#so thanks to everyone for being patient

[gotchibam]

Heyo! I'm opening limited number of slots again for pokemon ko-fi doodles!

If you're interested, you can check out my commissions page here: ☕ https://ko-fi.com/gotchibam/commissions

They'll be in the style similar to the art above since the lineless style I've been doing them in takes me so much time to finish 😔 Hopefully I'll be able to speed up my workflow this way 😤

Please take note I still have commissions in progress (you can view my backlog here) so it may take a while before I get to work for this batch. I hope you guys understand ;_; Thank you sm as always!! ;w;

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) + part 6

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Smut. Mourning. More smut. Forbidden romance. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... divider by saradika-graphics PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

And I, I come here to be what you need, so you can fly, so you can fly -Detune, Kaleida

PART 6.

You always thought the boxy behemoth of John and Helen’s house looked more like a museum than a home. The dramatic lighting in the landscaping out front reinforces this impression, though gliding into the garage where the Mustang gives one last dying rumble before John kills the ignition maybe contradicts this notion. 

You have the startling realization that you have never been here, without Helen.

You see no traces of her in the garage. Her Lexus is gone. A motorcycle is parked where her SUV used to be. You wonder if John cleaned out her other belongings inside. It’s none of your business, how he decided to handle the remnants of her things, but the thought makes your heart ache in your chest all the same. 

“Ready?” he asks quietly, perhaps sensing your inner turmoil as you sit dead still in the passenger seat for too long, paralyzed in your thoughts of your sister. 

Not sure if it’s true, you nod anyway, making to extricate yourself from the low-slung sports car. John removes your duffel from the trunk, slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder. You’d thought it heavy, but he handles it like you’d packed nothing but a bag of feathers, and it’s possible you admire the view of his powerful form from behind as you follow him inside. 

A part of you still can’t believe you are doing this. 

Now that your thoughts are only partially clouded by lust, your inner voice of judgement is still yet undecided as to how much loathing you deserve for this escapade. The garage leads into a mudroom, then the kitchen. John tosses his keys into a wooden bowl and flips a light. The open plan of the house gives you a clear view across the dining area and the recessed living room, and something in your heart unclenches as you realize he has not changed a thing. 

All of Helen’s carefully curated curios and objet d’art remain in place, and it’s almost as though she’s still there, in a way. Your eyes fill with tears, and desperately you try to blink them away before John notices you’re having a mini-crisis over the sight of Helen’s coffee table books on modern architecture. 

You are saved by the sound of claws clicking on the tile floor. A handsome blue pitbull trots up to you, immediately leaning on your legs after a perfunctory sniff. “Oh. Who’s this?” you ask, leaning over to pet the friendly fellow. 

“That’s Dog,” John answers with the chagrined smile of a man who knows your next thought will be something along the lines of “You couldn’t be bothered to actually name your dog?”

In an attempt to be original, you let it go. “What a sweetie.” 

You wonder what changed Helen’s mind from her original plan. “I thought she was getting you a beagle for some reason,” you remark quietly as Dog licks your chin. You scratch him behind his ears and down his back, smiling as he wiggles blissfully under your longish nails. 

John sighs heavily in response. “Yeah.” You sense there’s a whole explanation behind that one word, and maybe you’d talked a tough game back in your apartment, but it’s late, and you’re tired, and you find you don’t have the mettle to pry any more explanations out of this man tonight. 

Especially not ones that seem like they’re going to hurt him.

You get the sense that John has endured a lot in his lifetime. The last thing you want is to cause him more pain. 

He weighs you with those soulful eyes, and you can’t help but feel like he’s reading a little too much between your lines. “I…can prepare the guest room for you, if you prefer?” 

You wonder if he senses your unease in this new and tricky situation–or if he’s the one changing his mind. 

“I’m not…sleeping with you?” you ask, trying and failing to hide your own disappointment at hearing this proffered out. 

“Only if you want to.” 

You find the last thing you want tonight, is to toss and turn with your thoughts of Helen, alone. 

You can still see the hint of lace of your panties peeking out from his breast pocket, and a part of you wishes he would just sling you over his shoulder and take you to bed. 

And take all the blame, you chide yourself. 

No. If you’re digging this hole…you’re doing it together. 

Maybe it’s not entirely fair, the way you close the space between you slowly, your heels clicking on the tile. “What do you want, John?” you ask gently, and you don’t mean to purr it so sweetly, but it just comes out of you when you’re with him. And maybe it’s also not fair, when your hands find his trim torso, sliding under the warmth of his suit jacket. You feel he is strung taut as tightrope beneath his fine clothes; yet the moment you touch him something seems to let go.  

His eyes slide closed, and he does not answer you with words, ducking to press his lips to yours. Whatever feelings of guilt had been stewing beneath your skin utterly evaporate, immolated by the fire this small gesture ignites within you again.

“Me too,” you admit against his pillow-soft lips, and you think his huff of self-deprecating laughter is nine tenths relief. 

“Come on.” He nuzzles your nose with his before turning to lead you upstairs. 

You realize you’ve been in his bedroom before–but again, only with Helen, as she shared some new pair of shoes or designer dress she’d bought, putting on a fashion show for you in the walk-in closet, usually before foisting “hand-me-downs” she'd never actually worn (and clearly bought with your taste in mind) upon you. 

It certainly feels different now, the neatly made bed glowing in the moonlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows. You know that they’re mirrored on the outside, but you still wonder how one goes about not feeling like they live in a fishbowl. You suppose you are unaccustomed to living in a house without close neighbors. It’s a luxury you could never afford in the city. 

John turns on a lamp, and sets your bag gingerly by the bed. “I’ll make room for you in the closet.” 

You’d barely packed enough to require it, but still you nod, touched by the thought because you never would have presumed to ask. “Tomorrow,” you say quietly, your hands finding their way under his jacket again, pushing it from his shoulders. You drape it carefully over the back of a nearby chair, certain it cost more than your rent.

He watches you with those soulful dark eyes, and you feel yourself melting all over again. He seems to enjoy your hands on his body as you slowly work on undressing him, loosening the knot of his tie, sliding the patterned silk from under his collar. You move on to his shining white gold cufflinks. “Pretty,” you compliment, working the toggles carefully. 

He hesitates a moment before admitting, “They were a gift.”

“I know. I helped Helen pick them out from Dunhill.”

He looks at you from beneath his lashes, the flash of sorrow in his dark eyes fathomless as the sea at night. He still hurts so much, and you understand. You feel it too.

“It’s ok,” you say, speaking to yourself as much as him. “We should say her name. We shouldn’t skirt around it. I want to remember her.” You don’t want her name to be taboo between you, even if what you are doing is more than a little fucked up. 

He closes his eyes, dipping his head in agreement. “Thank you.” You get the feeling he means for more than just helping your sister pick out an anniversary gift for him. You just nod, and he presses his forehead to yours. You stand like that for a long while, two people who are broken but maybe, just maybe, have found a bit of light in each other against the crushing gloom.

You fancy that you feel the exact moment, when John makes up his mind for certain about you. He gathers you to him with a new edge of desperation, grips your curves just this side of too hard, like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on to you. His mouth slants over yours, and you take the onslaught of his passion gladly, holding him to you with arms around his neck as he devours you. The fine zipper down your spine proves no obstacle for his clever hands; your dress slides down your body, pooling around your ankles. 

The hunger in his expression as he looks down at you in just your strapless bra makes your legs weak–it doesn’t matter, because he holds you, and he’s not letting you go. His voice comes rough with the edge of desire: “Y/n…I know I don’t deserve you. But God do I want you.” He doesn't give you much of a chance to answer, manhandling you onto the bed like you weigh nothing, which isn’t the case at all.

You would have told him that you want him too, more than you've ever wanted anyone, but his mouth is on yours and you're happy to kiss him instead. His lean body presses you down deliciously into the soft mattress; you open eagerly, twining your legs with his, holding him to you. He's still completely clothed, and you make an attempt to undo some buttons, craving his bare skin on yours like air to breathe. The promise of his hard groin against yours makes your vision spin. 

“I’m sorry,” he growls, seemingly at your breasts as he moves down your body, his hot mouth searing trails of fire down your skin. Your brain function is not at its best at the moment–you’re not sure what he’s talking about at all, and he doesn’t expand on his point until his teeth are grazing the curve of your hip. 

“I haven’t…been with anyone…since Helen,” he explains, his voice rough with want. “I might be…a little rusty.”

You have to bite down on a laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s so endearing you could scream, and if this is John Wick when he feels like he’s not on his game…you don’t think you can handle this man at his best. 

“I don’t think you have to worry,” you sigh as he kisses the inside of your thigh, moaning as his soft lips travel higher. It’s almost embarrassing how wet he finds you, when he slips the tip of his thumb just past your weeping hole. The sound he makes is more animal than man as he falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, guiding your legs over his broad shoulders, and when his tongue touches your clit you see God. You cannot sit still but he holds you down with one big hand spanned across your belly, two of his fingers sliding inside you as he laves at your aching slit. 

“John,” you pant, your hands fisted in the bedspread out of desperation for something to hold on to, your back arched like a bow as he gives you this blissful pleasure between your thighs. “Please…” You can hardly think past his mouth upon you, your brain gone completely offline while in this man’s skillful hands. “Please, I want you inside me?” 

He growls against you, making your toes curl. You’re not sure if he’s arguing with you, or himself, but in the end he withdraws, wiping his mouth on the bedspread before standing between your legs. He towers over you from this vantage, and in a blissful stupor you watch him undo the buttons of his shirt with deft fingers. You find yourself holding your breath as he reaches the last one; a whine escapes you as he pauses in the unveiling. 

“Y/n…I have to warn you…I have scars.”

 He seems self-conscious about this, or maybe afraid of how you might react. You sit up, giving him your full attention.

“It’s ok.”

“I don’t…want to scare you.” 

You touch his hands on his shirt halves lightly; it’s possible you're trembling. “I watched you take out three guys tonight and stab one of them in the leg…and I’m still here.”  

He lets out a long, shaking sigh, nodding. “Yeah.” 

“I’m kind of figuring out that you’re a dangerous man. But I don’t feel like you would ever hurt me. Am I wrong?” 

“No,” he answers immediately. 

“Ok. Then take off your shirt, please,” you say with a hint of insouciance you hope will break his hesitance, your lips curving in a smirk. You unclip your bra in a gesture of solidarity, tossing it to the foot of the bed. 

He looks down at your bare form with a tenderness in his eyes that warms you all over. Are you allowed to look at each other like that yet? Like you are something precious to behold? There are unofficial rules against this, but you feel yourself doing exactly the same. You feel yourself falling, hard, and you don't have the sense tonight to catch yourself before you hit rock bottom. 

“Cheeky girl,” he chides you gently, and you can see your ploy succeeded in nudging him out of his cycle of self doubt, at least for now. 

“You want me to be quiet, John?” you tease him further, reaching for his belt. “Give me something to put in my mouth.”

He makes a sound low in his throat that makes you think of predatory animals that stalk the deep dark forest at night. For a moment you get an inkling of the beast that lurks beneath this man's skin as he pushes you back down on the bed with a hand that engulfs the base of your throat, his gaze sharpening upon you in a way that sends a wave of gooseflesh rolling across your skin, your nipples tightening painfully. He kisses you, hard, and once more you forget everything due to this man's mouth upon you. 

Through half closed lids you watch him shrug out of his shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the chair. He was not joking about the scars; your eyes sweep over his torso, your lips parted with awe, your thighs pressed in an unconscious effort to relieve some of the exquisite ache inspired by seeing him like this, a god of war finally bared before you. 

You inventory the evidence of past altercations. Cuts large and small, and puckered round rosettes of flesh you can only assume must have been bullet wounds. This man has endured so much, and your heart aches for him, even as you know he must have given just as good as he got. 

You fixate on a long, thick scar that leads down the center of his abdomen, disappearing into his waistband; the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

He's beautiful, scars and all. Maybe more so, because of them. This man has been to hell and back– and now he's chosen to be here, in this precious moment, with you. Your fingertips itch to reach for him, to trace his contours and hollows and the evidence written on his skin that he's cheated death more than once. But he seemed to want you where he put you, and so you wait, trembling inside like a blossom waiting for the kiss of the dawn to open.

You watch as he divests himself of the gun again, tucking it into the drawer of the nightstand. You see him eyeing the lamp, considering plunging the room into darkness again, and you click your tongue in warning. “You're not shy, are you John?”

He narrows his eyes at you, though he smiles like he enjoys your teasing. “You’re not going to let me get away with anything, are you?”

“I think you're beautiful, and I want to see you while you fuck me.” Again, there's a flash of that predatory look behind his eyes, a leviathan surfaced from the depths, there and gone. It’s possible that you squirm a little, when he fixes you with that sharp black gaze, and you don't notice for a good long moment when he's finally taken off his pants, because you can't stop looking at his eyes. 

“I think you’re beautiful too,” he tells you, and finally he is crawling towards you, and you can run your hands over the expanses of his powerful physique. The curves of his biceps and the plane of his chest. The ladder of his ribs and his trim waist, and the velvety hard length of his manhood filling your hand. He groans into the bend of your neck as you stroke him, guiding him where you need him most between your legs.

“I want you so much, John. I need you.”

He pulls back to look at you with the expression of a drowning man. You think you’re beginning to understand him better. That the thing he wants most deep down is to be wanted, and that maybe it surprises him, that you do. It breaks your heart a little, that he’s so taken aback by that, like he can’t quite allow himself to believe it. 

He’d said he hadn’t had a happy life before Helen. You wonder what exactly that entailed. All this flashes through your mind in a millisecond before you guide him to your entrance, teasing yourself with his tip slicked delectably with your own juices. You should take a moment to grab a condom, new partner and all, but you’re on birth control, and you simply do not have the willpower to leave his arms.

He lowers himself so that he is pressing you down into the soft mattress with his body and his mouth on yours. He rolls his hips, his thick cock gliding against your folds torturously. You throw your head back, keening with need, the muscles of your pussy cramped so tightly with desire that it hurts. “Please? I’m so empty without you.”

Maybe he senses the truth in your plea. It is the thing that breaks him, unable to tease you anymore. You groan as his thick head pushes past your entrance, just a taste but god it feels like heaven. He buries his face in your neck as he thrusts, little by little until he is fully sheathed inside you. 

“So fucking good,” he groans into your hair, and you hold him against you, your nails digging into his back as you hook your leg on his hip, pulling him deeper. “My good girl, taking me so well.” He rocks against you, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone as he fills you better than anyone ever has, and you are already on the edge of climax, your pussy fluttering around his length. You squeeze him inside you, winning a moan that feels like you've won a prize.

He fills you like he was made for you, and you are lost. Lost in the sensation of him inside you, engulfing you–you’ve never felt so claimed, nor, you reckon, have you ever submitted to a man so gladly. 

“You going to cum for me, y/n?” With his thumb on your clit as he thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you, it feels more like a demand than a request, or maybe just a sure prediction. 

“Yes. Fuck. John…” 

You lose the faculty for higher language as your second orgasm of the night crashes through you, ecstasy ripping up your spine like a tidal wave. Maybe because it’s been a while like he said, or just maybe because he’s that into you, John loses it too as he feels the clench of your greedy little cunt milking him, thrusting deep inside you as he fills you with the hot flood of his release. 

Maybe it should scare you, that you’ve never connected so perfectly with another man–but all you can manage in this moment is to hold him to you like you have no intention of ever letting him go. It feels like a long time before he rises from what the French call the little death, and how true it is. How is it possible to feel so exhausted, yet born anew? 

Words seem to escape him as much as you; instead he kisses you, a long and languorous lock of lips that curls your toes all over again, your pussy clenching in answer around his still semi-hard manhood inside you. It wins you another groan that makes you chuckle against his lips. 

The first thing he says to you after this complete mutual ruin is: “Imp,” and all you can do in answer is grin against his mouth triumphantly.

He’s not wrong. 

The two of you barely manage to clean yourselves up before you are snuggling down into the covers together, falling into a deep sleep. Maybe it’s foolish of you, but tangled up tightly in John Wick’s strong arms–you feel as though nothing can hurt you. 

[luminique]

Lighter praising (or showing affection) and telling reader that he’s veryy proud of reader who has daddy issues (aka me) </3 (make it a bitt angsty bcs yes)

with that voice of his…. oh i’m not sure if he knows his power. also i am SO SORRY if i messed this one up because i’m bad at writing T_T also this reads weird if i dont clarify that its an established relationship between lighter x reader

not everyone has a good relationship with their family. especially after the fall of the Old Capital, many had lost their family and caused a rift between their still alive relatives. your day to day life hadn’t changed much but it was difficult for your family to get accustomed to the new life.

with that came many challenges; your parents working more to sustain themselves, their expectations for you as their child to pursue higher aspirations. the outer ring wasn’t where they wanted you to stay for the rest of your life, new eridu is a much better option for your future. days go by, stress piling up, nightly arguments at the dining table about how you should spend less time with the sons of calydon.

you never really brought it up to the other members. you knew they’d comfort you, considering they all had troubles in their past, but it’s not like you want to bring down the mood all of a sudden. on one particular night though, you had noticed lighter sneaking away from the rest of the group. you thought you could follow him but he was a lot more alert than that.

“wanna get some air for a bit? the girls are still talking so its all good.” lighter handed you a lollipop as he began to unwrap one for himself. there was an empty area far enough from everyone that had a perfect view of the night sky. no clouds in sight, just the twinkling stars and the bright full moon. lighter sat down first, sweeping away any dust before patting the space next to him. as you sat down, you began to ponder about your life. you hung out less and less with the sons of calydon since your parents, more specifically your father, wanted you to work harder. even if you had brought home some extra tips from cheesetopia, or helped out around blazewood, it seemed as though your efforts weren’t being appreciated and instead all he had to say were insults.

in the corner of his eye, lighter noticed you staring off into the far distance. he scooched over a little closer to you, maybe he’d be able to see what you were seeing. “something caught your eye?” his deep voice cut through your train of thought, making you blink at him in confusion. “oh uh… just thinking.” you mumbled, finally unwrapping your lollipop and popping it into your mouth.

“something happened recently, right? you leave earlier than usual lately.” you forget how perceptive lighter was, always noticing before others. “not recent but…” you ran your hand through your hair, feeling frustrated at how you couldn’t even enjoy such a quiet and beautiful night. after a moment of silence, you finally spoke up.

“it’s just, my dad. you know how it is out here in the outer ring. they want me to move out to new eridu but i can’t just leave. i have you and- and the girls…. they just want so much from me…” your voice trembled as you let your emotions flow out of you. your bottled up feelings finally overflowing as tears began to well up in your eyes. in between the soft cries, you felt lighter’s hand on your shoulder, rubbing you to help you let it all out.

“don’t let that old man tell you what to do. you’re doing a lot already. everyone in blazewood can tell you the same,” he spoke quietly but noticed how you seemed to still be trapped in your own thoughts. he placed both hands on your shoulders and turned you towards him. “hey, hey. listen to me. you’re wonderful and we all appreciate what you do around here. your dad knows nothing about you. we know you, i know you, and i’m proud of all that you’ve done.” lighter’s voice turned more serious, yet still carried a hint of softness to it.

he removed his sunglasses, exhaling as he looked down at you. “home is where the heart is. right now, where is your heart? hmm?” he asked quietly, moving his hands down to cup yours. “here. blazewood. i want to stay with all of you.” your sniffling was shattering his heart, trying to cheer you up but also afraid of saying the wrong things. he brought up one of his hands to the side of your face, gently wiping away your tears.

“then stay with us. i’ll talk to him, alright? just between us, i won’t tell the rest.” his voice was warm, similar to that of a fire on a cold night. he pulled you closer into his arms, hushing you while reassuring you. lines of “it’s alright” and “i’m here” came out of him naturally as you gripped onto his jacket. a moment of vulnerability, a moment of sadness, a moment away from keeping up appearances. you didn’t have to pretend, you couldn’t pretend anymore and lighter could see that. soft pats, gentle kisses on the top of your head, he just wanted to make you feel safe and loved after having your feelings constantly dismissed.

[bleaksqueak]

Caduceus glyph doodle while I get back on my feet

[the-ninjago-historian]

I just completed four hours of house cleaning. And BOY, do I need a nap!🤣😴

Anyways, have to leaked episode titles for Dragons Rising Season 2 Part 2. :)

Enjoy! And goodnight! :D

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Past Me: *-struggles for months on end to figure out how to write the next chapter of Kaiju!AU-* "I know what I want to write and I have the scene in mind, but how do I get it on the page????"

Today Me: *-decides to do a web diagram of potential scenes for said chapter after seeing the success I had with a different story's plot point and suddenly has a new plot device to give Yuu a bigger role in the story-* "????? How????"

Soooooooo...yeah, I've been productive, I swear, just words being stubborn with me 😅

[angelpuns]

urgh I'm nearly finished sketching chapter 13, it's taking forever cause raghh this part is difficult to draw and work has me tuckered out emotionally and physically. hopefully I'll be able to start lining either tomorrow night or Thursdayyyy

[sopuu]

ever since I've discovered your champion Jesse au, I have been hyperfixating on it a WHOLE LOT. I cannot wait to see what happens in it!!!! :D it's just so interesting! With Lukas being down in the underground as well just adds on more to how interesting it is!!!

I have a question about it too. How did Jesse get the clock and manage to get Radar free? Did he hand the torch he had off to Lukas?

gosh thank youuu so glad it’s been enjoyable 🥺 i was looking at some concept art a while ago and i saw lukas in the underneath and went like 🫵 YOU!! SHOULD’VE BEEN THERE!!! man. missed opportunity. anyways

ngl i kinda forgot about the torch 💀 but that can be fixed easily! since jesse gets blasted off to an island higher up to the rest of the gang he simply has to throw it down to lukas and bam the trapped fellas are saved. though i’ve always wondered why they can’t just…punch their way out lmao. i guess it’s for storytelling purposes but yknow food for thought

[good-beans]

this is so stupid but i always have fun imagining the milgram characters watching their own/others mvs and seeing their reactions, especially for MeMe

That’s not stupid at all, thank you so much for the ask!! It’s sooo interesting to think about! I planned on just posting this drabble, but the more I thought about it, the more I started jotting down headcanons for everyone 👀 Of course there’s the initial disbelief and shock that Milgram can really do what it claims, but once they accept that, they’d have a lot of interesting reactions…

Es gets to watch the video first, then the prisoners are free to watch their own in the privacy of the courtroom/extraction room/wherever. Other prisoners can watch them only with explicit permission from the video’s singer. No one is allowed to watch Undercover except for Es. At first they spend hours looking at those final frames of themself flinching from the camera, hoping to jog any sort of memories, but eventually they give up on it. While actually watching it, they don’t mind the murder silhouettes. While sleeping, however, it has triggered more than one nightmare.

Haruka: He thinks Weakness is very pretty – he’s amazed seeing himself on the screen and hearing his voice, knowing he’s not that good of a singer. Even before his innocent verdict, it gives him a huge surge of confidence. Once he gets to know the others better, he gives them mv permissions, then stares intently at their faces to see their reactions as they watch it. AKAA scares him a bit, seeing his own intense emotions on screen, and he only gives Muu permission to see it. When he’s alone, Haruka pauses the shots of his mother, just to stare for a while.

Yuno: Laughs at the symbolism her mind used in Umbilical. She’s never shied away from sexual words/thoughts, so it's funny the video was as tame as it was. She thinks the song is fun, and isn’t afraid to show the others and sing snippets of it around the prison. Some days it’s too emotional for her to get into it, but most of the time she tries to display a confident attitude about it. After Tear Drop, she’s satisfied with her anger and more overtly sexual images. If anything, she feels too exposed by the shots of herself looking more vulnerable/sad. 

Fuuta: He experiences a solid mix of embarrassment at the gaming theme in Bring it On and feeling a surge of pride that he looks badass in the knight’s armor. He’s worried the warden won’t take him seriously with the video game obsession, but he absolutely loves the song and thinks it portrays his toughness and ideals well. He’s less thrilled with Backdraft, everything about it unsettles and embarasses him. He’s thrown by the shot of crossing out his own silhouette – he’d had self-harming thoughts, but wasn’t quite ready to confront them so blatantly yet. Like Haruka, he can be caught pausing the arcade shot just for a moment before turning the whole thing off and storming away.

Muu: She has mixed emotions towards After Pain. She hates seeing herself look so weak and pathetic, but it gives her a lot of hope that her story will be understood. She misses her friends, and seeing them again is bittersweet. She closes her eyes at the moment of the stabbing – she’s only gotten the courage to watch it through her fingers once. She watches INMF once, then refuses to look at it again from shame/horror. Despite Haruka’s begging, she doesn’t let him watch it, either. 

Shidou: He asks Es what they saw in Throw Down. Upon finding out his family wasn’t in it, he chooses not to watch it. He believes he already knows all about his emotions and crime, so there’s no need to go through that pain again. He’s tempted to watch it when he’s confused about Es’ verdict, but still holds off. He does watch Triage when informed his family is in it. He spends hours in front of the screen by himself. Only after seeing that one does he watch Throw Down, though he’s still left confused about Es’ decisions.

Mahiru: Absolutely loves TIHTBILWY. She thinks it perfectly describes her situation, and that the song is very cute. She lets others watch it, and unlike Yuno, feels like singing it 24/7. It reminds her of her bf, and she thinks that’s very romantic. Similar to Shidou, she spends a lot of time watching I Love You just to look at her boyfriend. She shows it to everyone, just to show him off and talk about him, even if she does skip over the beginning and end each time.

Kazui: He is very similar to Shidou; he refuses to watch his videos until T2, assuming it would be too painful to watch something he already knows and wishes to avoid. Unlike Shidou, seeing Hinako is far too painful, and he regrets watching it and seeing her so happy on their wedding day. Though maybe he’s still waiting, and hasn’t seen any of the videos yet…

Amane: Magic makes her worry more than anything. She fears she’s poisoned by unnecessary vainness since so much of her video involves cute things, colors, outfits, animals, and is set up like a tv show. She’s also worried that Es and the others will really see her as a child because of how cute the whole thing is. She prevents herself from watching it too many times, but buried under all her fears, it gives her a surge of pride seeing herself so talented and pretty and the star of the show. Purge March only reaffirms her confidence in her crime – the video brings up some awful memories, but it shows her as a leader, a warrior, a hero! It brings her comfort and confidence more than anything.

Mikoto/John: The videos are distressing to both of them, and they spend all their time studying the others’ screentime. Mikoto watches in horror as John does things that line up with his spotty memories, and John panics seeing that his actions distress Mikoto more than they’ve reassured/saved him. John does end up watching his own scenes a few times – it feels incredibly good to appear in a way that Mikoto may finally notice him. He feels seen. Now, logically I think that MeMe would be the final tipping point in which Mikoto finally accepts the situation and his DID, but if I must stick to his canon denial, then I’d say he goes on a whole rant about movie magic andt the crazy things you can do with editing nowadays. He doesn’t have a good explanation on how Milgram found his home and knew so much about him, but he explains everything away as cgi or camera effects. Double manages to sway him a bit more, as he hears John speak so plainly to him. Just as the audience had some debate on who was apologizing at the end of Double, Mikoto and John wonder who is apologizing to whom. Though they both come to the conclusion it’s their own apology, they decide that if it was the others’, they’d accept it and forgive them.

Kotoko: She’s very pleased with Harrow, and is unashamed to show it to the others. Though she’d been able to watch a few of the previous prisoners’ videos, it still shakes her a bit when she realizes that Milgram really does have the tech to look deep inside her. She watches it just a few times – not obsessing over it, but not afraid either. Deep Cover, however, is a once-and-done sort of deal. She claims she’s not letting the others watch it because “they couldn’t handle such harsh but true criticisms about themselves,” but she doesn’t end up watching it anymore herself, either.

[twilight-spargle]

rarity and fluttershy having a picnic date?

ask and ye shall eventually receive

[peachesofteal]

Dear Miss Madame Mother Peach,

may I request an actual mohawk hair cutting scene in a Simple Math chapter of your choosing?

With the kindest of regards, Anon

I actually wrote this into the outline for the next part of Simple Math and it made the cut, so it will be in there

[froggiewrites]

Alright everyone, I'm making a solemn vow: I am not going to work on any other fics until I complete the requests I have left. I am not allowed to work on them until I finish them. If you all see me post a fic that isn't a request before these requests are done and my inbox is reopened, I want you all to boo and throw tomatoes at me.

I am determined to finish them within the next week and a half so I can reopen my inbox. I'm gonna lock in 💪💪

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Solar Flare

A Night & Day story.

The Day Witch sighs and rubs the tiredness out of her heavy eyes. She stumbles out from her study, her daylight having retired long before she has. As she hears the movement of the door closing itself behind her, she scrambles, launching herself backwards to catch it with her hand before it can make the loud, booming noise she expects it to.

Internally, she celebrates having stopped it. Externally, she nurses the hand she just slammed in her door. She supposes it's just as well. She wanted to find Luna anyway.

She finds what is lost in the first place she looks, as to be expected from a witch. Luna is where it always is this time of night, preparing the table for dinner.

"...Luna?"

Utensils have been placed in their spot, where the witch is meant to sit. Her cup, the second step, remains unplaced. Luna stands next to the table, its eyes locked on the full moon illuminating the night sky. Its skittish hypervigilance seems buried beneath the surface, the doll seeming almost serenely enraptured.

Its witch slows to a stop, lingering in the doorway of the dining room. It expects the doll to turn and greet her, just as it always does when she makes herself known even in the subtlest of ways, but it seems completely ignorant.

For a single, optimistic moment, the witch hoped it was simply admiring the view. It would be rude, then, to interrupt it after it's finally found a moment of peace. Despite herself, she can't help but feel concern from the discrepancy in behaviour. "Luna, is everything okay? You don't have to respond if y-"

"Yes Miss." Its head perks up and its body seizes as it turns to face its Miss. There's no resignation, its anxiety isn't hidden. The startle is clear on its face.

"Oh, sorry." The witch seems apologetic, but not overwhelmingly, as one would be for misspeaking. "I was just a little worried, is all."

"Yes Miss." It repeats itself, trying and failing to perfectly match its previous cadence. It's hurried, exasperated, afraid.

"...Luna? Is ev-"

"Yes Miss."

Luna's face isn't still. It's empty, but it isn't still. It stares into the distance, past the witch, too afraid to move beyond twitches and shudders that look much too unnatural for the clockwork of a doll.

It's home. It can look around and see The Day Witch's manor, recount the ways that the decor or the layout is different, but it's The Night Witch's doll.

It's speaking. It's chanting. It can't stop responding. It knows it doesn't help, that it shouldn't bother, but it can't stop, it just can't stop. It needs to apologize, it has so much to apologize for. It knows The Day Witch won't do anything, she never has, but it has to respond. It has to. Or else.

It's there, on the floor, next to Stella. It can see the hollow shell in where its chest should be, where it should be. Love, scraped and drained and pulled out by the roots as it was helpless to fight back, to cry or to scream.

This one wants to cry. Please, something, anything to prove that it's mourning. It needs to feel the release, the catharsis of having its tears stain the slacking face of one of the only things to ever show it affection. It wants to scream, telling it how much it mattered, how much it made this miserable existence bearable, how every day it survived so it could feel that one's love. Please. Anything.

The rotting of its chest, the crunch of the metal being chewed, the pulse of magic dissipating, the lifeless stare into nothing. It's still there, in the corner of its eyes, collapsing in on itself, no life to support it. And this one threw it away, like a good doll. It can't look, it can't look.

Miss is in front of it, staring it down, telling it to be a good doll for her. Please don't hurt this one too. It needs to live. For Stella. Miss reaches up, taking her... hat off? That's... not Miss. That's... no, no, that is Miss.

"Luna, can you hear me?" She says.

"Yes Miss." The recognition returns to its eyes, somewhere behind the fear.

"You don't have to say that anymore, okay?" She gently, so gently, grabs Luna's hands. "Never again. Just try and focus on me for now, okay? You're here, you're not with her anymore."

The doll tries to restrain itself, to stay quiet, but it just can't. It can't be a bad doll, it can't, it shouldn't, it would never, please, please, it's not a bad doll. "Y-yes Miss."

The witch paused, but only for a moment. "Call me Helia, please."

There's a sickening crunch as the metal shreds. "No, no, this one could never, it would never, Miss, that's not for dolls, it shouldn't, Miss, please..."

"Luna, I care about you more than anything in the world." Her grip tightens in the doll's hands, just enough not to hurt it. "If anyone can use my name, it's you."

Luna's trembling begins to slow, and it feels like it can move again. It stops holding its breath, just long enough. "Yes... Helia. Thank you, Helia."

The doll is overwhelmed by an alien sensation. Miss... The Night Witch taught it to never, ever, use the name of someone above it. So every use, every Helia, made her seem just a little further away. It doesn't have to appease her anymore, it's with... Helia. Helia, Helia, Helia.

Stella isn't there. Not anymore. It hasn't been for a long time.

As Helia watches the doll slowly leave its frozen state, position shifting into something just a little more comfortable, she exhales for what feels to her like the first time. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Helia." It almost sounds... excited to say such a thing. The name still leaves a pleasant tingle on its lips. A smile just barely begins at the corners of its cheeks. "Thank you... very much, Helia."

"Oh, Luna, you're smiling!" The doll flinched away as its witch pulled it in for a hug, lowering its head and wrenching its eyes shut. But as its face landed in the nape of Helia's neck, it found itself pressing deeper into her, squeezing her in its arms.

Later, as the night stretched on and the moon disappeared behind the clouds, Luna would come to regret how long it spent simply enjoying the embrace of its witch, Helia. But there, in the moment, its world shrunk to be nothing but the warmth in Helia's body.

Even as it cursed itself for being a bad doll, for being demanding of affection before it had even finished its duties, it could still feel that lingering gratitude uplift its spirits. It also couldn't bring itself to linger too much on its negative thoughts, at least not for the rest of the night. Instead, it was distracted. It spent much of its night idly wondering if it was simply Helia's magic, or if all hugs felt so warm.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🌸 !!CHAPTER NINE POSTED!! 🌸

Title: Four Walls

Tags: slow burn, domesticity, friends to lovers, smut, pining post sias/pre am era

Summary: Disillusioned with LA and on the heels of a breakup, Alex goes to stay with Miles in London.

[kurtsascot]

klueless update this week :^)

[everypanelofizuku]

Chapter 54 - Re: Ingenium