone's mind in a restaurant.

He felt you brushing your hand on his cock. And then he realized. It's not about a meal. It's about his meat. You bent down, untying the lace of his bottoms, shifting them a little so you had a nice view of his big cock. You didn't even stroke it. It had always been too big for your mouth but you take it like a champ. Toji was struggling keeping up with his composure as you were sucking him. He's the kind of man that always loses it and fucks the shit out of you if you tease him. But it wasn't the right place, neither the right time.

He was about to cum. He saw the waiter coming but you didn't care. You gulped down his cum shamelessly.

"Good afternoon. What would you like to order, sir?"

"Uhm." He cleared his throat, leaning forward so the table would hide his loosened bottoms. "We're expecting company. But two glasses of fresh lemonade sounds nice." You saw him as he struggled to be his usual self, acting so polite. It was fun.

#𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

Suguru falls more on the "if life gives you lemon, juice the shit out of it" side. He always sucks you off so good. And he never stops until you've atleast came three times.

Lazy days with Suguru were the best. You had to nothing but just lie around, taking rest. It helped that you lived near the beach. It was so relaxing to have a picnic on the beach. The calming sounds of waves, the sun hitting your skin. Your boyfriend's skin and his bare tits. You noticed he had unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt.

You started tracing figures on them. His eyes averted to you. You looked so pretty under the sun, getting tanned.

You looked around to see if there are people near you. Luckily, most of them were at a far distance and some of them went to hit the water. It was a perfect time to give him his lemons, to repay last night.

He was enjoying the view until he felt something slowly crawling up his leg. You had moved your legs up his thighs, rubbing them against it. He was confused but his eyes widened when you got up and crawled between his legs.

"Y/n—fuck." You removed his semi-hard cock, grabbed it, stroking it up and down. "We're in public."

"So? That wasn't a problem for you when you were fucking me in the park the other day." You grinned. Suguru always fucked you whenever he wanted, regardless of the location. So it was only fair.

You bobbed your head, taking him in your mouth. He hissed, biting his lower lip, looking at your pretty face, swollen lips wrapped around his cock. Fuck. It was so risky. That's what made it even better. I told you. Geto stands by that moto, "when life gives you lemon, juice the shit out of it." So that's what he did. He grabbed your hair, guiding you. You felt so horny. He increased the pace, being harsh on you. When he came, his flicks fell down, body covered in sweat as he rolled his head back. You both furrowed your brows feeling more horny. He yanked you to the back of the palm tree. You knew you were going to have trouble walking back home. Glad you lived nearby.

#𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

The day was a fucking mess. It was so exhausting and busy. Sukuna was clumsy at work and it caused a big problem. He was refusing to come back home, but you were worried and went to pick him up.

"It's gonna be okay, baby. It happens to me too," you tried consoling him.

"You don't understand. This was supposed to be my big shot and messed up. I am so fucking frustrated." He sighed, hitting the steering wheel.

Sukuna has a habit of lashing his anger out on things. Not to people, never to you, but things. When you eneteredhis office, it was a goddamn mess. Files lying around, paper torn and a vase broken down. There was only person that could calm him down. It was you. You appeared in his life like a savior. He loved you so much.

You tried everything, every sentence that could help him calm down but nothing worked. But then you remembered one thing that always helps. You tried third time.

"What you doing?" You had unzipped his pants, snekaing your hand inside, making sure no one catches you in the parking spot. He was still frustrated but that turned into pleasure when the warmth of your mouth wrapped around his lengthy dick.

But Sukuna never feared someone catching you guys. That was the best thing about him. He embraced the risks, aware of the pleasure and profit it will cause him. Which is why it made him a perfect businessman.

You swiped your tongue on the tip of his length a few time, before taking it all in. Fuck, it felt so good to fuck your throat in the middle of the afternoon at a parking spot.

Sukuna came so hard, all his frustration washing away with his orgasm as his head rolled back and hands tighten around the steering wheel, ans your hair.

#𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

Nanami often had to work overtime. So the only day you could spend time together was on the weekends. You were so understanding, which is why Kento knew you were the right person for him. So he decided to make the weekend special for you.

He took you grocery shopping. It was odd. Don't get me wrong. He loved coming to the supermarket with you. Although it was rare that he suggested it this time.

You couldn't figure it out at first but as soon as time passed, you saw all the ingredients to your favorite dish in the cart. You smiled at him while he was picking up some sauce for the dish.

He asked you to wait a minute while he used the washroom. A very interesting thought strucked your mind. A dirty one too. You went after him, parking the cart in a corner where it wasn't so visible.

"Y/n. What you doing here? Who's watching the cart?" You locked the door behind you.

"Shh." You grabbed his collar, dragging him to the stall. You were lucky there was no one else in the washroom. Atleast yet. "Oh, Ken. You always work so hard for me. For us. It's only fair if I give you a little surprise."

"I don't understand—" he stopped when he found you on your knees. And then he got a hold of the situation. He smiled at you. Although you couldn't tell if it was innocent or flirty.

Nanami did the extra work for you, unbuckling his belt, taking his dick out for you. He slapped it against your cheeks for a few times before shoving it inside. You wetted it with you saliva and started sucking him off. Nanami was a moaning mess. When he came, he painted your lips that had been swollen from the actions white. He looked at you with those affectionate eyes as you licked your lips.

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