#sprout sews

[antidotesprout]

Just about ready to head to their new homes!! Thanks to everyone for your patience, I'm currently working to finish up sketch thank you cards!

[alilbabysprout]

fellow crafty people !! here is a gentle reminder to get started on your hand made christmas gifts if you plan on making any this year <3

[untitled-tmnt-blog]

... I mean, come on. They're the "Huggy Leos." Somebody had to do it.

(Plushies based on Poptart and Sprout, from @intotheelliwoods's 2 Arms Left)

[jazzeria]

A lil update on my lil blankie: more signs of wear in the construction, flaws are showing themselves, and the fabrics are breaking in (some nicely, some are wearing).

3 Jan 2025

So by now, Lil Blankie is about 7 weeks old and has been washed about 5 times.

I sleep with the blanket every night. Sometimes I cover my head and eyes as I sleep. Sometimes I wear it like a cape around my shoulders as I go about my business in the home. Every second day or so, I spend several minutes just snuggling it for the sheer joy of it--and also for science, of course.

But increasingly, there's a sense of... Well, it's less lighthearted than it used to be. I can see and feel Lil Blankie ageing and wearing down--recording it makes me even more aware of it. I'm feeling the entropy.

But also, that was kinda the point of this project: to prepare for repairing my (much larger, and much more emotionally significant) childhood blankie by testing various fabrics, practising the skills required, and, perhaps, becoming comfortable with the idea of wear and repair.

...

The flannel pilling is becoming more noticeable. I'm not sure if this is just because I'm more conscious of it, or if it's actually getting appreciably worse. Hard to say at this point.

The Essex cotton-linen continues to break in beautifully, becoming more and more pliable. The texture is still coarse however.

I'm really enjoying this lovely criss-cross crinkle!

The Sprout Woven is softening beautifully, too. I'm starting to see some wear, but I think it's a good thing: little raised fibres like you'd see on flannel. I can see why this is sometimes used for quilting! I think it's gonna be cuddly and squishy and just generally really nice for snuggling!

The Japanese wovens haven't changed much since last time: they still have a "crispness" that hasn't washed out: a bit stiff, and about as coarse as before. I wonder if they will soften before they wear out?

The only exception is, where the Japanese wovens are backed by the thinnest quilting cottons, there is some kind of transferrence of the quilting cotton's pliability, through to this side... I can't tell if this is purely a psychological phenomenon, or an empirically objective quality. It might be the Japanese woven slipping slightly against the smooth quilting cotton.

In any case, they still have a slightly coarse texture, which I'm attributing to the weave (perhaps a slub in the yarns, or just a coarser weave), and they've developed a criss-cross crinkle as well.

A small patch of the pale blue-purple woven had a tear that I noticed during construction, and patched with fusible stabiliser on the wrong side. The stabiliser quickly wore off (second or third wash?) and the tear began fraying. But I don't think it's grown any larger. I'll have to remember to measure it in future posts.

The Japanese print (which I've since learned is a heavier 220 gsm cotton) continues to break in beautifully. While it's not as cuddly as Sprout Woven, or as smooth as quilting cottons, it feels... "sturdy" and "reliable". I really really want some house pants made from this fabric! But I could imagine a long-cherished blanket being made from it, too.

Here's some shots of the tear I noticed last time. I think it's grown a little since the last post.

On the triangle side (which was made using various quilting cottons)...

In general, all these cottons have softened up beautifully. I think they're at peak softness right now: the most pliable, before they start to fuzz and wear out. So I guess I need to record how long before they fuzz and wear out.

The thinnest cottons, I think they're more appropriately described as "lawn": about 95 gsm, thin enough I can see my hand through, very smooth. For the purposes of these posts, I'll consider them a sub-set of "quilting cottons".

Here's my favourite wrinkly triangle (incorrectly sized during cutting, and stretched/squished to make the triangle points fit together nicely):

When I search for the softest quilting cotton, the order is still:

lawns, when backed by flannel

any quilting cotton, when backed by flannel

the rest, except:

the black-and-colours floral print, especially when backed by Essex linen

When I run my hand over the triangle side, it just feels lovely and squishy all over. I can especially tell when I'm touching lawn backed by flannel, because of how smooth the lawn's surface is. But anything backed by flannel also feels quite lovely.

I can also tell when I touch the black-and-colours floral print (not the black-and-white floral print), especially when it's backed by Essex. This quilting cotton is subtly-but-noticeably coarser than any of the others. I have no idea why, but I can just tell that it is. This fabric came in the same pack as the black-and-white print, which I think also feels very slightly coarser than the other prints?...but I don't think it's as coarse as the black-and-colours print. ... This could be entirely subjective, however.

Some shots to show the lovely drape of these cottons:

I love that my imperfect sewing made this side pucker and crinkle; and I'm extra glad I decided to quilt along the triangle seams (the diagonal ones, anyway) for the larger areas of un-sewn surfaces on this side.

I'm so happy I decided to make this lil blankie.

[hihomeghere]

Salt and Pepper | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 1.4k Summary : Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray. I saw a post on here about Arthur with salt and pepper hair and I couldn’t stop myself hehe. Warnings/Tags : talk about death, getting old, Arthur loves his wife, no tb, Arthur and reader own a house, mention of past gang members, cursing, lots of fluff, self deprecation on Arthur’s side, bullets, mention of weight gain (in a positive way)

��Godamn ugly bastard.” Arthur huffed, his gaze piercing as he looked into the mirror. He hadn’t meant to have himself a pity party this morning. In fact he was feeling quite fine this morning before looking in the small bathroom mirror. Waking up next to you always puts a spring in his step. Especially when he’s waking up in a real bed, underneath a soft quilt that you happened to sew in some free time. Mismatched patches and all, it was his favorite thing in the small home you two shared. Hell, you were becoming quite domestic ever since the house was completed.

But he wasn’t exactly expecting to find gray hair sprouting from his hairline. He wasn’t that old, was he?

“Jesus.” He sighed, inspecting further he realized it wasn’t one or two gray hairs, it was almost twenty. Hidden under his longer than normal locks after forgoing a haircut for the last couple weeks. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed them, especially with how much you loved to run your fingers through his hair. Although, he loved it just as much, maybe even more.

God, he needed to get rid of these before you saw them. He was sure you had some tweezers around here somewhere. He opened up your drawer, rifling around for your tweezers. Bingo. His hands gripped the small piece of metal, a triumphant smile on his face.

It was only once he looked back up into the mirror, determined to fix this issue before you woke up, that he noticed you padding into the bathroom. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Mornin’.” You hummed, laying your cheek against his bicep, smiling sweetly at him through the mirror.

“Mornin’.” He said, clearing his throat.

“What do you need those for?” You asked, eyeing the tweezers in his hand. Caught red handed, he tried coming up with some excuse.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He said, giving you his signature smile, kissing your forehead. He slipped the tweezers into his pocket for safe keeping, at least until he had a free moment without you around. After all those years on the run and he could come up with nothing, Hosea would have been so disappointed in his lack of an answer. He swore he could hear the old man chastising him now.

“For a former outlaw you sure are an awful liar.” You tutted, shaking your head, slipping your fingers into his pocket and pulling out the tweezers.

“Well it ain’t my fault,” He huffed playfully, “Could never get nothin’ past you anyway.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. You removed your hands from around his waist, leaning back on the sink as you looked up at him.

“Spill.” You said raising an eyebrow, your arms crossed over your chest.

Knowing he’d been caught, Arthur hung his head, a low sigh leaving his lips.

“It’s just-“ He cursed, turning to look away from you, “Well I’m goin’ gray.” He admitted, not meeting your eyes.

“And?” You asked in such a nonchalant manner.

“And?” He asked looking up at you, his brows furrowed.

“So you have some gray hairs.” You said with a shrug, “You’re acting like the damn world is ending.” You chuckled softly, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Well-“ Arthur sighed, pursing his lips, he didn’t want to be vain but damn it, it did feel like the world was ending.

“Honey.” You said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Ain’t nothing wrong with some gray hairs.” You said, shaking your head, looking so goddamn patient as always. What he did in a past life to deserve you he would never know, he definitely didn’t deserve you in this one. You smiled, running your thumb over his couple day old stubble. He couldn’t help but sigh softly, leaning into your touch.

“Just makes me feel old ‘s all.” He shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Arthur.” You said softly, he opened his eyes. His bright azure pools looking into yours. “Getting old means we’re still alive.” You said pointedly, not missing the way your fingers trailed lightly down his chest.

He sighed softly, anyone who said he was the most like Hosea had obviously never had a one on one conversation with you. You had shared the same dry wit along with being just as wise as the old man. Sometimes he wondered if the two of you were more closely related than just being adopted by him as a kid.

As your hand settled over his heart, he couldn’t help but remember a time when you didn’t have this place. When his next breath had been an undeserved blessing. When you and Charles had pulled his broken body off that godforsaken mountain. You were right, he should be grateful for these gray hairs and new lines on his face. Should be grateful that he made it this far out west with you, where the air was dryer and slowly his lungs didn’t hurt as bad with each breath.

If anything he should be grateful that you’re here, here in this house. The house that he built specifically for you. That you’re not buried six feet under like most of the fellow gang members. That you didn’t catch a bullet like Lenny or Sean, how he wished they could have had the chance to grown old. Even as mouthy as Sean was, the poor bastard didn’t deserve that. Lenny was just a boy, foolish enough to be sucked in by Dutch’s silver tongue. He shook his head trying to clear any thoughts of the past.

God, along with the fact that somehow both of you still happen to be standing, the fact that you chose to stand by him after everything you went through makes his head swim. You could have left him at any point, hell he had begged you to leave after his death sentence. And yet, here you were.

“Guess you’re right.” He said, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Course I am.” You teased, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. He accepted your silent invitation, pressing his lips against yours. So soft and warm and inviting. He could feel you smile against his lips. That small smile warmed him from the inside out, nearly making his toes curl.

Jesus, he was lucky. More than lucky, he still couldn’t figure out how he had tricked you into marrying him. He wanted to be the best version of himself for you, he had made a promise to try every day to be a better man for you. You shouldn’t be tied down to a miserable old fool like himself.

As if you could read his mind, which he often suspected you could, your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Besides,” You began as you pulled away, “I like the salt and pepper look.” Arthur scoffed, shaking his head.

“Really?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Really.” You nodded, running your hand through his hair. “Think you get more handsome every day.” If anyone was getting prettier every day it was you. Your hair was longer, cascading down your shoulders in waves. No longer tied up in a tight braid or bun. You looked relaxed, at peace. You became softer once you both settled into your new lifestyle. Not just emotionally, although you still had that fire which had first drawn him towards you, like a moth to a flame. You were physically softer, your harsh edges smoothing out as you started to eat and sleep better. Your curves became more prominent, and he certainly didn’t mind having more to hold onto late at night.

Maybe you truly did feel the same about him. He had never known you to lie. A blush settled on his cheeks at the thought. He shook his head, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Yeah, alright darlin’.” He says taking your face in his hands, kissing you again before you had the chance to embarrass him further.

Maybe getting old wasn’t so bad if you had someone to grow old with.

[bakubonez]

Sunday or dan heng x reader plsplspls

So down bad for these men

It doesn't matter what, i just need to kiss them and worship them so bad istg

Dan Heng x GN!reader || fluff

Summary: Dan Heng isn’t a fan of Sunday seemingly taking a shine to you. Jealousy sews its propaganda into his mind, and he needs a little bit of reassurance.

A/N: sorry for the shade I throw at Sunday thru out this, I’m still mad at him for not coming home 😇 I love Dan Heng he’s my baby

Dan Heng wasn’t the type of person to get jealous. Not easily, anyway. He was quite secure in his relationship, and he trusted you wholeheartedly to not take advantage of that. So far, you hadn’t given him a reason to retract his trust in you, and you didn’t have any plans to change that any time soon.

…Though, when a new handsome bachelor joined the express, it was difficult for Dan Heng to keep the seedlings of jealousy sewn into his heart from sprouting.

No, it wasn’t Caelus—he was far too busy being stupid to really catch your eye. No, no, the mild threat that had Dan Heng’s feathers ruffled was Sunday. Pun intended.

Initially when Sunday joined the express, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms. After everything that had taken place on Penacony, the only person that was even remotely kind to him was Pom-Pom. And Shush, but Shush was nice to everyone so he doesn’t count right now.

Despite the rough start, Sunday had started to try to weasel his way into the little family that resided on the train. Dan Heng’s main concern was Sunday’s interest in you.

He’d occasionally catch you and Sunday chatting about new entries in the data bank, or chatting over a drink in the party car. Dan Heng knew you wouldn’t cheat—you wouldn’t stoop so low. Especially not with that… that… feathered creature. Regardless, the portions of time that you spent on Sunday when you could have been spending them with Dan Heng irked him a little bit. Just a little bit.

And, while he didn’t want to bring it up, you had noticed a very minute change in Dan Heng. Not a bad one, necessarily, but a change regardless. He started to seem a bit clingier. From keeping you in bed to hold you for longer or going as far as to hug you against him around the others, especially Sunday, you had picked up on his changed demeanour. He was still as loving and level-headed as always, just a tad bit more demanding.

With him resting his head on your chest, eyes closed but not asleep quite yet, you opt to bring it up. You wouldn’t prod too hard if he didn’t want to talk about it—after all, maybe he had just subconsciously started yearning for you more. But, you’d try to figure out what was going on regardless.

“You okay?” You ask carefully, twirling his layered hair around your fingers idly.

“Mmh?” he mumbles, face still buried against your shirt.

You take his inconclusive response as an invitation to go on.

“You just seem a little bit different recently. Not-not like a bad different, just…” you trail off.

Dan Heng shifts to look up at you, striking eyes meeting your own as you speak. “I am fine,” he assures you. “I don’t like Sunday.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you ask, a little bit bewildered by his declaration. You weren’t Sunday’s biggest fan either, but you didn’t mind at least being polite to him.

Dan Heng mumbled to himself non-committally, a very faint red tinging his ears.

Well, now you’re both confused. You’re trying to decode his grumbling, and he’s trying to put his feelings into words without sounding like an idiot.

“I don’t… I don’t think I like how much time you spend with Sunday,” he said finally, drawing you out of your thoughts and allowing you both to return to the conversation you were trying to have before the two of you were knocked off balance by Dan Heng.

“Oh,” you say foolishly, not really sure what to say to that. “You’re jealous of Sunday? Of all people?”

“No.”

“Yeahhh, I think you might be.”

“No.”

It brings a very faint smile to your lips, finally being able to figure out the root of Dan Heng’s influx of affection. Its also nice to know that he values your time together so much. Though, it does tempt you to giggle at the fact that Dan Heng thought there was any chance that you’d favour Sunday over him.

You lean forward to press a kiss to the top of Dan Heng’s head, and he seems to automatically relax at the touch.

“It’s okay. You aren’t in any competition with him,” you say, voice soft. “My time with you takes priority. If you don’t want Sunday stealing it, that’s perfectly fine by me.”

Dan Heng makes a little contented noise, the jealousy that had been lashing about in his head finally quieting. Deep down, he did know that you’d say something like that. He knew you’d choose him over Sunday. He just wanted the little bit of reassurance.

He hoped you’d always be around to give it to him.

[satorhime]

trouble comes twice ࿐ gojo satoru x female reader. satoru falls ill with a case of baby fever after seeing his baby girl dressed up as him.

content . ᕀ gojo and reader are parents [ referred to as ‘dada’ & ‘mama’ ], brief mention of pregnancy, emotional!gojo, sweet fluff with slightly suggestive dialogue at the end. 

“dada- dada, look at me!” 

your daughter screeches out, announcing her arrival with the bright and melodic babble of a mischievous child. she stands on her tippy toes, her fingers covering your own as she helps you twist the knob and open the door to satoru’s office. 

even now, he forgets that he’s a father, until he is reminded in the most wonderful way. sometimes, your five-year-old will beg to wake satoru up two hours before he has to go to work just so they can play with her dolls together, or she’ll step all over his toes as she squeezes in between him and the kitchen counter while the three of you cook dinner together or like right now, crashing towards him with all the subtlety of a carpet bomb of cursed energy— so eager to show off her costume that her feet accidentally stumble over your heels. 

dressed up as a miniature version of him. 

his lips curve into an instant grin, pressing the button on the screen of the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder to end his current call.  the sound of the higher up scolding him cutting off sharp and abrupt makes his grin widen. they can wait, but his baby girl cannot. twisting in his chair, he catches his daughter just as she collides against him with an audible oof. 

“did we interrupt an important call?” you greet him, a soft smile on your glossy lips as you walk around the large desk satoru is seated at. you pat a hand to his knee before leaning against the edge of his desk. “sorry, i tried to get her to wait.” 

“you kiddin’? nothing’s more important than my two best girls,” he says, tugging at the bottom edge of his blindfold to drag it down, his expression playful as he watches his daughter copy him. she hurriedly removes her own blindfold, a tiny scrap of cloth covering her summer blue eyes. 

“so who are you?” he teases her, twitching one milky brow at the bouncing toddler in front of him. “where’s princess? did a curse finally eat my snotty kid?”  

“i’m the strongest!” your daughter chirps excitedly, crisscrossing two baby fingers to mimic his domain summon. 

your bitty sprout is so precious with her tiny white curls, tied into two space buns and her black blindfold that she scratches at with the back of her fist. not to mention, the bottom half of her cherub face is covered by the high collar of the jacket she’s wearing, identical to gojo’s standard uniform and the result of you staying up all night at your sewing machine, shredding one of his spares into a costume for your daughter. 

looking at her like this, she really is a tinier, stickier version of gojo satoru. 

“the strongest, huh? look at that, you’re already my favorite child. megumi would never offer to take my place so i can retire early.” 

“satoru…” you start, shaking your head in half-hearted exasperation. “when she picks up your sass and uses it against you, i’ll be the first to say “i told you so.’” 

“worried you’ll be outnumbered, mama?” he shoots the words at you, flashing a smile that amusement drizzles from like sweet icing. 

you roll your eyes, and then he turns back to his daughter, reaching down to effortlessly gather her against his broad chest before he pulls gently at one of her fat cheeks, nuzzling her close. “how come you chose to dress up as me, jellybean? it’s not october.” 

“i’m going to a costume party for keigo and haru,” she explains excitedly, her little face brightening at the mention of suguru’s sons. “but mama couldn’t find scarlet witch costume.” 

“oh, ouch,” he whines dramatically, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to be wounded by her open honesty. “wound me some more.” 

“dada, you’re so dramatic,” she giggles at him, and though satoru’s genetics may have overpowered your own for the most part, the roll of her eyes is a trait she learned directly from you. 

“second place is a serious injury, little princess. i should go see if shoko’s awake to make sure i’m not dying-”

“i wanted to dress up as dada because he’s a hero, like avengers,” she cuts him off, so perceptive and honest. your daughter latches on to the collar of his jacket so she can pull his head closer and plant him a slobbery mwah! on his cheek, and if you see gojo’s eyes mist over, glassy ocean blue from tears, you don’t comment on it. 

���down, please,” she requests, grunting and wriggling until he sets her down on the floor with a wobbly chuckle. unaware that her father’s expression has glazed over, his mind spiraling from her words. 

gojo satoru doesn’t even shed tears at funerals, but right now? his eyes flicker to you desperately, and you soften like clouds, nodding silently. 

“sweet pea, the party starts at 3:30 so you have plenty of time to show megumi-nii your costume, why don’t you?” you suggest, giving your boyfriend a moment to discreetly wipe the wet away from his cheeks. sure, he’s seen his students grow into formidable sorcerers that he is infinitely proud of and sure, he may have gotten choked up once or twice while snapping memories of megumi’s important milestones— like his middle school graduation, and that one time he didn’t insult gojo loudly when he picked him up from class in front of his peers— but this…? this overwhelms him, the kind of love he feels right now.

this love… this love is so different, something he’s never experienced before. it’s unlike quick flings brought home from bars, trying to lift the weight off his shoulders for a couple of hours with a pretty face. it’s unlike the near religious idolization from his clan, smothering him with their expectations and obsessive admiration. it’s whole and pure— it’s his family, his true one. it’s you and your baby girl driving away his loneliness like sunlight chases down bad dreams. 

“okay, mama!” she agrees, nodding.

“but go directly to his room. remember where it is?” 

“i remember!” 

“i’ll be right behind you after i talk to your da. don’t annoy megumi-nii too much, ‘kay?” you turn around, opening the door to let your daughter out of satoru’s office and into the long corridor where you watch as she waddles in the direction to megumi’s room. when you can no longer see her, you step back into the office and shut the door before turning to look at your boyfriend. “she’s so excited to go to this party. it’s supposed to be superhero-themed and she wanted to dress up as wanda maximoff, but- are you still crying?” 

satoru barely remembers moving so quick, reaching out to hook one of his strong arms around your waist to pull you into his lap sideways.. he barely remembers cupping your cheeks into his big palms as if you’re his most precious thing, a goddess that carved out a piece of heaven for him to hold here on earth. your body is rounded and soft, a comfort to him when his emotions get the best of him. his eyes, pale blue like the northern glaciers, flicker over your face— to your expression that is more than concerned, and your lips that are parting to ask if he’s okay, and then, he’s kissing you—

you gasp, but your initial surprise melts into love, like a piece of chocolate held between your fingertips for too long, because you know what came over him now. you feel it too sometimes, when you see him bonding with your baby girl. it’s sweet, the way he spells words into those kisses— gratitude, affection, and something a little more primal that you can’t place. 

god, he knows you can feel his tears, saltine as they slip traitorously down his cheeks to pool in between the cracks of your joined lips.

when he pulls away a little, you wipe his wet cheeks with your thumbs, your heart tender from the aches until he ruins the moment by whispering four words against your lips that make your big doe eyes widen to full moons. 

“i want another one.” 

huh.

“are you crazy?” you whisper-shout, laying a fist against his chest to keep him from moving closer and indulging him in another kiss. before jellybean was born, having a child together had not been in either of your wishlists for the future, but two pale pink lines gleaming on your bathroom counter five years ago had changed everything and now, you couldn’t imagine life without her. 

but another one? 

“don’t tell me you’re getting baby fever just because she dressed up as you.” 

satoru doesn’t know what has come over him. he never wanted to have children of his own anyway. it was one of those stubborn pacts he made with himself when he was young and flippant. but seeing his baby girl dressed up as him— calling him a hero above all of his faults and failures— is making him want an entire litter with you, a dream team.

“she said i was a hero. i need to hear that from at least one more little me.” 

“we’re not having another baby just to feed your ego, satoru,” you shake your head. “i mean it so stop giving me that look!” 

“what look?”

“that look, the one that tells me you want to bend me over your desk right now,” you huff, “i have a party to go to.” 

“but she was so cute in her little costume, wasn’t she? we make cute kids, i told you that the first time you let me-” 

“i should have left you at dinner that night.” 

“but you didn’t,” he says, grinning toothily, his long, pale fingers sneaking under the hem of your shirt to tease at soft skin underneath. he’s got you already, and he knows it. “just like you ain’t gonna leave this office without another baby in you.”

꒰ LOLLYNOTE ꒱: waaaah, i hope you enjoyed this lil piece ! this was a bit selfshippy and totally self indulgent but i hope you love it anyways <3 thank you to @sleepygetou for letting me use her darling babie ocs keigo & haru too 🥹

[modcroissant]

Tamed Twisteds Au thoughts

- Sprout & Cosmo really likes to make breakfast for the others but due to their loss of their baking skills, it usually ends with the two asking Boxten to help

- Boxten is really sleep deprived because he either; gets waked up by a twisted who had a nightmare or he's working overtime (Poppy scolds him in the latter)

- Poppy would occasionally leave little gifts for Flutter at her bedroom door as an apology but never actually let her know it was her

- Poppy's bedroom is filled with Shelly merch, one plushie is even on her bed

- Shrimpo's room is next to Boxten's due to him being the only one the shrimp tolerates

- Poppy knows how to sew and make clothes, the reason most of the twisteds didn't get any new clothes to replace their ichor stained one is due to the lack of fabric laying around in Gardenview

- Connie likes to prank Looey a lot, it was at some point Looey himself just got used to it

- Toodles likes having tea parties with Teagan and Rodger, though Rodger is not exactly present most of the time (if Teagan could speak, she would be scolding him)

- Astro would occasionally check on Boxten in the middle of the night, Boxten gets scared no matter how many times it happened

- RnD likes poems, though the two couldn't read them as well as they did so either Boxten or Poppy would read it for them

- Tisha had tried cleaning the ichor off of both her tissue and dress multiple times, gave up after a while

- Due to the Main Twisteds (besides Pebble) having loud footsteps, Boxten & Poppy would get huge heart attacks when they hear them

- Glisten had tried to cover up the cracks on his mirror face, only giving up after his countless attempts failed

- Goob and Scraps likes drawing a lot; Goob always show his drawings to Boxten who kept the drawings on the board in his room

- Gigi has a huge hoard of items, Poppy tried cleaning it out before and it did not go well

- Vee still tries to continue her little game show, having fake puppets as her contestants (Poppy made the puppets)

- Shelly needs to be given affection at least five times a day

- Boxten gets bitten often so he covers as much as he could to hide the bite marks

- Poppy hates herself after both the Flutter and Pebble incident, feeling like a monster for both hurting one of her friends and unable to save Boxten in time for him to not get hurt (Boxten makes sure she knows that she's still a good friend, just morally grey)

- Connie & Looey keeps an eye on the twisteds, especially ones that are still sort of aggressive (Flutter, Toodles & Pebble)

That's all, have skateboarding Astro

[spitdrunken]

An Order and A Curse

This was a commissioned work! Thank you so much for the support.

pairing: adam x fem!reader notes: incest (father/daughter), very dubious consent, breeding kink, frequent mentions of pregnancy, adam being adam

summary: In life, the commandment 'be fruitful and multiply' had caused you more than enough suffering. In death, your father still does not let up his visits.

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

Heaven is a nice place to live. That’s the whole point, after all. As one of its earliest inhabitants, you’ve seen it grow and grow, fill up with so many more souls. Buildings have sprouted up all around your home’s original location. But with its height, it still towers over the rest of the surrounding architecture. Anyone who wants to enter has to fly all the way up. Sometimes, you miss the sight of empty, rolling clouds. In the end, though, you are happier with the background noise of people all around you. Laughter, yelling, singing, music… During your entire human lifetime, you’d never been around so many people at once.

There had only been you and your family, back then. Your father Adam, your mother Eve and your many siblings. ‘Be fruitful and multiply’ had been the first order they’d received, and they’d certainly taken it to heart. You wouldn’t have cared, had it not been for the role you had to play as their eldest daughter. Childbearing had been your mother’s curse, passed down to you in turn— And, God, did it hurt.

You click your tongue. You don’t want to be thinking about this. It’s been a literal eternity since you lived as a human and had to endure that specific discomfort. You can’t even remember how it felt anymore, just that it sucked ass. In an effort to distract yourself, you close the gap on the article of clothing you are mending. You sigh. It must be the clothes you are sewing that draw your thoughts back. There’s no need for such activities in Heaven, but there is always busywork present for those who need it to calm themselves. You like feeling useful. You always have. When you were alive, you had so many clothes to create and mend. None of your children looked all to similar to you, nor to your father, and they’d always left. You loved them all the same.

With a soft clang, you drop the needle to the table, the thread losing the eye. Your wings twitch, your halo bobs above your head. You’re being silly. If you’re starting to linger on such thoughts again, it just shows that you haven’t been going out enough lately. Suddenly, your legs itch with the desire to run. You need to talk to people, you need to see some of your friends despite knowing the possible repercussions. You know your father is never above throwing a fit over an imagined slight.

You had just placed your hand on the table to push yourself up, when the sound of wing-beats reaches your ears. Speak of the Devil, you suppose. Your entire body feels heavy, and you plop down on your chair. Pretending to be occupied, you grab the clothes you’d been working on once again. You pull the needle through the fabric without noticing you’re not using any thread. Your stomach knots itself with a feeling you’ve stopped trying to define a long time ago.

Your father lands with a bang on the floor of the bedroom, through the window you never bother to close. You don’t look at him. He groans and you hear the rustling of fabric. Something cracks. Without turning around, you know he must be stretching himself.

“How’s my favourite daughter doing today?” There’s a hand on your shoulder, squeezing down. There’s a grin in his tone, as there so often is. You don’t really want to respond. He doesn’t listen, or remember, what you tell him, anyway. That’s just how he is. “What you working on?” You always feel pinned down under his gaze, scrutinized. You hunch your shoulders.

“Oh, you know, stuff. Busy.” You say, unable to feign any enthusiasm at seeing him. Your father never comes to see you without a reason. He sighs, loudly. You turn your chair around from your desk to face him, if only to assure yourself that he doesn’t break anything.

“Okay, fuck you,” he says. He removed his mask while your back was still turned towards him. It sits on the middle of your bed, the mask’s usual ever-shifting expression now immobile. Like you, your father is one of the most humanoid angels in this whole place. You don’t look all that much alike, but people still always pinpoint the connection. “I come all the way here to see my little girl, can’t you at least pretend to give a shit?!”

Is it worth it to pick a fight with him? The answer is ‘no’, and it has never been any different. After centuries of having to regularly deal with him, you know it’s easier to avoid any fight. You’ll just give yourself a headache by doing anything else.

There are many things you could dislike him for, hate him for. You had. Especially when you were alive. When he’d come into your room at night and stuff you full of his gross cum, even when you were already pregnant. But eternity is a long time to hate someone, it’s a long time for the worst to be forgotten. The simple expanse of time has sanded your feelings closer towards neutrality. …You’re still frequently annoyed with him, though.

You force a little smile on your face. “No, dad, sorry. I was distracted, I didn’t mean it like that. Thanks for stopping by.” He’s actually, genuinely a pretty busy guy, and you know it. It’s something you’re glad for. “Did that one, uh, hot chick show up again at your most recent show? That’s what you talked about last time, right?”

It’s easy to get him going. Your father loves few things more than talking about himself, especially about how good of a lay he’s had recently and how hot he is. Whatever. You’ve long since stopped being uncomfortable listening to him talk about his exploits, how strange it might be. His features relax, the furrow in between his eyebrows disappearing. Your father’s mouth slips into a grin that reveals a few of his teeth.

With a snap of his fingers, he makes a comfortable chair appear in the middle of your room like it’s effortless and drops down into it. There is a perfectly fine chair standing a couple of steps to the left. He rambles in a manner that seems endless. About his latest performances, about some annoying subordinates among the group of angels he supervises, and then somehow returning to the topic of the woman you’d mentioned. You hadn’t followed every twist and turn of his stories. Somewhere along the way you had picked your sewing back up. You can listen and work perfectly fine at the same time. With your father, you can come far in a conversation by simply humming and nodding at the right moments.

“Are you even listening, huh, kid? What was the last thing I said?” He snaps out of nowhere. Without giving you a chance to respond, he continues. “None of you ever fucking—”

Your eyes flicker upward, before looking back down at your hands. You speak. “You were saying that she basically just laid there like a…” You push your tongue against the back of your teeth, contemplating his exact wording. “Like a deflated, secondhand sex doll? That the bitch looked like she was dead for a second time, but you came inside anyway?” Without hesitation, you repeat all of it.

Your father’s expression has shifted to something that, despite all of your years together, you can’t quite gauge. Slightly-widened golden eyes bore into yours.

“I listen to what you say,” you tell him to bolster your point. You do. What can you say, the stories he has to tell are, at the very least, always interesting.

He stares at you for a good few seconds longer, before huffing out a breath of air through his nose and turning his head away. “You’ve got a filthy mouth.”

You laugh, short and genuine. The smile clings to your face. “Well, I think it’s clear who I got that from, dad.”

You’re not sure exactly how you can tell. It must be something in his body language that a subconscious part of your mind can pick up on. Almost instinctual. When he looks at you again, the air in the room shifts and any hint of affection on your face is wiped clean at once. You lower your head, staring at your thighs. As if not seeing him makes it any less real.

His chair creaks and disappears with the familiar noise of a bubble popping. “Maybe that’s true. Well, yeah, it is true,” he says. Without looking up, you place needles, thread and fabric on the floor besides your chair. “But maybe we should clean that mouth of yours, anyway.”

You don’t have the time to brace yourself. He is on you in the blink of an eye. The palm of a hand on your forehead, pushing your head up. A knee against your stomach, forcing a choked breath out of your mouth. His leg is cushioned by your thighs underneath it, pressed closely together to avoid him slotting in. (That trick you predicted, at least.) Your father’s other hand traces the inside of your halo. The touch, deceivingly soft in nature, sends electricity zapping through each of your limbs. Your fingers twitch. He’s had centuries of trial and error to figure out your exact weak spots. You imagine that this makes him a better bed partner for you than he is to most.

If the rumours are to believed, most angels fuck your dad just once, and never a second time. You wish you had to luxury of that choice.

Because for you, one of the lessons Heaven has taught you that, same as with arguments, fighting back when your father is horny is meaningless. All your struggling and crying and begging falls on deaf ears. He’ll get his way one way or another. If you don’t struggle, you won’t end up hurt by bruising fingers and a razor-sharp tongue, left without even a hint of pleasure and cum smeared over your skin. Old and, by extension, powerful as you are, you’ve never been interested in fighting like him.

The best thing you can do is close your eyes and try to enjoy this to the best of your abilities. (You wish it weren’t so easy to do just that.)

His mouth finds yours without hesitation. The tuft of facial hair on his chin rubs against your skin. It’s a bit itchy. Through half-lidded eyes, you can see his wings fluttering behind him, far from relaxed. Then, the tip of his nail slowly scratches your halo and your eyes slide shut. His tongue prods at your lips, impatient, and he’s groaning even when you do open your mouth. Your father’s hand drops from your halo. Instead, it finds its home on the exact spot where your wings meet your back. It’s not a particularly sensitive spot, but it is one that is rarely touched by anyone, making it intimate. If he squeezed any harder, he’d be tearing out a few feathers.

Your father starts to move, squishing your intestines with his knee. You get the hint. As he glides his tongue over every nook and cranny of your mouth, including all of your teeth, he drops his knee in between your legs as soon as you make the space for it. Even when being rubbed through your robes, it’s overwhelming. It’s the combination of all of it. The sudden shift in the mood, one of your weaknesses being assaulted and the memories of the past clawing at the back of your mind… All of it serves to disorient you, making you almost eager to lean into the predictable, simple mindset of chasing pleasure.

You used to lose yourself in memories during these moments, but he noticed. Your father’s a jealous man. He can feel threatened even by your mind, you’ve come to discovered. At all times, it’s your full attention he demands. When he figured he hadn’t always been getting it… He’s always unpredictable now.

As if to prove your point, he nips with his teeth at your bottom lip. Your yelp is muffled against his mouth. When he breaks the kiss, a string of spit continues your mouth. He catches it on one of his fingers and shoves it in your mouth. It’s with too much force and goes in slightly too deep for comfort. Your chest heaves with a suppressed gag.

Your father laughs right in your face. “God, you look so fucking horny. I know you need this as badly as I do, kid. No one else’s sticking their cock inside you, that’s for sure.” He cocks his head and stares you in the eyes. “Or are they, huh? Maybe I should check.”

Nobody does. You’re not sure any of your chosen partners would have much of an enjoyable eternity after doing so. Most of them are too afraid to find out.

Your father digs his fingers into the folds of your robes and tears them away from your body as if it was paper. Purely on instinct, your wings spread out in a defensive position to try and cover your body. You groan and close your eyes. At least you’ve got another task to keep yourself busy with tomorrow.

“Was that really necessary?” You ask. He pushes your wings back down with ease.

“No,” he says, grinning again. “But it was pretty damn hot, though. Admit it.” Whatever the look on your face exactly conveys, it’s not what he wants. He rolls his eyes. “Relaaax, kid, fuck. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

He’s never been much of a man for foreplay. Your father always has one clear goal in mind, which is to get himself off first and foremost. This time, though, he lingers. The desk behind you digs uncomfortable in your back as you lean back, spreading your legs before he has the chance to force them open. He hums appreciatively. He tears your underwear away with little more grace than he did your robes. His fingers push the skin above your pussy upwards, putting your folds on full display.

You know for a fact he’s not going to put his mouth on you. He lets you go and then crams one of his fingers inside of you with an oddly intense expression. (One of the times you’re once again thankful for being in Heaven. It doesn’t hurt, though it definitely should have.) Your face burns with shame as you move in small increments, trying to get that slight bit more comfortable. His finger curls and prods inside of you. The hand is still gloved.

“What are you doing?” You manage to wheeze out. This is not a part of the usual game you play. There’s no pleasure in it for you and you’re sure there’s none for him, either. All it gives you is a mild feeling of discomfort at the intrusion.

“Do you have memory issues or something? I just said that I’d check,” he tells you. “I’m checking.”

You really hadn’t thought, for even a second, that he’d been serious about that. Or what he’s doing. You don’t think he really knows how vagina's work if you’re being completely honest with yourself. Maybe he thinks your hymen regrows? You’re already dead, but you still want to die.

“Look, I haven’t… Messed around with anyone. I’m not lying.”

Perhaps he’d been waiting for an excuse, because he removes his finger from you just as quickly as he’d put it in to begin with. He smacks the side of your thigh, slightly too hard. “Figured you didn’t,” he says. The smile on his face is shit-eating enough that you’re almost tempted to argue.

All of the momentum his actions had has entirely disappeared. Your breathing slows down, your thoughts drifting. You wonder why he still stops by to come here with you. He could have absolutely anyone else, if he put his mind to it, and yet he comes bursting through your window time and time again. But why? It’s never made any sense to you.

You nearly jump off the stool you’re sitting on when your father flicks one of his fingers sharply against your halo. Your wings are the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the floor, pushing yourself up against the desk behind you. A moan is wrenched from your throat at the sudden sensation. You’re pulled back to reality at full force. In front of you, your father is groping at his own cock. A bead of precum is already eagerly at the tip.

“Fucking focus. Whatever thing you’re thinking about can wait. We’re about to get to the main attraction,” he practically snarls at you. Then, the tip of his finger rubs over the spot of your halo he just hurt and he stops frowning. “Masochist.”

He pulls away from your halo and lets go of his cock. Your father steadies himself on the desk with one hand, smearing the precum on his palm onto your stomach with the other. The head of his cock only rests at your entrance for a moment before he’s pushing himself in with no consideration for your comfort. You take a deep breath, eyes rolling upward to face the ceiling.

Your father starts to fuck you at a frenzied pace and you brace yourself with your wings to keep steady. Even then, your whole body is being jostled left to right. With the hand he’s not using to keep his balance, he gropes you all over your body. From your tits to your ass, to your thighs to your stomach— There’s no soft expanse of your skin on your body that hasn’t had his fingers digging into it more than once. Despite the sharp, self-serving thrusts he pummels your body with, it’s pleasure that washes all over you. Your father breathes heavily. His tongue peeks a little past his lips and it seems as if he might just start salivating all over at you any second now.

You sneak your hand in between your legs and rub furiously at your clit. While your father knows your body well enough, there’s no one who knows better than yourself how to get you off. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your mouth hangs open, a string of moans and whimpers falling past your lips without shame. He doesn’t make a move to stop you and he never has. Your father hisses out a breath as you clench around him. His hips stutter for a fraction of a second before he has himself buried to the hilt again. Nails scrape at the wood of the desk next to you. With every thrust, the piece of furniture creaks and heaves.

One of his hands finds your stomach again and squeezes. His pace grows sloppier and sloppier. “You remember? Every time I came inside this cunt, it fucking took. You were even hotter when you were all swollen, I swear to—” He cuts himself off with a groan, his cock twitching inside of you. As you continue to work get yourself closer and closer to the edge, you cross your legs behind him as he bottoms out inside of you.

Before you know what’s happening, he’s lifted you up the desk entirely, giving your already sore back some much-needed rest. It also succeeds in putting you on full display on the window you’d been looking out moments before. As if having the exact same line of thought, Adam’s wings extend and fold outward, shielding you from view as much as possible.

You whine in response to the change of position. Not only because the shift has him hitting a deeper, better spot in side of you, but also because your fingers have lost their target. He doesn’t stop thrusting for even a moment. You smear slick all over your skin in an attempt to find your clit and get back into rhythm. The back of your head hits the desk with a thud as a burst of pleasure makes your thighs shake.

“Gonna pump you full, kid.” Your father babbles out in the midst of his dis-concordant thrusts. Though he doesn’t pause for a moment, he’s clearly getting close because he doesn’t even bother to pull out entirely anymore, only getting half of his cock out before his thighs slap against your ass again. That, and the way his voice trembles. “Gonna put another baby in you. S’gonna work out, right? Seed so good, it’s gonna take without a doubt. You gonna be a good girl for your daddy?”

In a display of strength that you would’ve otherwise found him a show-off for, he once again lifts you up. Rather than continue to thrust, he basically lifts you up and down his cock like you’re nothing but a glorified sex toy. You’re getting close and he is, too.

It takes two attempts, but you wrap a hand around his wrist and squeeze. You can’t help it, in the horny haze your mind is in you simply can’t hold back anymore. “C…cum inside me!” You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. “I need it! Get me pregnant, daddy!”

(You’re only saying that because you know it’ll get him off, really, it’s the only reason, you swear, you—)

The groan your father lets out is utterly guttural. He cums and cums and cums inside you, cock twitching and filling you up until it has nowhere else to go. As for you, you get yourself to cum moments later.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-“ You babble, not even thinking about what you’re saying and hardly registering what the words actually are.

You lift your head and bash it against the desk again, tongue poking out of your mouth as you grind violently against him. Once it passes, you let yourself drop, acutely aware of sweaty and gross and tired you are.

That is usually where this ends. You’ll be left to the spiraling of your own mind.

He’ll pull out, stuff the cum leaking out of you back inside with his fingers and leave without much more conversation. Calmer, though. It’s always as if some frantic, frenzied energy has been released once he pulls that helmet and robe back on and departs. This time, he takes his time. Even when you expect him to, he doesn’t leave. Discomfort creeps up on you.

He stays buried inside of you, a lopsided smile draped across his features. Your father leans down and pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “Well, that’s why you’re my favourite.”

It’s one of the softest things you’ve ever heard him say. It must surprise even himself, because his wings puff up like a bird fighting against the cold before he folds them behind his back once again. They’re shaky. The muscles tremble and convulse with the exertion from being extended in the same, uncomfortable position for so long.

You’re uncomfortable. You wish he would just leave. This isn’t how it usually goes. You need to be left to your own devices to put the pieces of your pride back together. And yet…

You can’t help but sigh, something akin to a smile tugging on your lips. There’s no name for whatever the two of you have. It’s as old as human time, and you’ve held many different feelings about it, which have all congealed into one unrecognisable lump. You don’t even know what you’re feeling anymore. But you’ve always been eager to please.

“…Love you too, dad.”

[sinsmockingbird]

SUCCUBUS!COQUELIC | Event

PAIRING: Coquelic x Afab!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut, NSFW, Sub!Reader, Dom!Character, Succubus!Coquelic, Human!Reader, Monster Fucking, Lingerie, Cunnilingus

AUTHORS NOTE: Finally the first part is here! Enjoy a relatively mild monster fucking fic to ease us into the event. Note; Reader is one of Coquelic's concubine.

IT WASN'T uncommon for Coquelic to return to the Garden quite... hungry. You've learned by this point to always be ready for her when she returns, knowing just how much she's craving some delicious essence.

Making sure that her room was tidy and that everything was set correctly, you moved your hands down your body to fix up the revealing lingerie you were wearing, into place. Then you glanced into the mirror inside her room and made sure your hair was neat (it wouldn't be in a little bit).

After making sure you looked good, you glanced over at the clock and noted that you only had a few minutes left. So quickly you settled yourself onto Coquelic's bed and laid down, but not before tossing some rose petals around you and making sure that the lingerie was revealing more than it already was before settling down and waiting.

And you didn't have to wait long.

When a portal opened up in the room, your heart quickly began to rapidly hammer in your chest. You watched as Coquelic came storming through, a scowl adorning her beautiful face. You noted the dark red horns sprouting and curving from her head, red wings briefly fluttering in aggravation, and then finally the slender tail swishing back and forth behind her.

You watched as Coquelic froze as soon as her eyes landed on you, slowly blinking them a few times before a wide grin spread across her lips as her eyes looked you over. "My my, what's this, my little rosebud?"

"U-Uhm, a gift... a gift for you," You answered, feeling your face flush red as you felt her eyes trailing over every inch of your body. "I- I thought you would be h-hungry upon your return."

"Hm, you thought correctly. As always," Coquelic mused as she moved towards you and crawled onto the bed, her tail swishing back and forth behind her in a tantalizing way. "You'll still let me do anything to you, correct?"

"C-Correct," You meekly nodded your head, obediently moving to lay flat on the bed on your back, allowing her to straddle your waist.

"Mm, good," Coquelic licked her her lips in hunger, before diving down towards you.

You gasped as her lips crashed against yours, your teeth hitting against each other as she shoved her tongue into your mouth. You put up no fight, surrendering yourself to Coquelic, moaning at the feeling of her long tongue snake out and swipe across every inch, before almost shoving itself down your throat. You choked for a moment as she stuck her tongue momentarily down your throat, before gasping for air as she pulled away.

She left open mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck, slowly but surely moving down your body, not caring how messy her kisses were, because currently all she wanted was you. She wanted to use you to her heart's content until you were nothing but moans. She wanted to feast on you, because she was in dire hunger for your taste.

Coquelic taked her fingers across your pretty lingerie, before grabbing them and tearing them off your body. As much as she loved to see you, her little concubine dressed so prettily in something so revealing, it was blocking too much of your pretty skin. And she just couldn't have that.

"C-Coco!" You whined as she forced your legs wide apart after tossing your torn lingerie somewhere behind her.

"What?" Coquelic asked, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow, before noticing the pout on your face, and she glanced behind her at the heap of your lingerie on the ground, making her let out a laugh. "Don't fret, rosebud, I'll have one of the other concubines remake it for you."

"Okay..." You mumbled, still frowning. You had spent a great amount of time learning from Garofano on how to sew that, so it kinda hurt that Coquelic could so easily tear it apart without a care.

"Attention on me, rosebud." Coquelic demanded, nipping a bit roughly at your inner thigh, making you gasp and quickly look at her. "Good girl."

Your face flushes red as Coquelic begins to pepper your inner thighs in kisses, moving closer and closer to your dripping cunt. You whine for her, and with a small laugh, she moves her face to where you want her. She blows air on it first, watching it clench and drop more slick, making her lick her lips.

"My, such a pretty cunt..." Coquelic muses, sighing dreamily as she gazes at your hole. You flush red at her prolonged staring, subconsciously beginning to close your legs around her head.

Eyes flashing red, Coquelic's tail wraps tightly around one of your legs, forcefully pulling it back while she she pins your other with her hand, making sure you can't move them an inch. "Now now, don't be misbehaving."

"M'sorry!" You quickly apologize, moving to spread your legs wider for her (not that you could anymore) and lifting your hips slightly up as you presented your cunt for her.

"Good girl." Coquelic purred, softening her grip on you as she moves her head back in between your legs.

You let out a whine of pleasure as soon as Coquelic flicked her tongue across your dripping folds. She smirked and began to teasingly drag her tongue slowly past your lower lips, wiggling it about and making your walls clench around it tightly.

"Mmmm Coco..!" You whimpered at her teasing, pouting once again and staring down at her pleadingly, silently begging her to just give you her tongue.

Coquelic let out a breathy laugh, wanting to tease you further, but the ache of hunger in her stomach made her decide to give in. She shoved the rest of her tongue into your cunt, the pointed tip flicking against every inch it could get a taste of. The rest of her tongue wiggled around inside you, coating itself in your delicious juices.

She let out a pleased moan at the taste of you, her eyes rolling back in her head. She could feel her hunger ache more, needing your cum flooding her mouth. So, without much warning, she began to fuck her tongue in and out of your needy cunt.

You threw your head back, a silent scream leaving your mouth as you felt Coquelic's tongue thrusting in and out with such intensity you'd think it was her strap if you closed your eyes. Your hands flew down to her head, grabbing fistfuls of her hair into them.

You tugged her head closer, thighs trying to enclose around her head and keep her in place, but her tail tightened around your one leg again, keeping it firmly in place while her one hand did as well. You whined at the feeling but you didn't dare fight, instead letting your legs stay spread.

"Taste so good..." Coquelic moaned, the sound of her voice sending vibrations through you, making you jerk slightly, causing her to laugh.

She snaked her free hand up between your legs, settling it above your pussy. She pressed her thumb against your aching clit, putting pressure onto it and rubbing it slightly, immediately making you cry out of how good it felt. She rubbed it more as she continued her relentless pace of her tongue.

You could feel the coil in your gut beginning to tighten more and worsen, making tears spring to your eyes. It was becoming too much, and Coquelic knew that. But she was desperate for your taste so she only went faster and harder.

"C-Cumming!" You gasp out through moans before arching your back off the bed, shoving Coquelic's head farther between your thighs as you reach your peak.

Coquelic lets out a whine as you begin cumming, flooding her mouth. She held your spasming body down onto the bed, while diving her tongue deep into you, trying to drink up every last bit of your juices. She could feel relief flood her system as your taste soothes her aching hunger.

When she was satisfied, she slowly moved her head away from between your legs, licking her lips and chin that were drenched in your essence. You whimpered at the sight, and cowered under her lustful gaze. Her eyes were glowing more red, and you knew she wasn't completely satisfied just yet. She wasn't done using you for her own relief just yet.

ENDING NOTES: Anyone wane to get feasted on by Succubus!Coquelic?

[somepsychopomp]

A Fair Contest

So a little bit ago I drafted an idea for an AU where, instead of the golden apple saying 'to the fairest' it says 'to the most amorous king'

And instead of the ladies fighting over the apple, it's Zeus & Poseidon. In order to determine who exactly is the superior lover (and king + who gets bragging rights), the two brothers select one (un)fortunate mortal that both of them shall take to bed...

and the judge they select for their little contest is none other than Odysseus.

(Takes place pre-Trojan War. In fact there's basically no Trojan War to begin with. Also Odysseus is betrothed but not yet married to Penelope)

Consider this chapter 1 of this fic. I really hope I can finish it because I stayed up to almost 4 am writing this, which is amazing because I've been dealing with a major cold and writers block for a while now

Word Count: approx. 4400

There's no smut yet but I do confess to giving Ody a bubble butt. Also in a world where Ruthlessness never happened/is yet to happen... Poseidon has a thing for strong thighs & is absolutely smitten with Odysseus

Also in my head, I'm imagining Neal's character designs but I think I've kept it vague enough for now that you can imagine whatever designs you like

+++

The wedding had been a most splendid sight, with revelry among both men and gods. The small mortal king, Peleus, was of course honored to host such a wide variety of the gods and have them witness his union with the divine Thetis. Zeus gave the couple his own blessing and permitted Dionysus to pour out his strongest wine for the occasion. 

Well into the night, the attendees danced to a tireless band and feasted upon the finest foods available. Gods mingled with mortals, some sneaking off with a young maiden or cupbearer for some more illicit fun. 

All was going well until the first beam of daylight shone upon a pedestal that no guest noticed before, where a golden apple awaited. 

Curious onlookers clustered around it, wondering where it could have come from. The mortals believed the apple to be made of real gold, thinking it was a lavish wedding gift. The gods were equally mystified, knowing that something so perfect and beautiful could only be given by one of their own. Hera pursed her lips at the sight of it. 

The king of the gods made his way to the center of the crowd, the other guests parting for him with their eyes averted in deference. He regarded the apple with mild curiosity, having a treasury greater than all of Greece’s wealth upon Olympus. A ribbon was tied neatly to the apple’s stem with a message embroidered upon it. 

“To the most amorous king.”

Zeus chuckled at the oddity of this little present and moved to take the apple. 

Only for another hand to grab it at the very same moment. 

The two gods stared at each other. 

“What do you think you’re doing, dear brother?” Zeus asked, the smile falling from his face. 

Poseidon rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Taking my prize.”

“You?” Zeus said, his voice dripping with outrage, “You dare defy your king like this?”

Poseidon’s voice turned sharp and cold. “I am lord of the seas! The gift doesn’t say ‘to the king of the skies’, now does it? No, you read it yourself.”

The mortal guests, including King Peleus, began to make their quick exit from the venue. Some of the lesser gods were also making their sneaky escape, fearing the worst was about to come. 

Hera approached her husband and wrapped her arms around his own, “Darling, it’s just an apple. If you want one, I’ve got a whole orchard full.”

It was true that Gaea, the very earth itself, gave Hera a grove of enchanted apple trees as her wedding gift. The trees were immune to all illnesses and sprouted fruit of pure gold all year round. In all likelihood, this very apple was stolen from the Queen’s orchard.

The god-king’s most favorite child appeared at his other side in an attempt to soothe his growing rage, “Father, listen to Queen Hera. This is a trick meant to sew discord, nothing more.”

Zeus ignored his daughter Athena as if she weren’t there. 

“Let it go, my love.” Hera said, “After all, why have one apple when you could have hundreds?”

Zeus gave her a sharp look, his golden eyes burning with a harsh, radiant glow. The queen of the gods was so taken aback that she shrunk away under the weight of his glare. Zeus said, “I am the god of judgement! No matter how trivial of a token it is, I will not let my brother take what does not rightfully belong to him!” 

Poseidon threw his head back and laughed, not one to be daunted, “Oh, is that so? And how will you prove that it doesn’t belong to me, hm?”

He tossed the golden apple into the air, catching it in his other hand. Zeus bared his teeth and snatched Poseidon’s wrist, unwilling to let elder brother even hold the thing. 

It was now apparent to all the remaining gods what this was really about. 

Neither king would secede when their pride and egos were in jeopardy. For either of them, letting the other take the apple now, after they’ve already started bickering, would mean admitting they were the more feeble lord, a less competent lover. And such a slight against their reputations would never stand. 

“Ahem,” a voice said. 

A lovely woman with flawless bare skin for all the world to admire, a translucent shawl draped around her arms and roses in her pale tresses, stepped forward. 

Zeus barely spared her a glance. “What is it, Aphrodite?”

She smiled, though not without a hint of mischief in her eyes, “I think I have the solution to this little conflict of ours, one that will minimize any substantial damage to our family… or the known world.”

Zeus inclined his head in interest. Poseidon gave the goddess his ear, as well. Zeus let go of his brother and the sea god set the apple down. 

Athena bit her lower lip, knowing that Aphrodite’s schemes were almost never more than just that: schemes. Games to amuse herself with. She had something else in mind. 

Aphrodite snapped her fingers. A large, circular mirror gilded in silver and gold appeared in the air behind her. The surface rippled the same way a pond did when met with rainfall. 

A beautiful young maiden with a long braid of black hair tended to her garden. The image rippled and was replaced with what was clearly a princess being dressed for the day by her servants. Again, the image shifted and showed a handsome young man in a short chiton as he shepherded his flock of sheep. 

Aphrodite said, “Now, I’m sure you two could spend eternity bickering back and forth, boasting of your skills and past conquests, but as the goddess of love myself… why not have more of a practical examination?”

The two brothers exchanged a look, coming to the same conclusion. 

“You want us to share a lover?” Poseidon asked. 

Zeus added, “And have them decide?”

Aphrodite winked and gave them a cheerful smile. “Well, what do you say? There’s no shortage of pretty boys or girls across the land. Come, take your pick!”

Zeus stroked his beard, a few sparks crackling across his fingertips. Poseidon crossed his arms in contemplation. 

“Father, Uncle!” Athena said, trying to catch their attention, “This is madness, can you not see?”

But neither god answered her. Athena was in disbelief. 

All this over a golden apple that neither needed or really wanted. This was all about their reputations as accomplished lovers, which they shouldn’t even have considering they were both married men. 

And Aphrodite, it was clear she was only doing this to make a story out of it, the way she and her son Eros loved to couple mortals together, only to break them apart. No doubt some terrible fate will befall the chosen victim, no matter who they named the superior lover. 

In Athena’s mind, she could only imagine the loser of this game casting some bitter curse upon the poor mortal as revenge. But that was the fun of it for some gods, to see the doomed fate of some poor soul after getting mixed up with the divine. 

Behind Zeus’ back, Hera threw her hands into the air before storming off, summoning her chariot pulled by winged horses to return her to Olympus. 

Athena threw a disappointed look at Aphrodite before leaving as well, deciding to go where her counsel would be appreciated. 

+++

By mid-morning, Odysseus’ back and brow were already covered in sweat as he endeavored to finish the roof over his wedding bed before an unfortunate rain could sully his hard work below. 

The house he was raised in was perfectly fine, but with all the servants and guards on top of his family, it was not the largest of castles. It was also an old thing in constant need of repairs. Odysseus always envisioned a proper palace atop Ithaca’s mountains, one where his own family could grow large and have plenty of space to themselves. 

So, before the eve of his wedding, he endeavored to complete the house of his dreams for his new wife to enjoy. He started with their olive tree, a living symbol of his devotion to his betrothed. Odysseus labored day and night to carve part of it into one of the four posts for his wedding bed, taking extreme caution to not cut away so much that the tree would die. 

The largest bough of the olive tree would overlook one of their windows, with a perfect view of the vast ocean beyond it. Odysseus already carved the other three bed posts and constructed the frame, but there was always more work to do. As the common larborers constructed the foundation and walls for the other rooms in the palace, Odysseus went to work constructing the roof for his bedroom. 

With a sizable living tree in such close proximity to his quarters, he trusted no one but himself to complete the project without damaging it. 

Taking up hammer and nails, hauling wood and stone, and fitting everything into place almost entirely on his own was unusual for a king. Odysseus knew this, but the labor brought him joy like no other. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, imagining opening the door for the very first time as a married man. He would carry Penelope to their wedding bed, built entirely by his hand, and spend the rest of his life with her. 

Focus, he told himself. 

For now, Penelope still dwelled in her natal homeland of Sparta. As soon as her new home was completed, she would set sail for Ithaca.  

Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow as the sun beat its rays upon his back. Maybe it was foolish to fear the coming rainfall, but he could see the grayish clouds on the horizon.

By midday, he was hopeful he could have the roof finished by nightfall. As Odysseus dropped from one of the wooden rafters into his nearly-complete bedroom, his tunic must have caught on a nail or perhaps a large splinter. He heard the sharp tearing of fabric and grumbled at the gash across his front. One of the room’s alcoves had some of his clothes, since he didn’t have time yet to build the chests or wardrobe. 

Thinking better of a tunic, Odysseus merely replaced it with a rectangular length of cloth fastened at the waist. It was something his mother wove, a lovely shade of blue to match the sea, embroidered with red and white thread. 

From somewhere nearby, he heard the familiar clicking of an owl’s beak coming to greet him. He smiled and turned around, draping his tunic over his arm as his mentor approached him in the form of a brown and white speckled owl. She sank her talons into his arm and flapped her wings as if in outrage. 

He let her perch on the alcove’s lip as he fasted a leather pauldron to his left shoulder. She hopped back on and Odysseus could feel her talons clench and unclench even through the tough leather. 

“What troubles you, Athena?” Odysseus asked. 

He set out through the bedroom’s heavy oak doors, finding himself in a long hallway that was finished, but not yet furnished or cleaned. 

She spoke into his mind, Sometimes, I wish I could belong to any other family but my own. 

Odysseus chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear.”

While he loved his parents and sister dearly, he knew that Athena often butted heads with her siblings and uncle. 

Odysseus counted the windows that still needed shutters and curtains, along with the patches in the roof that had yet to be filled in. Farther along, the great hall where they would entertain guests was still only a skeleton. Only half of the supporting beams and columns were installed and the whole place reeked of sweating men. 

Athena paid the laborers no mind as the citizens of Ithaca bowed for their king as he walked by. 

You know I’m not one for gossip, but I fear something terrible is about to strike the land. 

“Is that so?” Odysseus asked, his smile dropping. 

Yes, a terrible tragedy yet to come in the form of my Uncle Poseidon and my father. 

A servant approached Odysseus with a serving platter. He took a cup of water and drank deeply, and snatched a small bowl of olives before going on his way. 

“They’re angry with us?” Odysseus asked, fearing what this might mean for his people.

No, Athena said, accepting an olive and biting into the tender flesh with her sharp beak, Not quite, but their egos are yet again showing themselves. If you find unusual weather patterns in the next few days, pay them no mind. 

“Ah, I see.”

In truth, he didn’t understand Athena at all. But she seemed in the mood to vent about her personal feelings and seeing as she didn’t do so often, Odysseus was careful to listen. 

Athena clacked her beak in irritation. Odysseus bit into his own olive as he felt a sharp nibble on his ear before she started combing through his damp hair. She must’ve found something in his hair, a bit of dust or a wood chip, because he could feel her tugging at him. 

How goes construction on the new palace?

“Every day, I can see the way it’s growing.”

Odysseus passed by a group of men sitting in a loose circle, taking swigs from a water skin as they fanned themselves. One caught sight of Odysseus and they all scrambled to their feet. 

Odysseus held out a hand to put them at ease, “Catch your breath if you must. A tired man is more prone to making mistakes, and I will not have any in my new house.”

The men all sighed in relief and went back to their break, waving goodbye as he continued onward. Athena cooed to show her approval in his decision. He thought her mood was improving, but not a moment later, she said, I just can’t believe them sometimes. 

“Oh?”

Odysseus thought Athena said her piece already. She clicked his beak right in his ear. 

You would think that the god of law and order would have some sense in his head. But no! Apparently my mother Metis still possesses it. If only Father would listen to her, if not me.

Odysseus said nothing, having never heard Athena speak like this before, especially about her father. He thought it best to remain silent; perhaps Athena could complain about Zeus without punishment, but he knew far better. 

Athena clicked her beak with a different sense of urgency and Odysseus gave her another olive. She held it in one foot while balancing on the other, dropping the pit when she was finished devouring the flesh. 

“You seem awfully worked up,” Odysseus said, “Anything I can do to lift your burdens?”

Athena shook her head. No, I’m afraid this is something that no one man can solve, as frustrating as it might sound. 

He crossed the central courtyard and approached the war room, one of the few nearly-complete parts of the palace, where his chief architects and advisors were waiting to update him on their progress. 

Though Odysseus was primarily trained in the art of war, he was also well-versed in song and poetry, history, oratory, and arithmetic, all courtesy of Athena. He wasn’t an expert in architecture yet, but he had his own hand in designing the layout of the palace. 

“Good day, my friends.” Odysseus said, parting the curtains that served as a makeshift door until the palace was fitted with proper ones. 

One of his elder advisors squinted at Athena upon his shoulder. “My liege?”

Before they could go over any potential issues in the construction or their budgetary concerns, Odysseus wandered over to the window and let Athena take off. She disappeared through the trees, though he knew he’d see her again soon.

+++

Despite the fact the sun was about to set and the two godly kings had been bickering all day long, Aphrodite hadn’t lost her patience yet. In fact, she was even reveling in her task at hand. 

They moved their business to her abode on Olympus, where her many mirrors were put to good use. Zeus and Poseidon scoured the lands for a suitable judge to measure their sexual prowess, each of them interested in different aspects of what made up a potential lover. 

Zeus was pleased with just about any pretty face that breathed, but Poseidon was a bit pickier with appearances. He didn’t want his maidens or young men to be too skinny, and he seemed to have a preference for those with strong legs. Aphrodite could certainly work within those bounds. 

At the same time, Poseidon was more open to sharing a lover with some previous sexual experience, thinking it’d make the whole process easier. Zeus wrinkled his nose at the idea and insisted he wanted someone “new”, not wanting to muck about after some vastly lesser mortal man had his way with their chosen judge. 

Aphrodite agreed that was a good point, so instead of letting the two kings squabble, she put her talents as a matchmaker to good use. After a brief consultation, she put together a list of minimum requirements that satisfied both gods. 

One, their shared lover had to be attractive, preferably with appealing legs. 

Two, they had to be virginal. 

Three, they all agreed that the mortal should come from high standards, so some form of royalty. They could be a princess or a prince, or even someone lesser than that, but anyone of a noble bloodline would be preferable to a random maiden. Of course, both kings had their fair share of peasant-girl chasing, but for such an important competition, Aphrodite understood their concerns well. 

And lastly, the judge should be someone intelligent. Someone who wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of their assigned task and would be able to use not just their body, but logic to determine the true and indisputable winner. 

No doubt each god had their plans to bribe the judge, but who wouldn’t?

If it was Aphrodite competing for the apple, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a few tricks of her own. An idiot might be easy to bribe, but that also meant they’d be easy for the competition to bribe as well. To each of the male gods, an intelligent lover would certainly be able to recognize a superior bribe.

“Sadly, your stipulations exclude Helen of Sparta,” Aphrodite said, waving away the image of Helen in her largest mirror, “She’s had children by now, though she’s still quite lovely.”

Poseidon made a noncommittal sound, as if he might reconsider, but Zeus urged Aphrodite to move onto the next candidate with a flick of his wrist. The two of them sat before her best mirror, looking almost comical in her rose-colored, dove-ingrained armchairs. 

They went through a few more potential candidates, including Penelope of Sparta and Ctimene of Ithaca. Neither god was very impressed by her choices, but just as Aphrodite was about to move onto the next candidate, Poseidon held out a hand. 

“Wait a moment,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Who is that in the back?”

“Oh?” Aphrodite asked. She returned to the image of Ctimene. She was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, her veil fluttering in her wake as her handmaidens walked with her. They seemed to be exiting some great ruin, but on closer inspection, the gods could see men at work. They were building a great palace, it seemed. 

Well, great by the standards of mortals. 

Behind Ctimene, a bare-chested young man held out a hand and seemed to be directing a group of others. Aphrodite’s mirror rippled and showed them the young man in greater detail, leaving young Ctimene out entirely. 

“Oh,” Zeus said. 

Aphrodite concealed her eager smile, more thrilled than ever at this sudden twist. She examined the young man’s features, including the sharp angles of his nose, his dense locks of dark brown hair, and his high cheekbones. He bore a striking resemblance to Ctimene. As the goddess of love, there were a few other details Aphrodite could parse out just by looking at him, but she would conceal her thoughts for now. 

She said, “Why, that would be none other than King Odysseus of Ithaca!” 

Though the young ruler was about the same height as his sister, he was no slight-of-frame weakling. His broad shoulders complimented his strong chest and arms, certainly the build of a warrior. His stomach was a flat plain and below his garments, well muscled thighs teased them almost playfully. 

A pale scar ran along the inside of one of his thighs, but it only added to his character. Though Poseidon maintained his interest, Zeus scoffed. 

“King, you say?” Zeus nudged his brother, “You know what that means.”

Poseidon was still appraising Odysseus’ thighs, “Plenty of whores in and out of his bed?”

“Actually!” Aphrodite said, clapping her hands, “You’ll be beyond pleased to know that young Odysseus here… is virginal.”

Now that had both gods’ attention. The King of the Gods seemed incredulous.

“How old is he?” Zeus asked. 

“Twenty years, my dearest king.”

“And he’s still a virgin?” Poseidon asked, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. “Why? Is he stupid?”

Aphrodite giggled behind her hand, “He’s determined to save himself for marriage, like a maiden! But it can’t be helped. I do believe he’s Athena’s pupil, after all. And I’m sure she holds him to what she perceives as a high standard.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, “Whatever the case may be, he’s remained celibate thus far. Perfectly ripe and ready to be plucked, if you would.”

The gods of the sea and sky shared a look. 

Zeus said, “Show us more.”

Aphrodite was more than happy to do exactly that. She waved her hand and the stationary image of Odysseus began to move. There was no sound to accompany the vision, but all three of them remained silent as they watched Odysseus work. 

He carried multiple rucksacks full of supplies up the spiral staircases of his house while other laborers stopped to eat their dinner. He seemed more than intent to get somewhere, not stopping until he came across a large bedroom with the roof still letting in sunlight in a few patches. Interestingly, while the bed was large and well made, it lacked a mattress or rug thrown over the rungs. Perhaps that would come later. 

Odysseus hopped out the window, seemingly ignorant to the fact there was a steep drop right below him, as he grabbed hold of a tree bough and climbed into the roof. It looked like he was intent on using every last bit of sunlight to his advantage as he finished laying out the clay shingles. 

The sweat across his body glistened like stardust as the sky above him glowed with the most beautiful shades of red and gold. He put his strong body to use by covering the few bare patches of his rooftop, stopping only to retrieve a shallow clay bowl from his pack, filling it with oil and floating a wick on top before igniting his lamp to give him a bit more light. 

Zeus snapped his fingers. In an instant, Hermes was fluttering at his side. 

“Yes, Father?”

Without taking his eyes off of Odysseus, Zeus said, “Contact Helios. Tell him to wait a while longer before dusk arrives.”

Hermes spared Odysseus a brief glance before nodding and flying off. Though the mortal didn’t seem to notice, the sun did indeed stop setting. 

Odysseus set down his hammer to dab his sweat-soaked face with a rag. He was tiring now, but intent on finishing his job if the determined look in his eyes was any indication. 

Poseidon held up one hand and curled a finger toward himself. 

The hammer that Odysseus just set down began sliding toward the edge of the roof. 

“Brother…” Zeus warned. 

Poseidon said, “Trust me.”

Odysseus snatched the hammer before it could fall, but found himself quite close to the edge now. 

Poseidon cupped his hands around his mouth and blew softly. A wind coming off Ithaca’s coast kicked up, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. As Odysseus stood with his hammer, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled his hair and clothing. 

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, instantly recognizing the game Poseidon was playing. She added her own flare as well, using just the slightest twirl of her finger to undo the belt holding young Odysseus’ garments in place. 

The poor young king seemed baffled by his sudden misfortune, moving swiftly to capture his garment before the wind could steal it away. Aphrodite froze the image without being told to do so, but she was quite proud of her timing. 

Odysseus stood in all his mortal splendor, revealing his tan skin scarred by past adventures. He was healthy, with the body of an athlete and his arm outstretched to better display the toned muscles under his skin.  

“What a surprise!” Aphrodite said with mirth, tracing her finger along the surface of the mirror, “Look at his little dimples!” 

Indeed, a twin set of dimples rested over his lower back, no longer concealed by his clothing. But that was not all. Some men were cursed to be rather flat in their rear, leaving them looking awkward or incomplete at times, but Aphrodite was equally pleased that Odysseus had something worth looking at below his dimples. In addition to the well-defined muscles in his shoulders and back, he sported the most grabbable bottom. 

If Odysseus was not doomed to be the plaything between kings, Aphrodite might have been tempted to take him for herself. 

She held out her hands as if Odysseus was nothing more than an exotic animal on display. Poseidon was leaning forward in his chair, his head tilted with interest. Zeus, too, seemed sold at last. His golden eyes sparkled more brightly than usual as he traced over the little king’s backside. He ran his tongue over his teeth. 

Aphrodite smiled, “So, my dears… what do you say? Is Odysseus of Ithaca to be your judge?”

...

Read an excerpt of Chapter 2 here!

[antidotesprout]

🖤🤍Mini Plush Set Giveaway🤍🖤

GIVEAWAY HAS BEEN CONCLUDED

I'll be giving the pictured submas mini plush set away! Entry period will last from the time of this posting until 9/2/2023 at 10 PM US CST (that's GMT-6)! The winner will be announced the following day, 9/3 👍

Giveaway Rules:

To enter, leave a reply/comment on this post

Everyone is limited to one entry

Winner will be chosen via a random number generator (I'll be putting everyone who enters on a numbered list to assign numbers)

Must be over 18

Keep messaging open at least around the time of the drawing so I can let you know if you've won!

My intention with this project was to give fans the opportunity to have plushes of our lil guys even if they can't sew or afford $500 a pair from scalpers on ebay, so this give away is world wide (barring any restrictions shipping from the us).

Share with your fellow fans to spread the love! 🖤🤍

If you don't want to take a chance and would rather purchase them straight away I will be posting sets up for sale. Follow me if you want updates regarding when those are made available! (Likely next week at some point)

[skyedancer2006]

Played that new Dandy fangame (Ready, Set, Go Sprout!) and absolutely loved it

The art is so cute, the story is adorable and funny, and Vee is such a hater I love her sm

The game is free on itch.io if anyone wants to play it; very much recommend to any Fruitcake shippers its so cute

(Spoilers under the cut cause I want to talk about it lol)

Me and a friend were playing for almost 2 hours going through all the different choices so we could see the dialogue and stuff

The freaking ichor cake that you can make if you purposefully fuck up the baking route 😭 And that if you keep pressing the button you can actually give it to Cosmo and embarrass yourself/Sprout

AND THE PLUSHIES WERE SO CUTEEEEE Shelly teaching Sprout how to sew >>>>>>>>

THE ENDING TOOOO AND THE KISS ARTTTT me and the friend I was playing with were yelling at them to kiss all game and when they did we both freaked out XDD

The game did have a jumpscare warning when we downloaded it but the Twisted Sprout in the closet still got us lol; wondering if there was stuff we missed since that was the only jumpscare we found though, and there were a few rooms we couldn’t figure out how to get into (if you even can)

ALSO THE BORDERLINE INNUENDOS CAUGHT US SO OFF GUARD HDJSNDBSBD not Cosmo flirting by saying he wanted Sprout to be the frosting on his cake 😭

[muxshwriting]

blessed to be

Violet Bridgerton x maid!reader

summary: as her maid, you can't help but grow close to the Bridgerton matriarch || word count: 1293 || masterlist

REQUESTED: can you please make a Violet Bridgerton x maid fanfic?? I'm literally so hungry for some Violet fanfics.

Violet Bridgerton needed a new lady’s maid. Her previous maid was getting married and would be released from the household to start her own with her new husband. Therefore, Violet was in need of a new lady’s maid to aid her, leaving the troublesome task to her loyal housekeeper.

A week later, Mrs Wilson approached the drawing room with a woman following behind her. "This is your new lady’s maid Ma’am." She announced.

The woman behind her lowered her head and offered a small smile. Violet returned her smile, introducing herself and learning your name. "I'm sure you'll do splendidly in this household. Mrs Wilson will tend to your needs and show you your duties."

"Yes Ma'am." You hesitated as you turned to leave. "Thank you."

As you settled into your duty, you couldn't help but be grateful for your fortunate position. Yes, you were a maid but you were a maid to one of the wealthiest families in the ton, a family that had (at least) a basic respect for their staff and took care of them. Most importantly, Violet cared. The matriarch would ask your opinion on fabrics and hairstyles and jewellery before deciding.

"What about the emeralds with this dress for Eloise?" Violet softly asked, holding a blush coloured dress.

You scrunched your eyebrows in concentration, weighing up the combination. "Perhaps something less colourful for Eloise? Something like crystal or quartz, perhaps white sapphires. She doesn't wish to stand out by wearing something like emeralds." You suggest, hurriedly adding the honorific at the end, "Ma'am."

Violet thinks for a second before nodding handing the dress back to you to hang up, reaching for a diamond necklace to compare. "I quite agree. Eloise will appreciate your concern." She paused for a moment, "I appreciate your concern."

"Just helping however I can Ma'am."

It was a quiet day where Violet was sitting in the drawing room with her embroidery, and had requested you to join her. You never had time to learn the special embroidery stitches, learning the basics to sew patches into clothing and fix tears. Instead, you carried a few napkins that had sprouted holes, working on them as Violet embroidered.

"Why did you never marry?" Violet began the conversation. The two of you had discussed the topic before, but not the why.

You stuttered out a response. "Having a husband never appealed to me Ma'am. I'm very fortunate that I don't have to marry. I got to focus on my studies, teaching all the local children how to read and write and calculate simple sums. It's not a brilliant education but it's something that quite a few children never get to learn."

Violet smiled. "Perhaps you could finally persuade Hyacinth that her education is important then."

"Nothing will change Miss Hyacinth's mind once she has set it. I'm sure the Governess you employ will do a brilliant job with her education." You laughed slightly. "Besides, I couldn't leave you to-" You cut yourself off, suddenly embarrassed at what you're saying.

Violet isn't bothered. Without looking up from her stitching, she silently reached over a hand to hold yours. Both of you ceased your work, enjoying the silence and comfort of each other's company.

"You're very dear to me Y/N." Violet said quietly, also seeming embarrassed at her own words. "You mean a great deal to the family as well." She was stumbling for the right words to say, dancing around the main subject.

"I feel very fondly of you to Violet." The woman lightly gasped as you said her name gently. You spoke her name, not her title, not ma'am, not mistress. You had called her Violet. Her reaction had you second guessing everything you had ever done as you bundled your napkins into your arms and stood, pulling your hand from hers. "My apologies Ma'am. I shall be in the servant quarters." Your eyes were trained to the ground, inspecting the dust on your shoes. "If you need me for anything, I am simply a call away."

You had just broken one of the biggest class rules of society. Never ever address a person of higher standing by their name. You show respect, you use their title or honorifics, never their name alone and certainly not their first name. By doing so, you were equivocating yourself with her family or her lover.

And you were not either of those things. You couldn't possibly be.

You kept your distance from Violet thereafter, performed your duties perfectly. You never spoke out of turn, offered your opinion only when it was asked for and didn't add any more detail than your mistress required. Violet had an tinge of pity in her eyes whenever she looked at you now and it made your blood boil. You did not need her pity, why was she offering you pity?

In her own mind, Violet was scheming. You thought you were in trouble, that you had overstepped. But Violet wished you would overstep more. She did not mind that you used her name, it stirred a feeling inside of her she had never experienced before, certainly not with another woman. She wanted that feeling to return.

The glowing, pulsing warmth that came when you used her name, when she held your hand. The shivers that tumbled down her spine and sizzled into darkness and dread when you had pulled away. She didn't know what was happening to her, she had never considered anything like this before.

Violet Bridgerton was a mother, she cared for her children above her own needs and desires, right? She had done so for over a decade. But what was stopping her from pursuing her own desires? Anthony was married, there was new Viscountess to herd the Bridgerton debutantes through the marriage mart. Violet could relax, she could breath.

Most importantly, she could chase that consuming feeling she felt when she was with you.

Violet had cornered you in her bedchambers after getting dressed, asking to speak with for a moment. You kept your head down, terrified that you would lose what you had started to cherish, this family and her.

"I don't know how to say what I want to say correctly." She began.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the conversation led down a vastly different path than what you had thought.

"But I cannot remain silent." She continued, taking a deep breath and wringing her hands together. "There is a feeling, deep in my chest, whenever I am with you. It is like a string pulling me towards you and filling my heart with warmth and love and-"

"The feeling like you cannot breath when they are not near. The world seems to slow and mysteries make sense..." You trail off with uncertainty after interrupting her, trying to help her find the words.

"Do you feel it?" Violet had taken a step toward you, her hands hovering by her side, begging to reach out and hold yours.

Silently, you indulge her, reaching forward and taking her hands in yours. Instantly, it's like there is a weight that had been lifted. "This feeling is why I could never marry." You whisper to her, sharing your secret. "There has never been a man to make me feel this way."

Violet sighed. "It was different with Edmund. He was my everything, possessing my every thought and corrupting my mind. He was the air that we breathed, when he- When he died, I locked that feeling away, never wanting to be hurt that way again. I continued to live for the sake of my children, teaching them that love is worth all the pain it might bring."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You don't hurt me my dear." She confessed. "You heal me."

the request is finally here!!! I've got a few others in my inbox rn and I promise I'm getting to them. I just got back from a stunning cruise around the mediterranean so am just settling back into my work routine for the summer x

[jazzeria]

A lil update on my lil blankie: I'm starting to see signs of wear in the construction, flaws are showing themselves, and the fabrics are breaking in (some nicely, some are wearing).

29 Dec 2024

At this point, Lil Blankie is about 6 weeks old, and has been washed 3-4 times.

I sleep with the blanket every night. Sometimes I cover my head and eyes as I sleep. Sometimes I wear it like a cape around my shoulders as I go about my business in the home. Every second day or so, I spend several minutes just snuggling it for the sheer joy of it--and also for science, of course.

The flannel is starting to pill. It's not bad, but I think this is the first time it's noticeable.

On the Rectangle side, there's a small tear on a piece of the Japanese print, near a seam with the flannel. I'm not sure if the tear is from usage, or if it was already there and has only started fraying with use.

During construction, I noticed a small tear in this pale blue-purple Japanese woven, and patched it with fusible stabiliser on the wrong side. The stabiliser quickly wore off (second or third wash?), and the tear has frayed noticeably.

Some of the quilting (blue thread) is starting to snag and pull on this side:

The Essex cotton-linen is breaking in very nicely. The fabric is becoming more pliable/flexible, less stiff. But the texture is still a bit coarse. With washing (and tumble-drying), a criss-cross puckering texture has emerged. I'm not sure what causes it, but my suspicion is that the cotton is shrinking while the linen remains the same.

The Sprout Woven is softening quite nicely too, becoming both more pliable/flexible, and having a softer surface texture.

The Japanese yarn-dyed wovens are still noticeably coarse.

The Japanese print--which I've since learned isn't actually a quilting cotton, but a heavier fabric at 220 gsm--is breaking in beautifully. It's still a bit stiff, and the surface texture isn't the softest, but somehow it feels lovely. Sturdy, perhaps. I want trousers made from this fabric.

On the triangle side, there isn't much new noticeable wear.

These quilting cottons are still quite lovely, and I can see why they're called "quilting" cottons. The thinner fabrics continue to amaze me: very soft and delicate, but no signs of wear yet.

It's also possible that the wear on the quilting is just less noticeable on this side, since I quilted along the triangle edges.

[mahkotakev]

i couldn't find the picture but this was based on sprout and shelly's conversation with her saying she knows how to sew 🫡🫡

i headcannon that she helps the others with their torn clothes hehe 🤭🤭