#also Ty :DDD

[valden-draws-things]

Oliver from Amygdala's Rag Dolls

I wanna see it in your art style since your art style is cute... and that's a rag doll-

Fun fact, he was actually the first oliver I drew! So I decided to put my own teeny spin on him :D

[isjasz]

Of the Heart🌄

Writer: @zipzapzooooooom Editor: @onawhimsicot Assistance: @gingermaple @kunehokki @corvidaearts @/mybrotherjoso7

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PART TWO!!!!!! <3333 Can you spot all the different moments on the cover from previous pieces of the zine? ;3

These two comics were one whole ass long comic before I decided to draw the cover tbh LMAO. I had such a wild time doing these fr tho. ARGH I can't express how much I love this project. Again go check out the whole zine here!!! 💥🫶

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[ START | PREVIOUS | NEXT ] [ MERCH ] [ MISC ]

[bruciemilf]

Jason and Jaime have very big potential I think

[selfshippinglover]

im not a RPer but id love to know more about your Morty OC! :] What is your backstory on them and do you ship them with any canon character or another OC?

AWWW OMG OMG YOU DREW THAT AWESOME AND SILLY LOOKING PRIME ART HIIIII!! *WAVES* :DDD TY TY TY TYSM FOR ASKING! :DD I don't have all their information but here's what I've got so far: (heehee rping should help with that though!)

~Marty

~ Pronouns: He/ They Xe/Xem

Sexuality: Pansexual demiboy with more of an attraction to men

~Age: 20(present)

Family: Rick(dead) Summer(dead) Beth, Space Beth, Jerry, Uncle BirdPerson

Dimension: RK-977

Backstory: A normal Morty all things considered. Has a space grandpa that drives him nuts, goes on adventures, and ends up in a big stand off with the Intergalactic Feds. Things go wrong and people get hurt leaving him and the survivors of his family running throughout multiverse as wanted fugitives.

Family relationships:

Rick: There were ups and downs, bad nights because of alcohol and drugs, and some fucked up things here and there but Rick always put Marty first and has "died" numerous times for his sake. They didn't always see eye to eye on things but his love for Marty was never in doubt. Believes there's no one that can replace his Grandpa Rick.

Summer: A bitch of a sister but one hell of a partner. Marty and Summer were often tasked with taking care of one another on adventures as well as tag teaming. They fought on and off and generally kept a distance at school, Summer did her best to raise Marty despite the circumstances.

Jerry: He and Marty are talking and seeing one another occasionally. He got a divorce with Beth and has been living on his own sense. Stays in that shitty apartment taking odd jobs here and there while trying to make time for his kids. He still has some feelings for Beth but doesn't do anything about it since Beth seems to have moved on. He hopes that he can be a better father to his kids, and maybe even a friend to Beth.

Beth: Divorced Jerry awhile back and went to work taking care of the kids herself, Beth has been doing the best she can do. Jerry can't usually pay the child support so she's stuck working full time at the horse hospital. Tired, hurt, starting to get a drinking habit, and in fear of losing her kids love, she spends as much time with them as she can and leaves Rick to care for them when she can't. She's still processing the divorce and trying to figure out what she wants amidst the war.

Space Beth: A Beth that has been with the Resistance for years before meeting Marty, she ends up on the Smith families doorstep while laying low. despite being there for a short time, she quickly takes a liking to Beth and her family. She is the reason that they end up being pulled into the Feds line of sight in the first place. She's spent most of her life fighting and she continues you to with the addition of the Smiths.

Uncle BirdPerson/BP: Another Resistance member and one of the first to join in the efforts, Marty met BP through Space Beth. They started out on uneasy terms since they just crashed on some strangers couch for awhile to hide from the FEDs. Come to find out, he knew Marty's grandfather and was friends with him when they were younger. Deciding he's trustworthy, he adopts BP as an Uncle figure and frequents his house. BP ends up telling Marty everything he went throught with his grandfather and grows close to him.

[happi-tree]

Writing Patterns Tag Game

Tysm to Travvy (@officialgleamstar) for tagging me 🧡🧡🧡

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

heart, liver, and other matters of the body: Lincoln Li-Wilson is buzzing with nervous energy all throughout their shopping date.

out of my head (when you’re not around): Taylor Swift wakes up to bright orange against the backs of his eyelids and the sensation of being held. 

in somniis, veritas: “Highness, might I have a word with you?”

don’t kiss and tell: “Liiiiiiincoln,” A familiar voice whines behind him.

(i will) stay for you: “Link,” Taylor says quietly, contemplatively.

hunter’s mark, reversed: You never forget your first kill, they always say. 

midnight (close to you): Lincoln Li-Wilson is tossing and turning in a vain attempt at sleep when his phone buzzes.

are we out (of the woods yet): Life is good for you.

dust to dust (tell me i am good enough): The silence between the two of you stretches like a rubber band, chafes like an ill-fitting starched shirt.

kiss me on the sidewalk (take away the pain): Being the main character is not all it’s cracked up to be, sometimes.

As far as underlying patterns go, i feel like the very obvious one is that I tend to establish the POV character like. Immediately. From the get-go, since the majority of these have the name of the pov character in them (even if they're not always narration of the pov character themself). It also looks like there's a slightly lesser tendency to start off things with an action of some sort - or inaction, in some cases - which I think is kinda interesting since I hadn't clocked that about my own writing before! And tend to keep things pretty short and sweet for the beginning hook (with one notable exception, but I think that's because Terry Junior's just Like That in my head lmao). All in all, pretty neat insights. Thanks again for the tag, Travvy - this was pretty fun 🥰🥰🥰

Tagging (non-obligatory, as always!): Ummm!!! @silverlistenstothings, @hey-its-puddlesock, and @catlliecal, as well as anyone else who'd like to give this a go! (And apologies if you've already been tagged 😅)

[alchemistdetective]

"A shame it's too soon to visit but I will respect the charade he wishes to maintain. That doesn't mean I can't slip something along as a secret."

An unlabeled gift has arrived to Rirune. Very neatly rapped and covered with a bow. There was absolutely nothing distinct to suggest who it was from but inside was A certain familiar rubber duck.

"Ah..."

When Rirune opened the door, there it was. A small, little gift which is quite the familiar sight. It's as if all his memories came back flooding at once. During a much simpler time.

It didn't take him long for him to know who was person who sent it. After all, the only one who has access to his room, and the one who knows who has his little duck, is none other than...

"...... Of course she knew where I am. Nothing really escapes her, does it? Maybe... Maybe a visit might finally be in order."

He's... actually crying a bit.

Eri has many questions in his head, such as wondering what she thinks about him, but... for now, he's going to take a small little dip and ride into memory lane for a bit.

[emberchii]

🔮 :eyes: :eyes: :eyes:

🔮 - Is there a magic system? Explain how it works

Okay, I am a SUCKER for magic systems, but I think the one that I have the most fleshed out is for Witches House! The kind of magic that folks are good at tend to be reliant on their race-- i.e: Fae are inclined to magic based around illusions, Trolls are element-based and have a lot of affinity for geomancy, sirens and merfolk have hydromancy and sound-based magic under their belt! They aren't limited by their affinities, those types of magic simply come easier to them.

Humans, on the other hand, are kind of directly in the center-- and while having magical blood certainly helps, technically any human can learn any kind of magic that they want! :]

I have a whole list somewhere that details who is good at what, but magic typically comes from a source-- for the fae, its the life tree; for anything in the ocean, it comes from the stars + the moon; for kitsune its typically the sun, etc.! Anything is kind of fair game but there tend to be rules that go along with what they do.

Ask me some worldbuilding questions!

[pennedinblood]

as of ten minutes ago we are officially Jobless™️. my sign to retire early and devote the remainder of my existence to writing toxic old man yaoi

[notmyneighbor]

A New Neighbor - Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader, Francis Mosses x Nacha Mikaelys

Chapter 1

Word Count - 6.5k

Rating - Explicit

Content Warnings - cheating, pervert Francis Mosses, reader is an 18 yo highschool student and the new babysitter, fondling, masturbation

Also available on AO3

taglist - @kaislashes @unicorngirly1 @charli33-b33 @natiii727227

Things aren’t going well with Francis Mosses’ girlfriend Nacha Mikaelys.

The milkman is trying to make things work; he truly sees it that way. Their daughter Anastacha certainly wasn’t planned, but he’s not the type to shirk his duties. An unwed mother carries a certain stigma and it’s not really fair when he’s partly responsible for the situation they’re in. So they’d moved in together. Claimed they were engaged to be married, though it was clear neither of them had any intentions of tying the knot. The resentment on both sides is clear. This was never supposed to be a long term, committed relationship. They weren’t particularly compatible. Yet here they are. Friends at the best of times, but those times were coming fewer and farther between. More like roommates that tolerated each other now. Barely tolerated. Conversations strained. Tempers short. He feels like he was suffocating, trapped. He knows she feels the same way.

Nacha wants to resume her career as a chef now that Anastacha is in elementary school, and that means a babysitter will be required to make up the gap between Francis and his girlfriend’s upcoming shifts. He’s not so much a product of his time that he doesn’t believe in women working outside the home; he actually thinks it will be good for her to pursue something she enjoys. So he readily agrees to the idea, wondering whom they’re going to hire.

These are difficult times.

Trust is hard to come by, when you don’t know whether the face you’re staring at is really your neighbor or not. The doppelgänger situation wasn’t just something you heard about on the news in some distant city anymore. It was here. It was real. Just last week someone downstairs had been killed, the previous doorman guarding the entrance a little too lax in his duties.

The demand to inhabit a DDD secured residence was high no matter how derelict in their duties the individual screening at the door was, and Francis had heard through the rumor mill of the crowded building that a father and his daughter were already moving in. He was a college professor. She was an older teenager, eighteen, finishing up highschool. She might be a good option to watch Ana. He’d have to meet her and see. He’s sure Nacha will want to as well.

Today is the day the new residents are moving in, he thinks. Or was it Wednesday they were slated to take up residence? Wait, was today already Wednesday?

Francis rubs the bridge of his nose and massages his tired eyes. He’s almost done his delivery route. Not even his busiest day, the schedule almost half of what it will be tomorrow, and he already can’t wait for it to be over. He’ll stop by to introduce himself on the way home, get a feel for things. At the very least it was the proper thing to do, welcoming someone to the neighborhood. If things didn’t work out, well, they’d just have to keep looking for a babysitter.

***

Francis always takes the elevator when he returns from his shift.

The thought of climbing up three flights of stairs just doesn’t appeal to him most days. Not after so many deliveries. He supposes he should be glad so many people still lacked proper refrigeration and relied on him for fresh dairy products. Job security, they called it. He used to have to solicit customers, years ago. It was an expected part of the job. The invasion had changed all of that, though. Demand more than enough without seeking additional business. It wasn’t even about convenience anymore. People were becoming more and more afraid of leaving their homes.

A heck of a lot riskier than it used to be, visiting so many residences. You never knew who—what—was really on the other side of the door nowadays. Before, he used to complain about having to collect payment from customers that were behind. Now that task seemed paltry in comparison to the daring just delivering goods involved. Even the increased pay doesn’t quite cancel out the threat of the doppelgängers lurking around every corner.

He actually forgets to present his entry request that afternoon after fumbling his ID card out of his wallet, a battered leather billfold that’s seen better days but he can’t be bothered wasting money to replace it. Besides, it takes time to break a new one in. This one is creased and comfortable. It had lasted him this long, it would service him a little longer.

The new doorman frowns suspiciously and he hurriedly reaches for his clipboard, sliding the request free from its position tucked at the very back of his address list. He tries a smile that is not returned, the DDD’s recently hired guard perusing the offered document before squinting at something just to the left of the window. He knows he’s on the day’s expected entry list, so he’s not worried about that. But he did already arouse suspicion, neglecting to present his excuse for his departure from the apartment building. He hears the receiver of the black rotary phone lifting and his heart sinks. The doorman really isn’t buying that he was just a milkman returning home from work. A very human, normal person.

Francis tucks his clipboard back under his arm, his free hand tapping nervously against his work pants. He can hear the dial tone, the lack of a response. Of course no one was home. Still a relief, though. If the doorman had inadvertently already let a doppel in, a stranger wearing his face now taking up his residence, lying in wait, while he himself was condemned to execution by the DDD disposal team…he shudders to think of that scenario.

Without a word his identification card is slid back to him, the request filed away. It seemed silly to have to keep making them out on a daily basis, but that was the procedure. He hears the door buzzer signaling he’s free to enter the building and he sighs in relief again, nodding gratefully before ducking through.

The elevator doors slide open and the tired delivery driver steps inside the carriage and presses the button for the third floor out of habit, leaning slightly against the rear wall of the car. He’s really exhausted today, and the week is only halfway done. Maybe he should have a few customers taken off his route.

Wait. Had he pressed the third floor button? He was supposed to be going to the second, to meet the new neighbors. With a mournful sigh he thumbs the correct button and the doors close, shielding his view of the familiar stretch of navy blue doors on the floor he resides on. Every floor was similarly color coded: pistachio green for first, tangerine orange for third. He doesn’t think there’s any real significance to the chosen palette. Every apartment was furnished identically as well, everything provided with utilitarian pieces. In some respects, he thinks it makes things a lot easier. Nacha didn’t agree. She insists on adding decor and personal touches to make it feel unique, more like their own. He lets her have free reign over that department; he hardly has any decorating expertise. If it was entirely up to him, his sole decision would be to leave it just as it was when he’d moved in. Simple was best.

The elevator doors part on the correct floor this time, and he immediately sees a pile of boxes and luggage outside a door just across from the elevator. So the rumor mill had been correct. Today was the day.

Moving boxes is the last thing the tired delivery driver feels like doing just then, but it’s as good a way as any to break the ice. He raps his knuckles on the edge of the moulding, announcing his arrival. The door opens and he’s greeted by a pleasant looking middle aged man who looks very confused to be greeted by an empty handed milkman.

“I didn’t order anything…”

“Oh! No, I’m sorry. I’m not here for a delivery. I just got home from work and wanted to introduce myself. My name is Francis Mosses. I live upstairs with my girlfriend and daughter.” He offers a hand and the man shakes it. He has a strong, confident grip and an easy smile.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Need a hand with this?” He gestures towards the stack beside him.

“That’s very kind of you, but you certainly aren’t obligated to.”

“Not a problem. Moving is a big job. Is your daughter here?” He asks curiously, lifting one of the suitcases and wincing a little at the unexpected weight.

“No, she’s in school. She’s a very dedicated student. It’s fortunate we’re still close enough to where we lived before so she didn’t have to transfer to another so late in the school year. She’ll be home soon. That’s her luggage you've got there,” he adds, looking sympathetic.

“Feels like she packed everything and the kitchen sink,” Francis jokes, and the man cracks another smile. He likes him already. Hopefully the daughter would prove just as affable.

“Just set that in the living room for now. I apologize for the mess,” he says over his shoulder. “My daughter is the one for the knack with organizing things. Must have gotten it from her mother, God rest her soul. Lost her during childbirth. It’s always just been the two of us. I could never quite bring myself to move on,” he adds softly.

The third floor resident offers a sympathetic sound, waving away the man’s concerns before he heaves the heavy suitcase onto the couch. If he knows anything about women, he imagines it’s jam packed with clothing. Nacha’s outfits took up more than half of the closet in the bedroom. It’s a good thing he didn’t have a large wardrobe himself.

Francis returns to the hallway and he and the new neighbor steadily begin demolishing the pile, chatting amicably. He doesn’t envy the man the task of unpacking all of this. He isn’t even sure they’ll be room for this much stuff. The apartments were moderately sized.

“Ah, here she is! This is our neighbor from upstairs, Mr. Francis Mosses.” The introduction accompanies your entrance through the front door, the backpack hooked over one shoulder settled beside the luggage on the couch before turning your attention to the visitor.

You shake the stranger’s hand and survey the state of the interior of the new living space, looking a bit overwhelmed. “Dad, I told you to wait. I was going to help,” you say, and he can hear the good natured, long suffering patience you must have to exhibit living with the widow in your tone.

“I know, I just wanted to get a head start.”

“Just wait before you touch anything else, okay?” It sounds like the roles are reversed, with you being the mature adult and your father looking the part of the bashful child. You smile apologetically at the milkman, making for the boxes lining the kitchen counter first. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything to offer you, we still need to pick up groceries. Just seemed foolish to have even more things to carry. Worried about food spoiling, you know…” Your voice trails off as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind one ear. Well mannered. Pretty. You had a nice smile. Nice everything if Francis was being honest, but he was very firmly trying to deny his initial assessment of your appearance as you’d walked through the door wearing a school uniform, still trying to conceal how much he was admiring the shape of your figure in a plaid skirt that was maybe a touch too short, the way the button front white blouse and navy cardigan hugged your curves so neatly.

Or maybe it wasn’t too short at all. Maybe it was just the right length, he thinks, watching you bend over to pick something up your father had dropped, stubbornly ignoring your advice and diving into the contents of one of the boxes.

Jesus, Francis. Perverted much?

It had been awhile since he’d last been intimate with Nacha. A long time. So far back he can’t even remember. That part of their relationship had just fizzled after the baby, becoming a rare occurrence if they both just happened to be in the mood. More a matter of convenience and availability, certainly nothing romantic or passionate. And now here he was, lusting after a girl he didn’t even know who was barely into adulthood. Someone he’d intended on asking to watch his own child.

“I, um, don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say hi. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks for stopping by. And the assistance. Extend our greetings to your girlfriend and daughter.”

“I’ll do that.”

Did you look a little displeased when your father mentioned these two females you lived with? Or had he only imagined that scowl that was there and gone fast as a passing summer rainstorm?

“See you around,” you call after him, and the milkman cannot get on the elevator fast enough, hurriedly pressing the button to return him to the third floor.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

***

Nacha visits the new neighbors before the week ends, inviting them to dinner.

Francis hasn’t said much about his first impressions. His girlfriend certainly seemed to approve. She never invited people over.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it had just been a fluke. Just raging hormones and unsatisfied needs making him react that way.

It had been the guiltiest jerk off he’d ever had in his life after meeting you for the first time.

The only saving grace was he was home alone when he’d done it. Thankfully Nacha had been out visiting her parents with Anastacha at the time. A rare moment of peace and quiet that had instantly filled with thoughts of you. Very inappropriate thoughts.

He’d still locked himself in the bathroom, just to be on the safe side. She wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours according to the note, but still, better to be safe than sorry.

Stupid, waiting to clean the pipes this long. No wonder….fuck.

When you had bent over to retrieve whatever kitchen utensil your father had clumsily dropped…That image alone would have been enough, but his mind is already shoving that innocent movement into something much more depraved, with you bent over in front of him instead. His cock had already been flushed and leaking when he’d dragged it free of its enclosure, stroking the sensitive organ and hissing in pleasure. It was so hot. He was on fire. Those sexy lips of yours. Maybe he wants you on your knees in front of him instead, wrapping that mouth over his prick. Choking you on it. It wasn’t bragging, simply stating a fact. He knows he’s larger than average, thicker and longer than many. Girls had always been surprised and appreciative. He’d love to see the look on your face the first time he exposed himself to you. He’d wondered if you had a boyfriend. How far you’ve gone. Still a virgin, maybe? Waiting for marriage like a good girl?

Fuck. He’d been throbbing. There was no way he’d been able to prolong the session. He’d fucked his hand wishing it was yours, any part of you, envisioning bathing you in a load that jets out in reality moments later, thick creamy wads spurting onto the bathroom sink. His free hand grips the counter in a white knuckled grasp and he looks at his appearance in the mirror while his hips still spasm even after he’s removed his hand from his pulsing cock. Flushed. Perspiring. The almost bruised looking smudges beneath each lower eyelid now underlining blown pupils. He should have been ashamed.

It had only made him want you more.

***

“How are you enjoying the apartment so far?”

Nacha had cooked enough food for an army, crowding the table with dish after dish. For all her flaws, Francis couldn’t deny she had true culinary talent. Baking was her passion; that’s how they had met, in fact. Delivering dairy products to the shop she’d worked at. A little flirting on both sides. And then, well…

“Still getting settled, but it’s been good so far. A much safer neighborhood than where we lived previously,” the college professor remarks, responding to the hostess’ query.

“The new doorman seems to be very strict. I feel a lot safer,” she agrees, cutting into the casserole on her plate and mulling over the bite. It was a habit for her. She always took her time eating, judging what ingredients she’d used, deciding what worked and what could be improved upon.

“Can I have some more juice, Mommy?”

“When you’ve finished what you have, yes.”

Ana quickly polishes off the contents of her glass. She’s been staring at their female visitor all throughout dinner, clearly fascinated by the older girl.

“I’ve got it,” you say, offering to refill the child’s glass. She smiles and Ana breaks into a grin that’s in that awkward transitioning stage between baby and adult teeth, a few gaps noted here and there. You were already getting along so well.

Francis had been hoping you wouldn’t. It would make things so much easier. Removing temptation. No need to ever go to the second floor again. Perhaps there would be the occasional paths crossed on the elevator, but that would be it.

He has barely spoken the entire time. He’s very pointedly not looking at you in the pretty floral button front dress you’re wearing, your hair freshly styled, skin natural and clear of makeup, just the way he likes. Nacha always wore such dark lipstick and heavy mascara, attempting to cover her freckles with powder and concealer. He wishes she wouldn’t. He’s mentioned it before, as politely as he can. But she doesn’t agree with his preference. She’s wearing it right now. The modest dress is so old it’s nearly out of style. She’s definitely not trying to impress anyone.

“This is delicious, Nacha,” the male guest remarks after she’d insisted they be on a first name basis.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s a new recipe. I might still tweak a few things in the future…” Her voice trails off thoughtfully, then she turns her attention to the young woman seated across from her. “So do you have any activities after school? Senior year is so exciting.”

“I’m on the year book committee and I take piano lessons.”

“I wish I could play a musical instrument. Just never seemed to get the hang of my mother’s piano,” Nacha murmurs wistfully. She pauses, then nudges Francis under the table. This was his cue to inquire if she’d be interesting in babysitting.

He clears his throat loudly, suddenly parched and grabbing for a drink, his hasty fingers nearly knocking the glass over. “We were wondering, if you have time, of course. Understandable if you don’t.” Another nudge, this one firm enough to leave a bruise. “If you wouldn’t be interested in babysitting for us. Nacha is going to be going back to work and there’s a slight discrepancy with our schedules…” Suddenly the words that had been so difficult to utter come spilling out like a guilty man confessing his crimes to the authorities. And oh, was he guilty. His eyes finally meet yours directly, shifting from the point he’d fixed on somewhere near your face, the striped wallpaper on the wall behind you substituted for your features. He feels his body responding immediately, a slight tightening in his trousers that makes him shyly glance away again. Damn it. Masturbating the other day hadn’t taken the edge off at all. What was it about you that made you so irresistible?

“I’m interested,” you reply, and he feels his gaze dragged forcefully back to you. No, he shouldn’t have looked. But he can’t help it. He really can’t. Magnet and iron filings. Moth and flame. The attraction is too strong.

He lets his girlfriend iron out the details like the times and days that work for everyone involved after your father readily agrees to the proposal, stating you’ve always been good with your niece who’s a similar age. A real natural at childcare. Dessert follows after you graciously help Nacha clear the table, a homemade chocolate cake and coffee for the adults, milk for Ana and you, per your request.

The milkman feels your eyes on him again. You’re lifting the glass to your lips, that creamy white substance leaving behind a stain on your upper lip that you quickly lick away, your tongue darting out and stroking over the pink arches. Francis nearly chokes on his bite of cake. It has to be deliberate, right? Or was it really completely innocent, and it was his own sick, twisted brain making it seem like the teenager was flirting with him?

It’s a relief when it’s his daughter’s bedtime and Nacha decides to show you her routine, in case you’ll be there late one night if they ever decided to go out or were otherwise occupied. A little more bonding time for you and his daughter. Your father’s already drawn him into a conversation that distracts him, lets him calm down, the bulge in his pants easing. There’s a nervous moment when you’re parting at the door, the scent of you and your close proximity suddenly threatening to reveal his perversion again, but then you’re gone and it’s just he and his girlfriend once more.

He’s surprised when she begins stroking his shoulder after retiring for the evening, a signal that hadn’t been used in ages. Even more surprising when he responds to it. You don’t resemble Nacha in any way, but maybe that’s better. In the dark, it’s easier to pretend the warm body he presses beneath his is actually yours. The chef had gained weight during the pregnancy that had mostly been shed again, some residual softness still clinging to the middle even after all this time. An idea warps this into your own belly stretched for him. Francis keeps his face tucked into the side of his girlfriend’s neck, huffing softly. You’d be tighter than this. Wetter. He knows it. Those eyes. Those lips. He’s moaning, too loud, he knows.

“Francis,” Nacha cautions. “You’ll wake Ana.”

Your lip stained in white at the dinner table. Your tongue. He wants to lick it off you. Lick every inch of you. Dump an entire bottle of chilled milk over your warm body and lap away. Fuck. Too good. The imagery is too vivid. He pulls out just before he climaxes, spilling semen over Nacha’s torso and abdomen, then flops down beside her. He has no idea if she’s still taking birth control. He’s hardly going to risk getting the mother of his child pregnant again.

There’s a sigh from the other woman. She hasn’t orgasmed. She hates cleaning cum off of her body. Francis bets you’d enjoy it. Rub it in. Encourage him to spread even more on you. He wants to make you cum. He wants you.

The mattress creaks as his partner leaves the bed to go wash up in the bathroom. His elevated pulse and respirations are gradually slowing, returning to normal. He shifts his pajama pants back into place, dragging them back over his hips.

It takes Nacha a long time to come back to bed. Maybe she’d finished herself off in the bathroom. Did you ever touch yourself?

It’s the final lewd thought he ponders before he drifts off to sleep.

***

A week passes. Nacha’s returned to work, this time at a restaurant. Not as many opportunities for creating the baked goods that had been her previous passion, but still a step in the right direction before a better opportunity presents itself.

Francis arrives home a little past four that afternoon, finding you on the floor in the living room with Anastacha. You were helping her color a picture of a rainbow, your shading much neater while the elementary student’s scribbles tended to veer outside the lines. You're both lying on your stomachs, your knees bent, ankles crossed in the air, swaying up and down a bit. A position he’d seen Ana adopt countless times. You, though…

“Daddy!” His daughter scrambles to her feet, running over to give him an enthusiastic hug.

Your eyes lift to meet his as he tousles her hair playfully. “Hi, Mr. Mosses. How was work?”

“Fine. It’s Francis,” he reminds you, although he’s not certain it’s such a good idea to encourage that informal address.

“When is mommy coming home?” The first grader tips her head back, regarding her father.

“Late. Remember I told you? You’ll be in bed before she gets home. It’s just you and me, kiddo.”

“Will she come kiss me goodnight?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can she stay? She’s helping me color.” She points to you and the crayon scrawled picture.

“I see that. It��s very nice. But she can’t stay. She has homework to do, I’m sure. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

The pout on the young child’s face softens. She’s got his eyes, there’s no denying it, but every other feature inherited is her mother’s. The button nose ceases scrunching up and she shrugs her thin shoulders in acceptance.

“Can I have a snack?”

“Not now. It’s almost dinner time,” he says gently.

Unlike Nacha, Francis hated cooking. Thankfully she’d prepared for this, leaving leftovers in the fridge to reheat for supper tonight.

The milkman watches you gather the crayons back into the box, handing the picture to Ana after you push yourself to your feet. “We’ll finish this tomorrow, okay?”

His daughter nods. You slide back into your cardigan, blocking the view he’d just had of your brassiere very visible beneath the thin material of your school blouse. Was that lace he had caught a glimpse of?

“Would you mind walking me downstairs? I’m still a little nervous being on my own.”

It seems like the most innocent of excuses, but Francis is more convinced than ever it’s anything but. He hesitates, eyeing his daughter. The entire point of hiring a sitter was so she wouldn’t be left alone. Now he was going to be doing that very thing.

“Isn’t your dad home?”

“No. He’s teaching a night course.”

The milkman’s heart sinks. Alone. You were going home to an empty apartment. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Ana, daddy’s going to walk your babysitter home, okay? I’ll just be downstairs. You know to keep the door locked until I get back. And the secret knock so you know it’s me.” It was the most innocent way to teach the child about safety. An absolute necessity with the added threat of the doppels around.

“Ok, daddy.” She’s already found her next task to occupy herself, plopped now in front of the television. Too close to the screen, as usual.

He reminds her to sit further back, then turns to you. “Ready?”

You nod and he escorts you to the door. The brief ride on the elevator is silent. It’s the middle of February, and the heat in the building isn’t that good, but he’s already perspiring. His fingers twitch nervously. You’re standing so close beside him your sleeve brushes his.

The carriage halts and the doors slide open. You’re already digging in your backpack for the key. He knows he should turn and flee, right now. Get back to Anastacha. Make dinner. Forget all about you.

Instead he hovers just behind. You push open the door, immediately toeing your shoes off, little polished dress ones with thin black laces. “You want to come in for a minute? Have a drink?”

Oh, he does. He definitely does.

Francis steps inside and closes the door behind him, securing the deadbolt. It locks with a severe cracking sound of metal being driven forcefully together. You move to the fridge, bending slightly as you survey the options, listing each one to him.

It’s over. Doomed. The most cliché thing ever. The babysitter. Really? Fourteen years his junior. Only eighteen. Still in highschool. Fuck.

“Water’s fine.” His mouth is dry, his throat parched. He actually needs the moisture. He’s already pitched a tent, immediately obvious. Impossible to ignore. Your eyes have already spotted it after you straighten, shutting the appliance door. A faint flush in your cheeks. He recognizes the way your pupils have dilated, that signal of desire making the dark centers pool and spread until there is just the thinnest bit of iris encircling each. Your chest rises rapidly, you lips parting slightly, seeking an alternative source of air. “Tell me to leave,” he says, and it’s a plea, something dredged against his will from the depths of his soul that he barely manages to utter.

“No,” you say softly.

He steps closer, crowding you against the sink. His hand reaches out, settling on the side of your neck, shrouded beneath the fragrant curtain of your hair.

“Tell me to stop.”

His chest actually hurts, his heart is pounding so fiercely.

“No,” you deny him again.

His mouth brushes yours. Velvet. Your lips are absolutely plush, pliable. Peach skin. Sweeter than, when his tongue dips inside those parted wedges to taste the ambrosia nectar within.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he pants, and it’s his most desperate urge yet; his last resolve, his last shred of decency hanging by a thread.

“Francis,” you gasp, one hand sliding down to when he needs you most. A place you shouldn’t touch. But oh, how he needs it. His body is already responding, hips grinding against that delicate hand, pushing you further into the sharp edge of the counter. He can smell the last vestiges of the lemon dish soap in the sink behind you, a brief waft of clean citrus before his mouth crushes yours, drinking you in more deeply.

I tried to resist. I didn’t force you. You want this, too.

He’s kissed a few girls in his day. Your own experience level maybe not on par. There’s a certain awkwardness. Maybe from nervousness. But you’re a fast learner. The clumsier collisions of lips and tongue now meeting more smoothly as you map his own. He doesn’t even mind the accidental knocking of teeth, the inadvertent nip of his tongue. It just heightens the experience. Everything about you is the epitome of erotic. You’re gorgeous, sexy, perfect.

He’s got a handful of one breast curving against his palm now, that soft globe palpable beneath the layers of cotton shirt and the lace bra he’d spied earlier. Certainly nothing your father had picked out for you to wear. When had you purchased the lingerie? Did it make you feel wicked? Had you blushed in front of the shopkeeper? Did you choose it just for him?

The milkman is still grinding against your body. He could cum just like this, easily. Even without your hand there, sliding and squeezing. These motions unpracticed, just like the kissing. Maybe you were a virgin after all. His own prize to defile.

He should really guide you somewhere more comfortable. Couch, bed, anything. But that would mean moving apart from you, and he doesn’t want that. He can’t bear to separate from you at this point. The hem of your plaid skirt is gathered roughly in one fist and then he slides immediately to the center, finding your panties are made of the same material as your brassiere, a matching set. They have the stiff, scratchy feel of something new. You’ve definitely just gotten these.

You’re soaked.

His previous imaginings had indeed been correct. An absurd amount of arousal fluid leaks from the entrance his probing fingers skim across after dipping beneath the waistband. You’re making the most amazing sounds. He wishes he could record them, play them on repeat when you’re not around. He collects your slick on the pads of his digits and brings them back through your pert lips to your clit. You moan, low and gutteral, into his mouth. A filthy sound. Like animals, that’s what you’re behaving like. Frenzied and desperate to fuck. Your progress on opening his fly has been interrupted, your brain clearly short circuiting at his intimate touch, the pleasure proving too much of a distraction for you.

The older man’s saturated fingers glide over your pearl, drawing neat circles, as tidy as the coloring you’d done earlier. Refined movements. He swaps out for his thumb and sends his middle finger back through the dewy folds to tease your opening again. Pressing gently. Sealed tight. You haven’t even experimented here, have you? Not even so much as a tampon has ever breached this entrance. You whimper against his ear, your tongue darting out to taste the skin. Salted, no doubt. He was sweating like a man after a marathon. Nervousness. Excitement. Arousal.

“Francis,” you groan again, and the sound of it shoots straight through to his groin. You’ve finally got his pants open, dragging his cock out of his briefs. He’s watching your face as you do it. Sees your eyes widen. It’s going to be so difficult to stretch that virgin pussy over his prick. But he’ll manage it. He’ll manage.

Not today, though. There isn’t time. He hasn’t completely forgotten his other duties, the daughter waiting upstairs. Another time he’ll bury his face between your thighs before he introduces your womb properly to his dick. For now, he has to be content with shoving your panties down and rubbing his erection over your vulva, the fat mushroom head massaging your clit before parting the pink flesh of your sex and teasing your entrance, then back again, fucking against the slickness on the outside of your body. The angle and the height difference makes it difficult and he pauses only long enough to lift you and sit you on the edge of the counter, your ass dipping dangerously close into the stainless steel basin behind you, one arm keeping you balanced while his free hand continues manipulating his cock against your drenched cunt.

The kisses are as sloppy as your nether region now, whatever adroitness you’d acquired previously now forgotten in the wake of your desire. You’re keening and shaking.

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me,” the milkman croons encouragingly.

The hand curled around his neck tightens, gathering the ends of his hair and pulling them taut as you explode, the softer noises he’d elicited earlier now howls and whines. Your head flings back and he feels his cock finally surrender, shooting the load of cum that’s been building up, painting your abdomen and your pussy and your thighs, long spurts that recklessly splatter and slide down your soft skin.

He’s actually done it. He’d fucked around with the babysitter after your first day on the job.

Francis helps you ease back off the counter. You reach for the sponge resting on the back of the sink near the faucet, then think better of it, opting for paper towels instead, dampening them slightly before wiping away the traces of his indiscretion. He refastens his pants, taking a few paper towels for himself to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. Still panting slightly, still recovering. Coming down off the high of being intimate with you.

There’s guilt now, of course. Even though he technically hadn’t violated you. It wasn’t right, what he’d done to you.

But you’d wanted it, hadn’t you? He’d given you the opportunity to refuse him and you’d pulled him closer.

You’re the adult. You know better. Teenage hormones. You should have walked away.

Guilty, yes, but not nearly enough. And he can’t say he regrets it. Can’t fail to admit he’s already thinking about next time. There would surely be a next time.

He washes his hands. He can’t go home smelling like pussy, as much as he’d love to savor the taste and scent of you longer. He should have sneaked a sample before he’d cleansed them. Now they were just soapy and citrusy.

You walk him to the door.

“I have to get back,” he says, as if you’re unaware of the situation. Apologizing for the rushed nature of it all, maybe.

“I know.” Your voice is still soft.

He seats his hand on your cheek. Steals another kiss. It’s meant to be a brief parting one, but you’re already curling a fist into his work shirt, pulling him more tightly against your body. Unbelievably, his cock is twitching again.

“Baby girl, fuck, I have to go,” he reiterates, for himself as much as for your benefit. “I’ll see you soon.”

“My dad’s going to be home tomorrow,” you caution.

“Nacha’s only doing a half shift tomorrow. She’ll be home by five. It’s my long delivery day,” he murmurs regretfully. “I probably won’t get home until six or seven. The day after that is my lighter schedule. I’ll be done by three.”

You frown thoughtfully, then your features brighten. “Pick me up after school the day after, then? I’m staying late for yearbook anyway.”

Yearbook. Yes. Because you’re a senior. In highschool. Honestly, Francis.

“That’s a date, then. I mean, it’s not really a date,” he adds hastily.

“I know.” You stretch to kiss his mouth, this one more chaste, like he’d intended on doing previously. “I’ll see you then. I’ll wait out front by the main entrance.”

“I’ll be the guy in the delivery truck with the cow on the side.”

“Got it. Except…how do I know you’re not, you know, a doppel coming to kidnap me? Didn’t you mention a secret knock earlier?”

”Yes. It goes like this.” He creates a rhythm of staccato taps on the doorframe. “And you answer with this.” A different series this time. “Try it.”

You have the sequence nailed by the second attempt. You smile and something stirs in him. Just a little something. The faintest hum of feeling. The genesis of a tiny affection. Then the milkman finds himself back on the elevator. Suddenly anxious, fumbling the keys in the lock of his apartment door after using the secret knock. He’s relieved to find Ana safe and sound, greeting him less enthusiastically this time, immediately returning to whatever television program she’d been engrossed in.

Nacha’s taped directions to the filled glass baking dish in the fridge. Temperature, time. He turns the dials on the oven.

“You were gone a long time.”

Francis nearly jumps, surprised to find his daughter beside his elbow.

“No, not really, honey. Just had a snack while I was there,” he says, hoping the casual statement will placate her.

“How come you can eat before dinner and I can’t?”

“Because you’re a little girl and you don’t have the same appetite I do. Want to help set the table? First person to finish gets to eat dessert first,” he adds with a smirk.

The little girl scrambles into action, yanking open the drawer that houses the cutlery and he sighs with relief. He’d gotten away with it, for now.

But what would happen in the future?

[factual-fantasy]

23 asks! Thank you!! :}} 🎀

what

Originally I added the bandages to mirror my real hands being covered in Band-Aids when I made my sona. :0 (It was due to cat scratches and dry skin don't worry-)

Now they represent my "artist hands".... and my still really dry skin XDD

Oh yeah absolutely. His crab arm is so heavy that if he falls into the water he'll sink 😬 he cant move it fast enough to help him swim to the surface.. good thing Blue Beauty is always nearby! <XD

It also takes a lot of energy to move and he deals with sore back/shoulder muscles a lot. The way the crab arm formed, its like all the muscles in his back are used to lift and operate it. When he walks around he kind'a uses it as a crutch or a third leg. His legs each take a step and then his crab arm lifts forward and clunks on the ground.

"tap tap.. CLUNK. tap tap.. CLUNK."

Despite all this though, Louis still really likes his new arm and isn't bothered much by all the hardships it brings :)

@neo-metalscottic

Thank you so much!!! :DD I'm hoping I get over this soon 🥺

As for Grim's eyes, I mention that coloring mistake in the tags of this post. It was simply a matter of me misremembering what Gengar looks like :// But I'm thinking I'll keep his white eyes anyways. He looks a lot more friendly that way :}}

THEY HAVE SPARKS?? THEY'RE INDIVIDUALS?? I thought they were just mindless clones! Man.. That makes things in the show even darker-- <XDD

And ohhh, yeah I can see it. I wonder why they decided to add him of all characters? He does have cool shades tho XDD

@holly-opal

Yeah, that's the idea. <:/ I have yet to plan out how she died tho-

@glitchhayden418

There she is!! :DD She looks great!! :}}

And thank you, I'm hoping I get well soon too 🙂💔

She never has to stop! I've decided that my characters can eat as much as they want, whenever they want, however they want, and suffer absolutely no consequences what so ever.

Cici just seems to be taking advantage of this ability more than the others <XDD

@artblock200322022

:DD Thank you!! I'm so glad you like my interpretation of the Octonauts! :}}

@possibly-astraeus

Oof. Always disappointing to hear people finding me through stolen artwork..

But yeah, you're at the source now! :} Just remember, if you find my artwork anywhere else other than here? Its stolen ://

@shallow-isles

I simply misremembered what Gengar looks like and colored his eyes wrong :/// (I talk about it in the tags of this post) But I think I'll keep them white. He just looks so friendly and soft with white eyes.. 🥺

As for Sylveon, I like to think that tying his ribbons around others like that is his way of giving them a hug :}} Since Grim is so r o u n d, there's not many places the ribbons can comfortably tie and not be in Grim's way. His ears are the perfect spot! :}

@tallchest13-blog

THANK YOU! :D WOULD YOU BE UPSET IF I GAVE THIS TEA TO CICI THO? SHE REALLY WANTS TO TRY IT :((

@aishutoon

Ohh! They look so round and cozy!! :333

@yourstrulylightstar283 (Referencing this post)

Thank you! :}}}

@circadiananomaly (24k post in question)

Thank you! I'm hoping this is all over soon as well. :'(((

@candyglumboy

Like, my Pokémon Violet team? :0 There will not be any new members no.. you can only have 6 Pokémon in your party at a time!

...Then again there's Patty.. the Hoppip that Anastasia replaced.. I miss her.. 🥺💔💔💔

I hope I feel good too.. 😔😔😔

@graminos

:DD Thank you! I'm glad you like them!! :}}}}

(Post in question)

Me reading this ask ksjnakjn 🥺🥺💞💞💞 that was all basically on point!! :DDD

@youlikwjazz004

I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea how to explain that :'(( 💔💔

The very best I can explain my art process is; "I just.. draw it. And if it doesn't feel right, I just draw it differently until it does feel right." Its all down to muscle memory and drawing what "feels" right. I don't think I'm able to explain that-- 😭😭😭 I'm very sorry! <:'(((

@askladyinwhiteandfam

Woah! What a critter! :00 ✨✨It looks great! :DD

@square-the-cyan-idiot542

WAAAHGG THANK YIU!!!- Oh crap you ok tho--

@littlelightfish (Post in question)

:DD Thank you! I'm so glad you like him!! :}}}

@beryl-shade

He'd be amazed! :00

[skriblee-ksk]

Congratulations on 100 followers Kris!! You have so many interesting and creative OCs and you really deserve it :D If it's okay with you, may I request my OC Mayu interacting with any of your OCs that you think might get along or have an interesting dynamic with her? Thank you! <3

HELLO SYDER!!! :DDD TYYYY it’s nice to see u in my inbox!! I let Mayu interact with Kalmia since i feel like adding her always makes an interesting dynamic ahaha;; They’re in alchemy class as that is both their favorite class!! If they got paired as partners sometime, they’d totally ace any assignment given.

Kalmia has ulterior motive as always, but I think she’d enjoy taking that class w Mayu!!

ALSO!! Want to take this time to say I LOVEEE UR ART SO MUCH!!! Your line work and artstyle in general is sooo good?? Honestly I have artstyle envy /pos I WISH TO REACH UR LEVEL ONE DAY!! SO I WILL KEEP DRAWING!!! Ty for sending the request, I hope u like it!!!

[aerithkinfaker]

i'm forever going to be mad that kh3 riku is just noctis 2.0 so here's my silly little take on his kh3 design (design notes under the readmore)

[image id: three sketches of riku from kingdom hearts; the one on the left is a full-body drawing that depicts him as a tall fair-skinned man with long and fluffy silver hair with some of it pulled back with a star-shaped clip. he's wearing a dark purple-gray sleeveless jacket with pastel yellow accents, a hood, and lapels with silver buttons and a matching yellow plaid lining. his arms are littered with thin scars, and he wears a black compression glove on his left hand. he's wearing a basic pair of light gray loose-fitting jeans held up by a simple black belt. he's wearing a pair of black work boots.

the top right drawing is a messy profile sketch of him looking to the right, showing the star-shaped clip holding his hair back. an arrow is pointing to it labelled "gift from kairi".

the bottom right drawing is a messy bust sketch of riku with a hunched posture as he looks to the right. he's frowning, with heavy bags under his eyes -- only one of which is colored and rendered properly. it's green with a yellow pupil. his hair is messy and flops over his face. the drawing has another arrow labelling it as the first concept. end id]

design notes!

i want his long hair okay. i miss it. i think it's a really good way of showing he's taking better care of himself by showing it healthier than it used to be

the hairclip is a gift from kairi - a physical example of their bond

the jacket is kept similar to his canon design, only that i cut the sleeves off and made the yellow accents more obvious to tie it back to his previous design philosophy

wrist compression brace <3

the turtleneck is a callback to his kh2 design while also tying it back to his canon design with its color + simplicity.

the jeans are a callback to his ddd design and tying back to his previous design philosophy of baggy pants and tight fitting tops

the boots are kept the same because i like them. ok?

[yeokii]

10 QUESTIONS FOR U - enhablrinas edition get it bc tumblrina + enhablr

favorite color of themes?

moot with best theme?

you can send a love letter to anyone. fictional/idols/celebs. who?

which moot is most active? which moot do you barely ever run into but LOVE?

most rizzful mutual? do you flirt with ur moots?

favorite petnames/nicknames? giving or recieving?

have you ever had an online crush? (or on a moot GASP)

ever been involved in drama?

do u keep up with tumblr drama?

be honest. how many times have u swapped biases? no judgement here :D

were u here for the insaneness that was lockdown enhablr?

MIA moot u want to comeback?

ur fave fic or smau that gagged u when u read it? seungstarss BET was the end of the fucking world for me I WAS DISTRAUGHT oddeonu too grrrr the ptsd fuckkkk too there was someone m1ngh8o or smtg idk w this jungwon smau and it KILLLED MEEE he was yns roommate and always so fucking rude and his gf was legit cheating on him but he didn't leave her. gf made moves on his bff jake too who liked reader. slowburns where the main lead is an ass rlly annoy me but i also will them the shit up bc i luv angst and toxicity :DDD

are you close w ur moots? do u have any on socials?

what is ur biggest ick to see on tumblr?

words u find urself repeating too much? words u love using?

any enhablr inside jokes ur part of?

ever been featured in a moots fic?

have u ever dreamt of enhypen?

ur favorite enha pc u want rlly badly?

DRINK WATER + YOU ARE LOVED <3

hai anon ty for the questions!!

O1 . probs pink or white (pink is such a gorgeous colour)

O2 . me thinks its @urszn and @weoris my bookies

O3 . id send one to nick wilde just for fun

O4 . errr chat idk erm!!!!!!!

O5 . @okwonyo bro.

O6 . um!!!! hanabanana yes!

O7 . yes bro @yenqa

O8 . errrr.........so he said and then I what would you do say yes

O9 . most probs erm.. im nosy liek that 😢🙏

1O . only once liek I was sunghoon biased for two weeks and you never saw that side of me again

11 . errr nope I was watching bts reels then 😢

12 . chat @jennaissantes I NEED YOU ON TUMBLR .

13 . BROOOOOOOO id yap about a stoners guide to Starbucks all day that was peak

14 . my queen @yenqa and I have my other side hoes @weoris @urszn @soov @jennaissantes (thats all I remember chat 😢)

15 . ignoring the literal genoc!de happening in palestine 😭

16 . CHAT

17 . ronald macdonald FORREALLLLLL

18 . @yenqa my queen glue song you will never be forgotten

19 . errr ice spice x jungwon 😢

2O . give any hee pc to me pleak . 🙏

[illwynd]

Get to know you better tag game

tagged by @rynfinity. ty!!! :DDD

Last song I listened to: Frank Zappa's "Dirty Love." Some trivia was going around among my co-workers the other day and one of the questions was identifying the musician who said a particular quote, and one of the older guys thought I was too young to know it. Lol sir I may be a millennial but I am a millennial whose friends ask them to identify random oldies songs on the radio because It Is Known that I'm into a bunch of obscure shit, and you think I won't know who Frank fuckin Zappa is?? The funny thing is I had never actually heard the particular quote before, it just had his vibes so it was a good guess. But it was making me realize there's a good bit of Zappa I'd never really listened to. So!

Currently watching: In terms of fannish stuff, I'm sort of halfway through a Tour of Duty rewatch? Also waiting for moar Sandman and moar Iwtv, and living in blissful ignorance of whatever tf marvel is doing these days. More generally, the other day I found out that a few years back there was a show based on popular creepypastas, and I am a sucker for creepypastas. So I'm sort of watching that. (Also very curious how the IP issues were dealt with in a genre that so commonly has anonymous and communal authorship lol.)

Currently obsessed with: At Wondercon last weekend I impulse-bought a clear green acrylic contact juggling ball, because wouldn't that look cool for a Loki cosplayer to do? I do not yet rly know how to contact juggle, and it will be a loooong time before I can even think of doing a Jareth cosplay on the strength of those skills, but the damn thing is super fun to play with regardless. I'll just be over here, pondering my orb.

Tagging: @hechizero-emplumado, @actuallyvady, @pyrebomb, @philosopherking1887, @your-dark-thor, @neph-le-geek, aaaand oh anyone else who feels like doing the meme can say I tagged you :)

[lemonandlime22]

Could I request mammon with a reader who has extreme anxiety? Tooth rotting Fluff please!

Mammon with an Mc that has extreme anxiety

Warning(s): cussing,

A/N: gosh mammon is adorable! ty for requesting, i hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mammon

He's the type of person to panic the first time he sees you having an anxiety attack

he wants to help you as best he can but in all honestly he was kinda making it a bit worse

but don't worry he gets better over time.

The first few times he's panicking, running around, and asking you a bunch of questions about what you need

idk about anyone else but that personally sounds like an absolute nightmare

it might have gotten worse but he eventually got you to calm down.

Once he gets a hang of it tho he's a fuckin pro!

he knows almost exactly what you need

goddamn wizard

most of the time he'll give you some water and sit down with you, with you leaning your head on his shoulder and him leaning his on yours

and sometimes he'll cuddle you unit you fall asleep,

and if you don't want to be physically touched that's perfectly fine, he will make sure to find the best way to comfort you without that

if you want him to leave, he will begrudgingly do that, though he will probably end up pacing in his room cause of how worried he is about you.

He doesn't just do this right when you're having an anxiety attack,

he's also grown to notice the little and subtle things you do when your anxiety is acting up and he'll start doing those things.

If your in need of reassurance,

fuck he's got that to-

man has a full 1500+ page essay and 50 slide powerpoint ready to go before you even say anything.

If he can, he will do his best to get the source of your anxiety to fuck off

if it's school work, he'll convince you to take a break and/or help you finish it

if it's work, he'll get you to take a few days off or maybe even go into work for you

if it's a person, he will gladly take care of them,

no I do not mean he'll kill them.

If you take any meds then he will make sure you take them, he has an alarm set on his DDD specifically to remind him to ask if you took your meds

he may come across as annoying or overbearing but he does truly care about you and wants to make sure you're as safe and happy as you possibly can be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[suffarustuffaru]

Hell yeah transmasc Emilia (Emilio?) let's gooooo! (What inspired this interpretation of Emilia?) Very nice art by the way.

hello again !! :DDD (for future reference this ask is about this post)

ty for liking the art :D !! and the idea of transmasc emilia/o <33 ive actually drawn this idea before here for a slightly different au i did with nonbinary subaru, nonbinary reinhard, and transmasc emilio!! :o the transmasc emilia/o art i did more recently was most likely inspired by a joke a mutual made with me in a convo once where it was like. damn what if emilia just got top surgery. so then i drew that emilia drawing HAH. that outfit is also her outfit from the orchestra rezero thing that happened recently?? like emilia was assigned as conductor so she had the Best Suit ever:

this photo is so crunchy im sorry HAH but anyway loooook at them they look so cool <33 their roles in the orchestra even fit their personalities !! (said by someone who played violin in middle school ........................................................)

but anyway back to transmasc emilia/o i do find the idea super interesting. i think both transfem emilia and transmasc emilio would very fun in different ways especially when a reoccurring part of emilia/o's story is being talked over, controlled, manipulated, hunted down, made out to be a monster or connected to other people (like the whole satella thing or how emilia/o intermingles with things out of their control with the witch cult, roswaal, puck, subaru, etc).

i think it's an unfortunately relatable thing when viewed through a queer lens as emilia/o is an Other to the whole world. i also think it's really interesting bc of satella adding another layer to it. transfem emilia would be struggling similar to you know, canon cis emilia with the complexities of girlhood and such especially when your very appearance looks like Fantasy World Satan and your appearance is smth youre insecure about (and smth that is in the contract she has with puck). though i think with transfem emilia its a slightly different flavor of "i am a girl and its really difficult and im fighting against the entire world to be Me but also i am far happier as a girl because thats Me". you know?

transmasc emilio i think would be like. not only is calling him satella/comparing him to satella like this Terrible thing bc you know, emilio once again getting scapegoated for shit that aint his fault at all and made out to be a monster for No Reason, but also thatd be like misgendering emilio at the same time. youre like the Girl that Ruined the World. it's a special kind of agony on multiple fronts ;-;;;;;

but i think generally like. regardless of emilia/o's gender i Love the idea that they just keep their hair long anyway. i know its partly a puck contract thing until Later but i like the reclamation and acceptance of her appearance that happens throughout rezero. because emilia/o is emilia/o........ just emilia/o <333 and thats what matters !!!!