#might write more of this depending on feedback...

[danasevans]

📚

ANOTHER DAY ANOTHER DRAMA

A 1960s Succession shivlina AU ~ 897 words ~ rated E

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Shiv paces, barefoot on Roman's stupidly ornate carpet in his stupidly ornate sitting room. She knows her brother, and doubts he ever uses this room. It's all the height of luxury and simultaneously not his style at all. Still, his staff keeps everything clean, and she sinks her toes into the soft, thick carpet as she runs her hands over the back of the velvet couch. She's antsy like she gets when she smokes with Kendall, and she's done this enough times that she shouldn't be, but the whole situation is anxiety-inducing and she can't stop worrying that this time will be the last straw and, perhaps worst of all, her set-up requires her to trust her brother.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the front door opens noisily and she hears Roman yell down the long front hall. "Shiv! She's here! Pay me!"

Shiv pulls her white slip down as if she can make it fall below mid-thigh and grabs a wad of bills from her purse. Roman is halfway down the hall when she steps out, an annoying grin on his face and his arm around the waist of a tall, shapely brunette. Shiv hands him the money and he steps away from the woman as if he's been burned, bowing ridiculously to them both and then passing Shiv to exit out the back door, probably off to enjoy his own deviant sexual escapades.

Thirty years old, and Shiv can't pay for her own fucking prostitutes.

It's just a risk she can't take, like the clubs she'd frequented in her youth that she'd had to abandon once she obtained a husband who would question her whereabouts. New York is a big city but a small world, and enough of her father's associates utilize these sorts of services that she can't risk word going to the highest bidder that Logan Roy's daughter beds women semi-regularly.

Karolina slips her hand into Shiv's with a mona lisa smile, and as soon as they touch Shiv's anxiety fades away. She pulls Karolina into her even as Karolina tries to lead them back into the sitting room, and they end up kissing against the door frame. Shiv crades the back of Karolina's head so that she doesn't bang it on the wood, eager to muss her neatly-styled bob.

"I've missed you," she says, breaking the kiss with a smile.

Karolina's eyes flash as she returns the gesture. "I've missed your daddy's money."

"You are terrible," Shiv breathes, her voice getting husky at the zest in Karolina's rebuttal.

Karolina pulls her leg over her hip, rucking up Shiv's slip and sliding her hand under the hem of her panties. "Mhm? Then what does that make you?"

Shiv kisses her viciously for a few more minutes, until she can feel her pulse dizzy in her head and banging against her chest and hot in her cunt. Karolina's hands are everywhere, but her touch is too much and not enough all at once, and Shiv doesn't know what she wants and thinks maybe she doesn't-- can't-- want this, not right now. If she wanted someone to fuck her hard just to give her an orgasm and be done, she wouldn't pretend to be asleep by the time Tom got to bed.

"Lina," she gasps, the nickname a necessity born of her empty lungs and not truly an endearment, "let's move somewhere else."

Karolina just looks at her, with her dark eyes and slow smile. She runs her finger down Shiv's neck until she's pulling at the neckline of her slip, exposing the red trim of her red-and-white lingerie. "Whatever you want, Siobhan."

Shiv hadn't told her her full name until their third meeting. She hadn't expected to like it, in such an intimate but theoretically detached way. And then she had.

To be honest, this isn't as detached as she'd hoped either. There's a lot of things she hadn't expected about Karolina.

"You're a work of art, sweetheart," she coos as she leads Karolina into the sitting room. "Let's get you out of this dress... I wanna see all of you."

Karolina smirks over her shoulder at her as Shiv pulls the zipper down. "Well, maybe you should get undressed too.

Shiv drops Karolina's dress to the floor and obeys, removing her silk slip to show off her flattering ensemble, stark and clean with trim almost matching her hair.

Karolina is in an all-black set that feels much more severe, and it takes Shiv's breath away. She lifts herself to sit on Roman's chessboard, pieces scattering. A king rolls off the table and comes to a rest at Shiv's feet. She steps over it, placing her hands around Karolina's wrists and kissing her deeply. She sinks to her knees, watching Karolina's dark eyes flash as she moves her hands from her arms to her thighs.

"Please let me," she says softly. "I need to."

"That's what I'm here for," Karolina purrs, cupping Shiv's cheek and tilting her chin up so that they're making eye contact. The hanging lamp is giving Karolina a halo, a reddish-orange light thanks to Roman's absurd fixtures. Karolina's nails dig into Shiv's skin a bit as she finishes her sentence. "...to give you what you need."

When she lets go, Shiv buries her head between Karolina's thighs until she's able to forget about the outside world entirely.

[goldensunset]

one of my professors is really based… we were like ‘so is the final project still due friday’ and she was like ‘…in theory. the only reason i’ve put it down as being due so early is because we’re technically not allowed to make things due in the last week of class because we’re supposed to be encouraging you all to study for finals. but you see, i am well within my right to give extensions ;-)’ let’s go sisterrrrrr

[butyoudidthis4what]

You’re Okay

Jack Abbot x Doctor!Reader

5.4k || All my content is 18+ MDNI.

Jack Abbot was the man who broke me.

I genuinely never thought I would write fanfic again and even when new characters and hyperfixations came I didn't, no matter how much the urge was there. I just could never go through with it. I write for a living currently and so the last thing I wanted to do when I got home from work was more writing, even if it was a different style and all my own. And then Jack Abbot entered my life at a time and I went on vacation where I had absolutely no access to work and was refreshed while also emotionally going through it and really had the urge to write and so here we are. A perfect storm.

In typical me fashion I decided I was so sad and anxious that I just wanted some happy fluffy stuff and wrote the exact opposite. I'm just an angst with a happy ending girl what can I say. But also I just really want someone to comfort me like this and it was cathartic to write. However, I'm not going to lie that I started feeling a bit better when writing this so it became a bit harder to write, weave together, and finish and I'm just rusty. Read the CWs please, it's rough stuff and potentially triggering, so protect yourself, and if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

I have a number of other ideas and thoughts for this man and am desperate to yell about him so feel free to send your thoughts in the ask box or DM me to yell about Jack.

Titles and summaries are unlikely to ever get better. Please be gentle with me as this is my first foray back into writing and posting in years. Please let me know if you like it. I thrive on positive feedback.

Again, please read the CWs: suicidal ideation; self harm ideation; extreme depression and anxiety discussed; discussion of anxious depressive attack; reference to rescue meds; self hate; reader is not okay; reader tries to push Jack away; abandonment issues and themes.

Summary: You have an anxious depressive attack for no readily apparent reason. Jack is the best and gets you through it. Happy ending. Established relationship. You and Jack live together. Age gap but not specified or referenced. No use of y/n or related. Absolutely zero proofreading, I mean none. No beta. This is also a bit open ended and could be conducive to a part two depending on reception and if anyone would be interested.

The sadness consumes you, sticks to you like the tegaderm you apply to patients. The most irritating part is how it just seemed to have come out of nowhere. Sure, you were feeling a bit more anxious and depressed than usual, but nothing horrific. And then it got a little worse towards the end of your first twelve hours. But then around hour sixteen it was like you just walked into a black hole and were totally consumed by it as you took a few minutes to yourself to use the bathroom. 

It was the crying out of absolutely fucking nowhere for no apparent reason kind of sadness. The kind that left you perpetually teetering on a ledge and unable to breathe. The kind that makes you think this is it, you’re so broken now you’re past the point of fixable. Makes you think you will just be here forever, stuck in this sadness, unable to move or enjoy anything, condemned to a life of faking it. Makes you itch to hurt yourself. The kind that is so consuming and distorting it makes you ideate and think that ending it all might be an act of kindness to yourself and your closest; you no longer consumed by the sadness and them no longer burdened with you. The kind that is so frustrating for you because one sliver of logical, rational brain large enough to understand what is happening and that your brain is manipulating you escapes, so you know that you’re being unreasonable, that it’ll pass and yet you can’t seem to believe it. Or maybe it’s that you do believe it, it’s just that surviving until it does pass seems so hard and you are so tired. 

Work keeps you busy. Busy enough to be able to push the thoughts to the side and just live with the feelings for now, both mentally and physically. You can focus on others, on fixing others, saving others, solving other people’s problems. It’s a good distraction, but just that. A distraction. It does nothing to fix anything and the second it’s gone you know it will all come crashing down. 

Jack’s eyes are scanning for you the second he walks in the ED. Something was off with you when he finished his shift and left you for the second half of your double. You’d assured him you were just tired and would get some more caffeine and be good and he hadn’t pushed you. He’d told you to text or call him if you needed him, that he would probably get some sleep but would sleep with his phone on loud and near his head in case you needed him. He could just sense it on you.

You hear him make some sarcastic remark back to someone before you see that he’s here and it makes your heart race. There’s a little burst of happiness at seeing him of course, but then even that is overcome again by the sadness that rules your mind currently. You don’t want to ruin his mood, don’t want him to have to deal with you. It makes you more anxious, threatens to rip you in half in deciding what to do, tell him or try and pretend. You know that would be pointless though and you don’t really have a choice. Not when it comes to him. One look at your face and he’s going to read you like a chapter book. You thought the time getting home and ability to take some meds since you wouldn’t be working might help you calm down enough for it to not be quite as bad once you got home. You look back down at your tablet but chew hard on the inside of your cheek, taste the iron of your own blood, and when Mel walks up to you with a question you shift your tablet so that you can dig your nails into the skin of your hand. Just something to ground you. Just a little physical pain to match the internal.

Jack clocks it from where he is, finding you just as you look back down at your tablet. Your nails and cheek. There’s something else about the way you’re holding yourself that’s off too. His own anxiety ticks up. Were you hurt? Did something happen? He turns back to ask Santos if something happened this shift but she’s already gone. When he looks back over to where you were standing with Mel he finds you and Mel gone. He thinks you just went with her until he spots her alone with a patient. 

You had to flee after answering her question and telling her you were off and to spread the word if anyone asked. You wouldn’t know how else to describe it other than giving into this urge to run and hide. Some sort of flight or fight thing undoubtedly, you’d just never had the feeling before. You had to get out of there before you lost it in front of everyone. 

Jack being here isn’t good. It wasn’t the plan, the one you’ve been preparing and repeating to yourself all day to get through it without losing it. You’d get off, go home, he’d be there and you’d be okay and not feel like this because he’d be there. Or at least if you still were feeling like this he would be there and that would make it a little better, a bit less suffocating. It would make it all feel survivable. 

But now he’s here and you can only assume that means he picked up a shift and you’ll have to go home to an empty place, something you’re not sure you trust yourself with right now. You try and tell yourself it’ll be fine, that you’ll take some meds at home and just sleep through it until he gets back and then sleep more with him and that the feelings will pass. And you know it’s true. Your logical brain knows that these feelings will pass. Your emotional brain that tells you you’re going to be stuck in this all-consuming sadness and anxiety wins, however, and the thoughts just won’t stop. The physical feeling of sadness and anxiety won’t leave. It’s enough to make you gag. 

You don’t want to ruin his roof for him but you don’t know where else to go and think maybe you’ll find whatever it is Jack finds up here that seems to help him. And really you know you want him to find you. Need him to. Need him to take one look at your face and know how to help you, how to comfort you, like he always does. You hate putting that on him, though.    

You don’t even consciously do it. You just look up and realize where you are. Right on the ledge. It’s so metaphoric it’s disgusting. It’s odd though, being on the other side of the guard rails. It feels like it should be scary or exhilarating in some kind of way but it’s just not. It’s nothing. Everything is nothing except that everything is also abhorrently and suffocatingly sad in a way you can’t explain. You let your hands come out a little and catch the wind. Some part of you hopes it’ll carry you away. It doesn’t and you’re so in your head you don’t hear the door or him as he walks over to you until he speaks. 

“You’re in my spot, Doll.” His voice is gentle, feeling you out and giving you room. He’s desperate to see your eyes, to read your face in the way only he can. 

You shrug. “I suppose I am.” 

He walks a little closer, rests his arms on the bar. He doesn’t know yet, how bad things are, how bad you are right now. You’re just a little too good at hiding it with your back to him when he can’t see your eyes or face. “Bad shift?”

It takes you a minute to respond and when you do it’s a single word and an iciness starts to seep through him. “No.” 

The way you say it is off. The way you sound, the way you’re standing, body leaning just slightly forward.

“What’s up? You don’t seem okay. What happened?” The genuine concern in his voice melts you but at the same time a large part of you feels bad for it, for making him concerned and worried about you. It’s unfair of you to do. 

You shake your head a little in response. “Nothing.” As much as it sounds like a lie, it’s really the truth, at least to his last question. Nothing happened.

“Did you pick up a shift tonight?” You ask him quietly. 

“No.” “Why are you here then?”

He gives a soft laugh, almost a touch of disbelief to it. “I don’t know, the way you seemed when I left and we said goodbye. I thought you were just tired but it sat with me, stayed with me when I woke up. I just felt, I don’t know, drawn to come pick you up. Get my eyes on you as soon as I could.” There’s a pause. “I’m glad I came.” 

You hum. You hate that he can pick it up off of you, that you can’t hide it better to protect him.

He’s never seen you go past the guard rail and combined with your demeanor and body language and the aura radiating off you it scares him, scares the fuck out of him right now. “Will you come here, please? Even if not to me, just to the other side.” There’s a pause as you consider. He leans back up off the rail to keep his hands free, ready to jump and grab you by the scrub top if he has to. 

You don’t want to scare him, to hurt him. That’s the whole problem. And then you end up doing so anyway. He deserves so much better. You hate yourself.

“I’m afraid if you touch me I’ll shatter. Just totally fucking lose it. And you shouldn’t have to deal with that.” The way you say it tells him you want nothing more than to be in his arms. He’s right of course. He recognizes it for what it is beneath your words, an invitation for him to pull you back to him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

“Alright.” It’s his normal voice. Just Jack. He reaches and grabs your arm with his hand, gentle, but firm enough to keep you from going anywhere and show his seriousness. “You’re coming back on this side. Now.” It’s his Dr. Abbot voice, the one you know he must have developed in the service. “Please Doll.” And there’s your Jack, the tone he only uses with you, soft and sweet, empathetic, vulnerable in a strong way. Full of the love he has for you. You know if you pulled away he’d let you, but you don’t want to. You want him. Want to be close to him.

You don’t shatter from his touch. Not yet anyway. You let out a long breath but nod, let him help you back to the safe side. His hands are on your face, one thumb brushing over a cheekbone as he searches your eyes. You try to look away but he follows you. He hates what he sees, how sad and small you look and must feel, the nondescript anxiety coursing through you. 

“Doll,” he says a little breathless, aching to make it all better. “I need you to talk to me, please.” It’s desperate, on the cusp of begging. “Let me help. Let me in.” If anything the dialogue is normally reversed, but it’s been a good while since you’ve had to ask him to talk to you or let you in. You’ve been together so long now that it’s automatic for him. The only things he tries to keep you out of sometimes are his PTSD and flashbacks and phantom limb pain, but even then. He’s an easy lock for you to pick.

You scrunch your shoulders up hard for a few seconds as you take a deep breath and let them fall back down as you let it out through your nose. “And if I say I’m fine?” You give him a hint of a smile.

He gives a little scoff of a laugh. “Then I’ll be hurt by how much of a blind idiot you think I am.” It’s a little reassuring though. That you still have it in you to joke. It tells him you’re still in there. 

You give him the smallest smile before your face fades back into a heartbreaking sadness. “I don’t know Jack,” you say softly. “I… Nothing is even wrong. Nothing has happened. I just…” You trail off and he lets you, gives you the space to gather your thoughts even as he watches you with concern etched into his features. You look away from him, out at the city. He can still see your eyes get glassy though, the slightest tremble of your chin before you recover. “I’m too mentally ill for you. You deserve better.”

He has to give another laugh at that. “Have you met me?”

You look at him, and while he sees sadness and hurt he also sees terror. 

“I’m just… sad. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s all consuming and feels never ending even when I can sit and rationally tell myself I have nothing to be sad or anxious about. It just doesn’t fucking matter. It still feels like I can’t breathe except I am and I’m aware of it because I’m still alive and still thinking, still sad and spiraling. I’m almost like, fucking lightheaded it’s so bad, I shake, I can’t get that pit in my stomach and burn at my diaphragm to go away and over what? There’s nothing. There’s absolutely fucking nothing for me to be this sad or anxious or upset over.” You close your eyes and bring a shaky hand to your lips. “I’m just a huge mess for no god damn reason and I fucking hate it, Jack. And you deserve better, so, so much better, even if you don’t think so or want to admit it. You deserve not to be stuck with this, with whatever it is I am.”

He opens his mouth to speak but then shuts it. There’s so much he wants to say he doesn’t know where to start. He just wants to hold you. To hug you until all the pieces of you fit back together the way you’ve done for him so many times. He wishes he had a way to let you into his mind so that you could see how much he loves you, how much he needs you. 

“I feel so fucking melodramatic. The shift was fine. Nobody died. It was a good shift if anything. Life is good. I have friends who love and care about me. I’ve got you for christ’s sake, I’m the luckiest woman in the fucking world.” You shake your head a little. “And yet here I am. Like this. Feeling like the world is falling out from under me and so sad I almost want to jump for no reason. No fucking reason. And now I’m making you deal with it, with me. I hate it. I hate myself. You would be better off without me, you really would.”

“That simply is not fucking true,” he almost gasps out, just needing to get something out to you. “Jesus fucking christ I don’t know that there would still be me without you.” You shrug. “No. Don’t shrug, please do not shrug. This is not whatever. You are not whatever. It’s true, I don’t know if I’d still be here without you. I don’t know if I could go on without you. That’s just the truth. You’re not too mentally ill for me. You’re not too sad for me, or too anxious or too whatever. I can’t deserve better when I already have the best, regardless of whether you don’t think that’s true or want to admit it.” He sees you shaking a little. “I need you.” 

His voice cracks a little on ‘need.’ “Your brain is lying to you, no matter how real it seems in this moment, I promise. It’s okay to feel this way and to need to lean on me, to need my support. It won’t push me or make me go anywhere. I want to be here for you. I want to help you, help you feel better and not so sad. The depression and anxiety don’t care if the shift was good and nobody dies and you have friends and me. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel as deeply and as badly as you do right now. It doesn’t mean it’s melodramatic. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve your life or me. You’re struggling. That’s okay.” His thumbs wipe some tears away from your face and his heart cracks. He feels so helpless, this is one of the only things he can’t just fix for you, can’t protect you from. He wants to cry himself. “I’ve got you. This is an anxious depressive attack,” he reminds you. “You are so strong and you will come out of it. It will pass.”

“It’s just been happening more and more, Jack! I’ve been having this happen more and more. And one day you’re going to wake up and realize you’re exhausted by it. And I,” a few tears slip out as you take a shuddery breath, “I feel so fucking guilty making you deal with me and watching you deal with it, with me. How much it scares you and makes you sad. I just want the best for you, happiness and easiness and a calm, steady, good life. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through you deserve that and more and I don’t think I’m that. I’m just more stress, more exhaustion, more to deal with. And that’s not fair and you deserve better.” The tears flow more freely now and your voice shakes with every word but you haven’t totally fallen apart somehow. 

“I get this exact same way too. I struggle too. I feel the darkness consume me just like you are now. I lean on you, ask for your help, or accept it when you have to offer because I can’t ask for myself. Why should or would I not do the same for you? Why would I give up on and abandon you when you’d never dream of doing it to me?” He asks, hands a bit firmer where they’re still holding your face. 

“It’s different,” you mutter. 

“How? How is it any different?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It just is. You’re different. It’s okay when it’s you.” 

“Well that’s bullshit, Doll, and I know you know that,” he says with loving sternness. He softens again. “It’s okay when it’s you too, I promise. The way you feel about me when it’s me is the way I feel about you right now. It’s okay if you don’t know why you’re feeling like this and it’s okay if the reason is buried deep inside and it’s okay if there is no reason and you’re just feeling like this. It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m not dealing with you, even though your mind is telling you that. You’re not a burden. You’re not pushing me away by being like this. Your brain is lying to you right now. I’m not going anywhere. For better or worse you got yourself stuck with me when you agreed to that first date. Because I knew it was you then. And I won’t lose you and certainly not to this.” His thumbs brush over your cheeks again, one going to brush over your thumb. His eyes are so earnest it almost hurts.

You look at him for a moment and then he’s pulling you into his chest and arms as you’re falling into them. He lowers you both to the ground with you in his lap as you do finally shatter in his arms. 

You sob into him. Not soft tears that are silent or even heavy tears with some sniffing and stuttered words. It’s ugly, chest heaving. You almost seem to scream into his chest at times in between the huge breaths you try to take in. There are times where you choke, cry so hard you dry heave. But Jack doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to get away or pull away with any kind of disgust at any of it. He just holds you, his arms warm and steady and solid around you, keeping you grounded, even if just. He rocks softly at times, shushes you softly but not to get you to be quiet, just to reassure. There are whispered words, “I know,” “It’s okay, you’re okay,” “I’ve got you,” “I’m not letting go,” “Let it out Doll, I’m here, I’ll always be here,” “I love you.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back, squeezes you tight to try and help you regulate, desperate to do anything he can to help. 

Eventually you cry yourself out and are reduced to small sniffles and hiccups. You go so still a couple of times he thinks you may have fallen asleep in his arms, knows how tired crying can make you, but then you let out a sigh. You pull your head from his chest a little, look up at him with sheepish eyes. It’s heartbreaking, how swollen and red your face and eyes are, how beautiful you look even this sad. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he whispers when you go to speak. He knows you too well, better than he knows himself sometimes, you both swear.  

“I just hate it. Feeling like this. And having the rational part of my brain know at the same time that it’s ridiculous and unnecessary and all wrong but it losing to that emotional part of my brain that drags me into panic and all consuming sadness. I hate it.” You sniffle hard, try to wipe your face with your hand but it does nothing. Jack pulls his shirt up a little so that he can use it to wipe your face for you. 

“It just feels like it’ll never get better. Like I’ll be stuck in this darkness and sadness and anxiety forever.” Your words are muffled against him and make him hold you a little tighter. 

“I know. But I promise these feelings, especially at this intensity, will pass. I’m not dismissing them or saying they aren’t real, at all, but they will pass.” He kisses your hair a few more times, continues rubbing your back. He knows there’s not much he can say right now and doesn’t want to overwhelm you with words, just reassure you.

“Yeah,” you murmur. He doesn’t push you to accept it. 

“Did it help? The cry?” He asks gently.

You shrug in his arms. “I don’t know, probably.” You let the steady thump of his heart in your ear regulate yours. After a few moments you amend your answer. “It wasn’t the cry. It was you.” 

The corners of his lips turn up just slightly. He likes hearing he helped. “I’m glad.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper. He gives you a squeeze in response. A couple more minutes pass as you sit there just trying to recover. 

“I got your shirt all gross.” 

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse on me from people I don’t love more than anything.” He kisses the side of your head. “Plus it’s the one you like to steal anyway,” he whispers in your ear.

That makes you laugh, laugh enough that you start crying and let your head fall back into the side of his neck and shoulder again. “I’m sorry,” you almost squeak out.

“Oh baby,” he gives a sad little laugh. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

This round doesn’t last anywhere near as long, largely because you’re just too fucking tired. A bit because he was right, it was an acute anxious depressive attack that’s starting to lift. You sigh into him. “I think I’m done.”

“Let’s get up and go home. Get some food in you, maybe some of your rescue meds if you want, and some sleep. It’ll help even though I know everything feels kind of helpless right now.” He kisses the top of your head, your forehead and then your lips. Nibbles on your nose just to pull a smile from you. He goes to pull away so that you can get up but you make a little whine of protest and just hold onto him tighter, nuzzle your nose against his neck. 

“I’m already home.” You murmur. “You’re home.” You’ve both said it to each other before and he knows how fucking true it is for him but it still makes him smile, knowing he’s that safe place for you. 

He gives a fake exasperated sigh just to see if it’ll pull anything from you. “Let’s get up and go to our house, then, little miss pedantic. Get in our bed.” 

You smile against his neck and it makes him relax a little, makes him feel good knowing he’s the only one who could pull you out of this and make you smile. “I’m not pedantic, it’s just the truth. And even if I am pedantic I’m your little miss pedantic.” 

You don’t say it as a question but he knows it is one, a subtle way of asking for reassurance when being direct is too hard. 

“Yes you are. All mine.” He squeezes you a bit tighter to drive home the point. “I happen to find pedantism so hot. Gets me all bothered when you get so concerned about all the little details.” He mouths at your neck, rubs his scruff against you lightly because he knows it tickles you and wants to draw a little laugh. 

It’s just barely successful, you give him a little huff of a laugh, but with how you were, he’ll take it. You finally let yourself fall out of his arms and stand up with him. He can tell by your face that while you might be feeling the slightest bit better in the moment, you’re not really. You’re still deep in that hole and struggling. You see the recognition of it flicker in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. “That I made you think I wanted to… end myself and for scaring you. And that I’m not better. That I might never be better.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. I really do, Doll. And I don’t expect it to be better with one conversation or two or three. And I’m not going to get tired of it, of you, as much as your brain wants you to believe that. I’ll be here and helping you through it just like you will with me until we’re in the ground together, okay?” You nod at him.  

He winds his fingers through yours and squeezes. “Let’s go home,” he says again, “to our house, the physical building where we reside together, where our bed is.” You go to open your mouth. “Yes, I still want you in my bed,” he cuts you off. “I could shower you first if you wanted.”

“Shower me? First?”

He holds the door of the roof open for you and you step in and hit the elevator button. “I know me washing your hair and body calms and grounds you,” he murmurs. He drops his voice a little lower, in volume and pitch and moves his face closer to yours so that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “And I say the shower is first because the second thing I could do for you, well, hopefully it would give you some oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin,” he smirks, gives you a teasingly light kiss on the lips. “Or if that’s all too much right now then we’ll just go home and get in bed and I’ll hold you while you sleep. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

You grin at him as he pulls away. It actually meets your eyes, even if it’s not the biggest smile he’s ever pulled from you. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you Jack Abbot.”

“You were born.”

You start laughing. Like can’t breathe laughing, tears streaming, laughing. A smile pulls onto his face and he has to start laughing because yours is so contagious. “What?”

“I don’t fucking know,” you get out in between laughs, “just the way you said ‘you were born’ so seriously was so fucking funny. It was so… you.” You look up at him, eyes sparkling from tears but also love. “I’m so lucky,” you whisper, words a bit shaky. “I love you.” The laughing so hard you cried has brought you back to the precipice of tears. 

“I love you more,” Jack tells you as he wraps you back in his arms. The elevator opens though and you’re able to take in a deep breath and keep it together. 

“You wanna go out the side and I’ll meet you outside the ambo bay? I’ll swing back to the ED and grab your stuff.” He wipes a few tears from your face. It’s an offer to save some face and not look like a mess in front of everyone. 

“That bad?”

“You never look anything less than gorgeous, but the crying is obvious, yeah. It’ll draw questions.” He says it so matter of fact, that you’re never anything less than gorgeous in his eyes and that the crying is so obvious and people will gossip and it’s just another thing that feels so him that it helps tether you to reality. 

You nod. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

When you reach the door he squeezes your hand. You can see a little fear in his eyes. “You’ll be waiting, yeah? On the sidewalk?”

You give him a soft laugh and smile. “Yeah, on the sidewalk.”

“Good.” He leans in to give you a quick kiss. “I need you, you know? Just as much as you need me.”

“I know. I do, I promise.” As he walks away you call his name and he’s back by your side in a second. “I am sorry, you know. I would never actually do anything and leave you, and I’m sorry for hurting you by insinuating otherwise.”

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t need to feel guilty for saying how you feel or felt. You don’t need to apologize.  I want you to talk to me, even if it is painful for me to hear. It’s the only way I can help.”

“It’s just hard to say, especially when I worry so much that it’ll make you go away. And I promise that’s not a reflection on you, or that I think you would-” He silences you with a kiss. It’s uncharacteristic for him at work, even if you’re not in the ED. That makes the fact of it happening a little better in some way, you think.

“I know. I understand, I promise.” He pulls back and looks at you. “I would tell you if it was becoming a problem or something I couldn’t handle. But I’m never going to have to tell you that. Now go wait for me.” He flicks his chin at the side door and gives you a little tap on the ass, flashes you one of his smiles that’s almost a smirk and makes you melt. You nod, do as instructed. And Jack watches you walk away until you disappear out the door, a whole piece of his heart out there existing outside of him. He knows you’ll be okay, that you’ll get through this. But it still scares him, still kills him to see you struggle like this. He wants to protect you from everything, does everything he can to, but always ends up trying to grapple with and accept the fact that he can’t really protect you from yourself. 

Outside, you wait for him on the sidewalk like you promised. Things are a bit lighter now that you’ve been able to speak to Jack, to just let yourself fall apart and cry. The guilt still eats at you even though you try not to let it. You watch him walk up to you, see the way he smiles when he spots you. It makes your heart ache. “I really love you, you know?” You murmur to him when he’s back at your side. 

“I do,” he nods. His lips pull up in a teasing smile as he starts up his favorite ‘argument’ you guys are always having. “I also know I love you more.”

[borkunlimited]

Siúil a Rúin

As Take Your Time, Miss Deer, finally comes to an end, I want to reach out to everyone with a note, a thank you for being here in this two month long journey of weekly updates.

I still remember how I decided to write this fic out of a whim, mostly for myself because I want to sharpen my skills as a writer. What started as a whim turn to little snippets, then an outline, and finally, a challenge where I told myself I will complete this fic in a span of 10 chapters.

Honestly, I did not intend to post this at all here in Tumblr, but my beta reader and a friend convinced me otherwise and I am glad I listened to them or else I wouldn't have met each of you today.

This fic was incredibly challenging to write but mostly because I wouldn't deny that numbers still bother me though I still stick to my belief that these shouldn't define my worth as a writer.

One challenge I encounter is actually creating Miss Deer. Sweet characters seemed easy to write when you see them surface level but sweet characters who are layered are more difficult. I want her to be sweet and kind but not the type that she is dependent on other people to live, rather, has her own set of strengths.

I mentioned this several times to my moot (Hi @xiiiaomaiii!) how FLs from Studio Ghibli greatly influenced me and rewatching them all in one go gave me a better idea on how to write her character and how Sylus will play in the story.

I don't want Miss Deer to be completely dependent on him and I want Sylus to be like how every ML is in Studio Ghibli: Supportive and kind.

(Did it work? I like to think I managed to flesh out her character well based on everyone's feedback.)

There are multiple challenges that I have encounter along the way. My worry on ensuring that Sylus, the twins, and even the characters I have isekai'd in this fic (ex. Louis from Beastars) are not OOC. My realization that having an outline is completely different from fleshing it out and there are times I close the doc then call it a day.

Sometimes, I even erase lines of paragraphs. (Bork, do you still have them? No, they are in the abyss now, forever gone haha)

Anyways, I don't want to keep this long! These are just musings, mostly for my future self to read when she looks back.

What's next?

I will focus on drawing art for this fic during my break.

Pick-up what I left off in the side story related to this fic which is about Luke, Kieran, and the sheep hybrid occasionally mentioned.

(This side story is more focused on the themes of coming of age, the twins and the sheep MC navigating in their relationship. I mostly draw inspiration from Skip and Loafer and Horimiya for this. Also, the amount of Luke & Kieran fics is low and I, an upstanding citizen, must do my part.)

Might write short stories and drabbles between Sylus and Miss Deer as well.

Will I write another longfic?

Yes, I already have something in the works but I need to read more about this LI (Who is the LI? Hehe, you'll see), read more books, watch more films in line with the idea I have in mind.

When will you see this longfic?

One day when you wake up (Hopefully on a warm, sunny day), you'll just see the first chapter and you and I will be in another ride where I publish weekly (I pray nothing gets in the way of my life.)

I am happy this story reached you and when you reread it, I hope my intent of making it a cozy story will make you feel better, recharge you, and help you get ready to face what is ahead.

Thank you everyone!

AO3: Take Your Time, Miss Deer: 🦌🐉 Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s): 🐺🐺🐑

Tumblr: Take Your Time, Miss Deer:🦌🐉 Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s):🐺🐺🐑

[greenplumbboblover]

WIP #1 - Stories Be Told

A mod that has arisen from playing TS2 and loving Stardew Valley! (and always wanting to get to know the townies a bit better :))

I know I haven't really replied too much on the post about the mod idea, but I had to figure out personally what to pick and how to even attempt this from a technical perspective.

I went through 5 adaptations, to eventually get to this result! :) So while most of it is definite, I'm still fine-tuning a lot (and writing the stories).

How does it work?

The mod comes with two ways to get to know your fellow townie! With townie, you have to understand that EA townies will have them. Newly generated townies will NOT have any stories.

🕵️‍♀️Secrets (aka, facts!)

Depending on your sim's Lifetime points (that red/green bar), and relationship status (friends, enemies, etc), you'll get to know more about them! Of course, if you're in the red, you might get some nasty comments!

The idea is that the better you get to know them, the more they open up. Just like real people! They all have their unique dialogue as well!

❤️ Heart Events ❤️

Inspired heavily by Stardew Valley's approach, as using the TS2's scripted events wasn't working technically speaking,

A heart event will trigger by itself with a Text message, just like getting an invitation for a party.

Let's have a look at one with Morgana's Heart events!

Morgana has sent a text message asking Christopher to come along to have dinner at her house. We could ignore it without any consequences... or go ahead and go anyway!

Your sim will automatically make their way to the place they are invited to go to! And Christopher just made it as well :)

(Not getting too much into spoilers here hehe) but eventually Thornton and Morgana end up in a fight.

What's cool is that certain heart events will want your input! Such as this one:

I'm still working on fixing the dialogue btw :p

Some of these will have pretty unpredictable outcomes, so be aware of that if you want your town to stay the same without any progression into a family's dilemma!

... and what's even better is that this all happened automatically!

Just like a scripted event, they ended up arguing where it made sense in the dialogue, moved to the kitchen to excuse themselves, and eventually asked the player to leave (of which the player did automatically!)

🛠 Info for World builders and Developers

What's even better is that you can make your stories yourself! While heart events will require you C#, the secrets will only require you the existing sim's Sim Id and some XML knowledge! :)

I'll make tutorials of course on how to make each, but I figured it would be good to add that this is all super flexible on making your own stories.

That's it! The mod is technically done from a technical perspective, but I still have loads of stories to write (I only finished Morgana's so far 😬), So any feedback at this point would be really appreciated so I can implement it before release! :)

I'll release it first with Stories for Sunset Valley first, then move on to twin brook, Bridgeport, etc.

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Prologue

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk juggles her life between Julia, Julia's son J, and the Cody family. Slow Burn. Word Count: 1,667 Content Warning: No description of the reader, other than the nickname. Warnings will be updated chapter by chapter. Mentions of sex (educational). A/N: I have been writing and editing this story for the better part of two months, piecing it together like Frankenstein's monster. Hawk's relationship with J is everything to me rn. I love Pope as a deeply flawed character and I hope you enjoy what's coming down the pipeline for this. I haven't decided just how long this fic is going to be total, but we're in for a ride. As always, your feedback and comments are most welcome.

“Hey,” J greeted as he stepped into the kitchen, dropping his backpack on the floor by Hawk’s feet. She was sitting on a barstool with her laptop in front of her, working on a schedule for the upcoming orders she had at the shop. “Busy?” 

“When am I not?” Hawk answered rhetorically, giving J her attention. “What’s up? How was school?” He opened the fridge, grabbed the carton of orange juice, turned to face Hawk and took a big swig right from the carton, then put it back. “Ew, kid. Nasty. Gross. Disgusting. Foul. Bad.” This made J’s grin widen at the reaction he got out of her. It was times like this that Hawk wished she had a spray bottle.  

“You don’t drink it anyway,” He shrugged, knowing exactly what he was doing. Little Shit Behavior, Hawk had told him once, and he ran with it. 

“Gee, I wonder why. It's not like you've been leaving little floaties in my drinks your whole life or anything." Hawk brought her attention back down to the schedule. “I swear every teenage boy does this and I cannot for the life of me understand why you have aversions to glassware.” J leaned on the opposite side of the counter, his arms holding his weight up. 

“I could leave floaties in it if you miss the good ol' days,” Hawk laughed, stretching her back.

“Keep this up and you’ll be on dish duty for the next week.” Her threats were flimsy at best. The kid picked up after himself and left the house spotless, so much so that he didn’t even dirty the glasses she had, Hawk thought with a sigh as she shook her head. "What are your plans for the night? Any homework you gotta handle?"

“I’m gonna go check on mom, then head over to Nicky’s. There's a pre-calc test on Friday that we need to study for. Is that cool?” Hawk nodded, returning her attention partially to her laptop.

“You gonna be around for dinner?” Click here, move this to Tuesday, a cancellation for Thursday -the motions were second nature to her by now.

“Might not be back until later, depending on how mom’s doing. And what dinner is.” He finished with a raised brow as Hawk glanced up. Cheeky little bastard. 

“I’m thinking some take-out? Maybe Thai, maybe Indian. I haven’t made up my mind. Want me to get your usual and stick it in the fridge?” Hawk offered, already knowing what his answer was when he smiled.

“You’re the best.” 

“Oh, I know, but I don’t get tired of hearing it though.” J flicked a piece of debris that was on the island at Hawk, but chuckled nonetheless. 

“Speaking of Nicky,” She started, but was interrupted by J groaning and pushing himself off the island.

“Not again,” He begged, hitting his forehead against the counter gently.

“No, I’m serious, J. You’re being safe, right? Teen pregnancy is no joke, and STI’s are even less funny. Both of them stick with you for life…in most cases.”

“Nicky isn’t pregnant and she doesn’t have an STI,”

“You never know, kid. Anything can happen even when you’re careful, but the odds are more staggering if you’re not. Nothing against Nicky, I like her a whole lot, but I’m protecting her against you too. It goes both ways. I’m not condoning what you little heathens get up to in your free time, but I also know I can't stop it, so there’s condoms in the hall closet, top shelf to the left. Take what you need, no questions asked. I just want you to be careful. If I raised one kid just for another to come rolling in after the first one grows up, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Well ahead of you on that.” Hawk had to bite her lips closed and squeeze her eyes shut when he let that slip. She held her hands up, shaking her head. 

“You’re using them. That’s all that matters. No questions. I don’t need specifics” Hawk stood from her stool and walked over to J. “Now I need a shot of bleach to kill whatever brain cells just survived through that.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“You don’t gotta keep bringing this up,” She cupped his youthful cheeks in her hands, squishing them just slightly, making the last word slur.

“Yeah I do, so long as you're young and your frontal lobe hasn’t fully formed, I will bring this up every chance I can. You'll thank me later, believe me. You’re like my son, J. It kills me to see you getting older, but I trust you. You’re a good kid, you go to school and get good grades, and you’re smart” Hawk made a face, “…er than most other boys your age, so I’ll give you that, but you know you can come to me if you need anything, right? I know you know that, but do you understand what I am saying?” He nodded and Hawk kissed his forehead before ruffling his hair and freeing him to go sit back on her stool, but not before he took a playful swipe at her as she retreated. “Good. Do you need a ride?”

“Nah, I should be good on my bike.” He said as he fixed his hair.

“Alright, try not to stay out too late. It’s a school night.”

“Yes, mom,” Hawk fixed him with a look and he returned one sheepishly. J moved around the island to grab his backpack and wrap his arm around Hawk’s shoulders for a quick hug and a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll try not to wake you up when I get back.” 

“You better not be out that late, kid. Tell your mom I said to give me a call and please shoot me a text when you’re on your way back so I know you're aright.” He nodded and took off out the front door.  

Hawk’s relationship with J was both complicated and simple. She grew up with Julia and the Cody brothers.Like a broken record, Smurf took her in at 13 when her own mother died and she had nowhere left to go. The tumultuous relationship Hawk had with her mother before she died was less than J currently had with Julia, and while Julia had her own set of problems, J still had his mother.

And he had Hawk. 

Since J was two, he spent most of his days with her while Julia did what Julia did. Sweet Julia -a child of encouraged alcohol abuse by Smurf, grew into an adult with a crippling heroin addiction who had a baby she had no business having, but Hawk loved Julia as a sister so she made sure that baby was well cared for in any way she could. 

At twenty one, struggling to keep her double life afloat, Hawk was contacted by a lawyer from North Carolina -her absent father wasn’t actually an absent father. Her mother kept her from him in any way she could, forged documents, and Hawk was none the wiser until she was met with a will from her now deceased father -along with a letter telling her how sorry he was about the way that things turned out with Hawk and her mother.

It turned out that he was very wealthy -he owned property along the east coast that he left to her, along with a hefty sum of $4.8 million in liquid cash after taxes along with some other assets. The how’s and the why’s of Hawk’s disconnection with him didn’t matter anymore. Both of her parents were long gone and her world kept spinning. 

Hawk kept the real estate running on the east coast with the same property management her father had just to keep the money flowing in -occasionally making the trip out to check in on things. It was passive income that would keep her afloat should anything happen and that was a security she never had before. 

With some of the money that made its way to Hawk’s bank account, she bought a house near the beach between Smurf’s place and Julia’s. It was a three bedroom on a hill that had a small infinity pool and a wrap around back porch that faced the ocean. The first sunset she witnessed in that house, which was empty minus an air mattress and a duffel bag of clothes, was something she would always remember. 

Hawk didn’t go to college, and she barely graduated high school due to disinterest and the lovely upbringing she had -add on J and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell to go even if she wanted to. 

She was smart, charmingly so, but everything about a classroom setting made her skin crawl in the worst way. What she did have, though, was a passion for plants and so she leaned into it because she could now that finances weren't an issue. 

Opening her own plant nursery wasn’t easy and it consumed every waking second that she wasn’t already giving to J, who had turned three at that point. It was tricky, but doable, and the next thing she knew her business was up, running, and flourishing. The clientele grew exponentially within that first year with weddings, funerals, and other events and within two years Hawk was a well known name in Oceanside with clients coming from all around Southern California. 

Sometimes it felt like she was living someone else’s life because this was not the way hers was supposed to pan out.  Not in the slightest.

Keeping Hawk’s life with the Cody's and her life with Julia and J completely separate was another level of hell on Earth for her in the beginning, especially when she had baby J most of the time. Julia made her swear up and down that no matter what, she wouldn’t speak to them about her and her son and it was a promise Hawk kept wholly. Anytime one of the brothers came into the shop or stopped by Hawk’s house while she had J, she simply said she was watching a friend’s kid. No further explanation. No questions asked. And so that’s who J was to them -Hawk’s friend’s kid, which wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. 

Hawk worked her way through email after email, put her staff schedule together for the next month, dealt with time off requests, and went through order sheets from her suppliers for the next hour when her phone rang on the island.

FSP flashed on the screen. She swiped to answer and put it on speaker.

“This is a collect call from Folsom State Prison on behalf of-“ “Andrew Cody” Pope’s voice interrupted the automated message before it continued. “Do you accept the charges to connect the call?”

“I accept.”

Please like, reblog & comment :)

[etfrin]

⤷❝Don't Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, blood play , knife play, mentions of killing, somnophilia, pussy spanking, impact play (Coryo spanks your ass like twice), riding, mating press, overstimulation if you squint, squirting, dub-con if you squint, fucked up lovesick! reader, fucked up dark! Snow, predator/prey dynamics if you squint, degradation, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), creampie | lmk if I forgot anything

⇢☾Pairing: Ghostface! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: You're trying to outrun Ghostface, you fail and find out that he's your bestie and your love Coriolanus Snow, smut ensues despite the circumstances

⇢☾A/N: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, read this ast your own risk, do not romanticize!

Ps: i love this, depending on the response/feedback I get, I might write more Ghostface! Coryo

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

‘Run, run, run’, your mind kept thinking, as the burn of pushing past the wind and all the halls made your legs go weak. You wanted to tear your ears off so you could mute all the screams that were echoing.

You didn't want to die. Fuck it. You're not gonna die.

One of the two Ghostfaces was chasing you, fast but slower than you. Something in your mind told you that they were playing with you. You were just a prey and the predator was being merciful by letting you live for the last time.

Alarms set off in your mind as you dash into an empty classroom, hoping that he will walk past it. You hide behind the door, praying to whoever is above for safety. Nobody listened.

The door to the classroom was opened and you knew it in your bones that you were doomed. That you had to fight, even if you're terrible at it. The creaking sound of the door sent shivers down your spine, your mind going haywire as heavy steps echoed into the empty.

“You can come out, baby,” he said, as he walked in without closing the door, “otherwise you won't get any kindness from me, bird.” The nicknames felt familiar to you but you pay it no mind. As he walks further into the classroom, you decide to slowly get out of your hiding spot to walk out of the door and take a run from it.

You can do it, can't you?

The answer was a no because even when you managed to take a step outside of the classroom, you were yanked back in, and thrown to the floor. The infamous Ghostface is in front of you with a shiny knife that makes your heart go wild but not in the right way. Fear and adrenaline fill your veins as you look around for any sort of weapon but to no avail.

“Don't you fucking come closer,” you snarl at them. “And what are you gonna do if I do, princess? I don't see a prince charming to protect you here,” he mocks you as he kneels, his hand playing around the with the knife in a rather enticing manner. Your eyes pinned on how he played with the knife around, your breath hitching as you could imagine it carving into your skin not to kill you but. . .

You possibly couldn't blame yourself for your thoughts. You knew you had kinks, but you never had a chance to indulge. Your exes were vanilla and you respected that, you never trusted anyone enough to indulge in your fantasies. Except for one person though by accident, he should be safe in his apartment right now.

Coryo. Coryo was safe, he wasn't aware the friend group was going to break into the academy. Coryo had to be safe. Even if you die at the hands of this stranger tonight, Coryo should be fine. He was never part of the main crew after all. His name from the elitists fell due to his wealth being nonexistent, all that existed in Snow was him and his wit. So there's no possible reason for him to be targeted. Coriolanus was safe.

“Cat caught your tongue, doll?” The masked man taunts you, the voice modulator, his knife inching towards your cheek, the blunt side pressing onto your skin. “Fuck off,” you spit out, trying to crawl away from him but you had no strength left. No fight left in you. Your legs hurt, you can't think, and the rest of your friends are fighting or worse dead.

Tears begin to fill your eyes as you begin to think about them. Last you saw Sajanus, he was getting stabbed, Lucy had run, and Tigris… She was one of the killers, you couldn't wrap your head around that. You looked at Ghostface, a pathetic part of wanting to plead for your life but your ego won out. You spit onto their mask. “Fuck you!” you yelled at them.

A growl sounding feral even through the voice modulator could be heard. Ghostface grabs your jaw with his free hand, “You should know better than to do that, pet,” he smirks. He flipped the knife, the sharp end now digging into your skin, cutting up the layer of the cheek so beads of blood would drag themselves onto the knife.

A small whine left you, but it wasn't out of pain. Your body was readily confusing danger with your desires and there's nothing your mind could do about it. Ghostface lets out a chuckle, “Freaky bitch.” His hand was still grabbing your jaw, your legs pushed down by the weight of his body, there was no way for you to fight (you didn't want to) as he used his knife to pop the buttons of your shirt one by one. Your skin, every inch of your torso and chest was exposed to him.

This should have filled ice in your veins, but fire burned instead, you should have yelled at him to stop, plead, anything instead you tried to nip the urge of rubbing your thighs together. Fuck, this turned you on to no end. The thrill. The danger. You were so tired of being good. So what if you end up dead, at least you'll get a good fuck out of this.

His knife begins to cut fine lines onto your skin, near your bra, dragging along the underside of your clothed breast. Red begins to paint across your skin. “Fuck,” you whispered when the knife dug too deeply near your left hip, a long cut that felt like he was carving out a letter. You take multiple deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at the edge. “Stop!” you whispered, “Just kill me, stop.” The murderer didn't reply.

Something felt eerily familiar about him, the way something was carved onto your skin. You sit up a bit, and he doesn't stop you and your eyes fall to the cut he had finished on your hip. A ‘C’. No, no, no, no.

“Coryo,” you groan, in pain and shock. Tigris being one of the killers, you suppose it made sense. But what assured you was the fact Snow was always marking you up, a finger tracing the letters of his name onto your hand, or the tip of a pen inking you with his initials onto your skin. This time he did it with a knife, something so permanent. It was such a Coryo thing to do.

A soft distorted laugh comes out through the mask before his hand lifts it. Coriolanus Snow with his manic blue eyes and a feral grin, his blonde locks disheveled for once greeted you. “You're going to enjoy this, doll,”

“You- I-” You couldn't form a single thought, how could you? Your Coryo (both of you were nothing, both of you were something. So close to being with each other forever but too afraid to jump that hill) was a murderer, he was going to kill you. A boy whom you watched for years grow up to be a man despite the circumstances, whom you had shared your first kiss with and who was your first love and the one who got away because of your cowardice was going to kill you. You were going to die by his hands. Poets would make it seem romantic, dying at the hands of your love seems like a mercy.

It wasn't.

Anybody but him, you didn't want your love to be tainted with this. You didn't want your blood to be on his hands, not on your Snow. “Anyone but you,” you whispered, “Coryo, no!” You flinch away when he leans in and a glare forms in his eyes. “I won't hurt you, doll. You're one of the good ones. You're my pet,” he whispered, his knife pressing onto the bleeding wound of your skin. “I have trained you so well after all,” he smirks.

“What- what do you mean?” You gasp out, your mind on the edge of your sanity. “You aren't afraid, you aren't screaming, you aren't crying and whining like a bitch like those other motherfuckers, are you?” He grins, “It's because your body knows that I won't hurt you. I have trained you to feel safe around me. I am your savior, doll.” He leans in closer, his hot breath hitting your lips with his every word, “You enjoyed the run. You enjoyed the chase. You don't care about dying, you want to be fucked. You didn't know it was me but I bet your slutty cunt is soaking through those panties anyway."

“Am I lying?” He whispered, “Tell me it's a lie, tell me you aren't wet, that you weren't enjoying this and I'll leave.” You couldn't bring yourself to lie, not when you were lost in those eyes. Is this why people say love ends you? It was a weapon that Coryo knew he held, an invisible dragger against your throat. “I-” You wanted to lie, you wanted too, you swear.

Instead, you close the pathetic excuse of a gap between his lips and yours. Your hands grab at his robe, pulling him in as you kiss feverishly. Like he was the air itself, you couldn't breathe, not when both your lips and your tongues meet. The moan you let out of the contact made you realize you had nothing left to yourself. Your mind, your soul, and your marked body belonged to him. The price for falling for the devil. A price you gladly paid.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his face in a boyish grin you have seen from childhood. “I knew it. You're mine, dove. Mine.” With that he licks a strip of nearly dried blood from your cheek, dragging his tongue onto your cut and letting out a moan from the taste of iron onto his tongue. Your taste. You whimper as he continues to lav at the blood covering your face, cleaning you up like a dog would.

His cold hands find their way to your back, playing with your bra clasp before finally freeing your breasts from their confines. He pulls back, throwing the knife far away from you both (did it matter? He would win in a fight anyway). His palms knead your breasts, as his needy lips keep pressing against yours.

“Is this real?” He asked, breathless. His fingers roll your nipples until they harden under his touch. You moan in response as your nipples keep getting teased, a sharp gasp leaves as he pinches the nipples hard. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” you whimper, “Real. Real. Real. Real. Coryo, I love you!” He lets out a growl as he hears your confession, his attention towards your breasts getting rougher as he drags his tongue across the canvas of your skin, his teeth marking you up wherever they pleased.

“Of course, you do, baby. I made it so,” he whispered, when his mouth meets your taut nipple, his lips wrapping themselves around the bud to suck as one of his hands was on your back and his opposite hand giving your breast rougher attention. Meanwhile, your hands had found their way into his robes, sliding them off so his shirt and his pants were in view. Your fingers immediately begin to unbutton his shirt to the best of their abilities, your mind not sure whether to focus on the task or the delicious heat of his mouth around your sensitive nub.

Coryo deciding to have mercy (he was sick of your uncoordinated hands, how pathetic you were) took it upon himself to undress while being on task. His lips left to find a home in the cuts he made all over his chest, the small cuts stinging from his licks. But the pain was delicious, could it be considered pain at all with how much you loved it? You suppose not. This was a pleasure, all pleasure given to you by a monster.

His toned muscles came into your view, your hands flying to his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders causing him to hiss, he was down to your hips now. Near your mark, his initial carved so beautifully against your skin. He had to admire it, he had no choice but to.

“Such a pretty doll. My canvas, I can't wait to have you all to myself, am gonna mark you so nice,” his eyes meet yours. “You have no choice but to let me.”

He pressed a kiss to the deep cut, the blood from it made a mess on the floor. You suspected the only reason you were conscious was because of adrenaline alone. His lips are red with your blood pressed onto your lips, making you taste yourself. You moan, letting yourself be familiarized with the taste for the future.

Your hands find solace in his blonde locks as his hands unbutton your pants. “Let's see how slutty my pet is,” he whispered. He slides off your pants and underwear in one go, his fingers pressing into your heat, gathering the arousal onto his fingertips. He shakes his head, looking displeased (he was more than pleased inside, don't worry), “What a whore.” He pulls his fingers back and strings of your arousal follow. Then smack, smack, smack. Three slaps were delivered to your pussy making you jolt and moan wantonly. Your eyes widen and your cunt begins to ache, reddening from his actions, your clit puffing up and twitching, needing more.

“Please,” you plead, your voice weak, your vision blurry, you need to feel him inside before you black out. “Please, please, Coryo, baby,” you begin to babble, your mind a mess. You feel a kiss on your forehead. “Let go, dove,” he whispered, “I'm gonna keep you safe.”

You wanted to laugh at his words. His actions were the opposite of safe. It was anything but. However, your body had relaxed in his hold, your mind blanking out.

Your mind comes back to reality after hours. You open your eyes to meet pitch black, your body not on the hard cold floor of the academy classroom but on something soft. A bed. “Coryo,” you called, your voice filled with fear.

“Coryo,” you whispered again, turning your body to meet with another warm body. Coryo.

You let out a sigh of relief, and the pain of the incident now settled into your bones, like a distant buzz. You nuzzle into Coriolanus' chest, one of your arms around him. You realize both of you were naked. Completely utterly bare, skin on skin. Your breath hitches, feeling the heat coursing through your body again as you feel his soft cock onto your thigh, so fucking close to your cunt.

You bite your lip in thought, you want to know what happened after you lost consciousness. Were all your friends dead? Did they escape? Did they find out? You also wanted his cock, impatient because you waited for years, and despite the circumstances you knew when to seize opportunities.

Coryo was a heavy sleeper, it was like he slept with the weight of everything on his shoulder. Weight of his world at least. Plus he would like a treat, right? A man as insane as he is, he wouldn't mind your actions even if it solidifies his opinion of you being an whore for him.

Your fingers trace his chest, your palm feeling his heartbeat, your heavy breaths and his quiet ones fill the room. You take your palm and lick it, lubricating it before you grip his length. Your strokes were hesitant, your mind afraid that he would break up and he would be mad. But you feel his cock harden and you love it. You fucking love it. Your pussy gets wet as time goes by and his cock completely hardens.

You take his cockhead and slowly begin to slide it against your pussy lips. A soft moan escapes you as the tip nudges your sensitive clit. Your slick was coated all over his length as you kept grinding against his cock. And soon enough after a particular nudge, his cockhead gets caught in your entrance. It could have easily been pushed away and you could have continued with your actions. But you are pathetically needy and this was not enough.

A whimper escapes your lips as you begin to guide your hips forward to let the cock inside your cunt, stretching out your walls perfectly. You let out a gasp when he was fully in. His cock twitching inside of you. Now was the hard part, fucking yourself onto his cock without him waking up. Impossible but you didn't care at the moment.

You slowly started to roll your hips, taking his length deep inside of you, your walls squeezing around him. You let out soft moans, trying your best to control the animalistic need to ride his cock. Time passes and this continues, the ache of your cunt not fading but getting worse and worse with the need to cum. The pace wasn't enough, no matter how many ways you rubbed your clit raw wasn't enough.

Deciding to play with the devil, you pushed Coryo's sleeping body onto his back, your pussy holding onto his cock as you straddle him. The angle made it so his cockhead kissed your g-spot making you gasp as stars flood your vision, but it didn't trigger your orgasm, your walls oversensitive but throbbing to cum, cum, cum.

You wanted to wake up Snow, wanted him to fuck you, use you, and love you. But you decided against it as you begin to grind your hips, your swollen clit pressing onto his groomed pubic hair, the sensation making you bite your lower lip to stop a loud moan that would surely wake him up.

You couldn't keep up with this long, you wanted to cum, wanted to be filled with his cum as well. You begin to go faster, letting all sense of control out of the window as you slam down his cock again and again, letting his tip nearly breach your cervix.

Smack.

The sound of his hand meeting the meat of your ass freezes you. The area victim of his hit was reddening. “Why did you stop?” He voices, his tone filled with lust “Ride me, bitch. How needy were you that you couldn't wait, huh? Disgusting, truly. I need to train you better, pet.”

An apology remains to be said as his hand slaps your ass again. “Fuck yourself on me, doll,” he grunts, his tone reeking of impatiently. “Co-coryo,” you whine, your hips finding their rhythm but this time with Coriolanus thrusting upwards into your cunt, disrupting your pace. But neither of you cared, both of your actions borderlining to those of mating animals under a full moon.

His hands hold you down, gripping your hips tightly with his fingers printing onto your skin. It puts pressure on your previous wound, making you cry out and tighten your pussy around him reflexively. You wonder if your wound began to bleed again because the smell of blood began to stink in the air along with the distinct smell of sex.

Your thoughts were proven correct as one of his hands left your hip in favor of licking his palm on which your wound had bled. His thrusts turn frantic as the taste of iron blooms onto his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, Coryo!” You begin to moan, louder and louder as heat begins to coil up on your lower tummy. Your gummy walls get slicker and slicker as your sensitive nerves go overdrive with his thrusts.

He lets out a groan, and in a flash, you are on your back onto the mattress, pressed into it as his mouth latches onto your jaw. His hips rutted into you without a care. “You taste so fucking delicious, I bet your cunt tastes wonderous too, princess,” he moans as his teeth begin to bite into the flesh of your neck, his erratic pace bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands find themselves on his back, your nails scratching his skin and forming red lines which sting but he loves it so much. So fucking much. His hands pushed your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest. He has you folded onto a mating press position. His cock reaching impossible depths inside of you.

A particular thrust of his made his cock fuck into your cervix, it makes you scream from the pleasure and pain of all, your body finally letting go. Your cunt spasming, milking his cock for what it's worth as clear liquid squirted out of you, covering Coryo who merely groans from it all.

He fucks you through your orgasm, his cock hitting all the right angles and as your pussy tightens around his cock just right. He cums, deep and nice into your womb. He continues to roll his hips into you, his pace slowing down as he fucks his hot, thick cum into you.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he pulls out and lays beside you. Both of catching your breaths. He breaks the silence first.

“I am going to tell you everything, doll but let me clean up the wound first.”

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964 @skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness @hansbasement @louweasleymalfoy @lettersandwhiteroses @arzua10 @wotcherpeak @ever8ea @dollfacedalls

[strawberrylore]

I said I was going to write a story based on how I just got my heart broken and I’m pulling a fanfic move and moving back to my hometown.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Written on phone at 3AM, while heartbroken.

Might suck but feedback and constructive critism is always welcomed. Just be nice.

Possibly might do a part 2. Possible happy ending, depending on the mood I’m feeling.

Song on blast as I’m writing this is August.

You Were Never Mine

You knew it was going to happen. You felt it deep inside, you just chose to ignore it. You held on to false hope, thinking that maybe you were just overthinking it. He had started being distant. You thought that maybe he was just busy, or had a lot on his mind.

But you knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You just hadn’t expected that it had something to do with her.

You thought he had gotten over it, but you were wrong. He was wrong.

But what could you do? You can’t force him to stay. You can’t force him to love you the way you love him. You let him go easily.

But your heart still yearns for him. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. He was sent on a mission by Charles. You had planned to tell him that you loved him when he came back. You had wanted to cook him dinner, make something he had always wanted to try.

But when he came back, he didn’t really talk to you. You felt something was off, you had even told your friends back home about it, but you thought it was just that the mission hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to.

But how wrong you were. He had sat you down and told you the heartbreaking news.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was over her, but I was wrong.”

Your world shattered as you heard those words come out of his mouth. Tears instantly clouded your eyes.

“What?”

He looked down and took a deep breath.

“I’m not over her. And I can’t continue on with you if I’m not over her. It’s not fair to you.”

Tears were falling from your eyes. You took a deep breath and putting your head in your hands.

“I’ve been thinking about her. This. For weeks. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to hear this but I can’t drag you along.” He tried to take ahold of your hand but you pushed him away. You sat up abruptly.

You didn’t want to face him. You couldn’t, lest you breakdown even further.

“I appreciate your honesty Logan. I really do. Thank you for letting me know before this could’ve turned much more serious.”

In reality, you and Logan had been seeing each other for 4 months. Before that you had feelings for him. But he was with Jean.

They had ended badly. He didn’t date anyone for months but he had asked you out.

You foolishly thought that she wasn’t going to affect him and his relationships anymore.

“In reality Logan. I felt this coming. Just didn’t expect it to be because of her.”

He looked down, he looked guilty.

“I hope you can figure it out Logan. I’m glad you told me. Don’t worry about me. I should’ve been prepared for it.” Your voice failed you, but you didn’t turn to look at Logan’s reaction.

“Again. I’m so sorry.” Logan stood, trying to step closer to you, but you didn’t let him.

“I know. But that’s okay. I can’t force you to be in a relationship when you aren’t in it fully.” You move further, wanting to step out of his room.

“I wish things were different. I really like you, but I know that if we kept going, I’ll only break your heart.” Logan said. He sounded conflicted. But he knew he had to be honest with you.

“I know what you mean. I’m glad you were honest with me.” You started to head out.

“I wish you luck.”

You don’t know why, but that shattered whatever remaining hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll come to his senses and realize that everything he could ever want was right in front of him. You shake your head, trying to stop yourself from sobbing.

“You as well.”

With that, you stepped out and closed the door behind you.

You went to your room. You didn’t want anyone to see you.

As you got inside, you headed to your bathroom. You turned the sink on and splashed water on your face.

You looked in the mirror, thinking about everything that’s happened. You couldn’t take it anymore and broke down in heavy sobs, falling to the bathroom floor and hugging your knees to your chest.

You wondered why. Why did it always have to be you? You always had the worst of luck finding someone, someone who treated you with respect and love. Then you found the one, only for him to be ripped from you as well.

You couldn’t take it. You needed air.

You got off the floor, you headed to the balcony attached to your room.

You took deep breaths as you tried to calm your crying.

You needed out.

The only reason you had stayed at the mansion was for Logan. You had wanted to go back home, to your friends. To your family. But Logan was the one thing keeping you here.

Now that that’s done, you didn’t have anymore excuses. You had decided right then and there that you were going back home.

[ratridingaskateboard]

Always See Your Face

New girl! Reader x Eddie

Summary: There is a new girl at Hawkins and Dustin will do anything to make sure Eddie doesn't find out.

Warnings: slight sexual innuendos, cursing, mentions of drugs. Y/N is described!

A/N: Hi! This is the first time I have written a fic in a while but I hope you enjoy it! Depending on the feedback I get from this I might write more :) FYI perspectives in this story will change and will be indicated by: --

--

Dustin had always been one to have his friends' best interests in mind. He might have overstepped boundaries at times but he knew what was best for him and his friends. Even though Eddie was several years older than him, he still knew that the last thing Eddie needed in his life was a girlfriend. What if he started hanging out with her and Hellfire stopped existing? What would happen with his band? Everything would go to shit because some girl would grab his attention for 2 seconds.

Dustin found himself every morning before school sitting in the back of Eddie's van with the back doors open. Eddie let them sit in the back and read comics while he would perform his drug deals for the kids who had extracurricular activities after school. Dustin looked up from his X-Men to observe a car he had never seen before. Strange, but not uncommon to see until he saw a figure he had never seen before.

She dawned a black denim jacket adorned with several Metal and Punk bands that Dustin would not be able to recognize but had seen in Eddie's vast cassette collection. Her legs were barely covered by a short red plaid schoolgirl skirt and her chest was wrapped in a Sex Pistols T-shirt. She was bending down to seemingly grab her backpack from her backseat and several football douchebags whistled at the response of seeing her backside. This did not catch her attention though as she quickly grabbed her backpack and placed it on the roof of her car. She glanced at Dustin and he felt himself gulp. Fuck- He was staring at Eddie's dream girl. He frequently heard Eddie go on tangents that no girl in Hawkins had the same interests as him. Now he proved himself wrong- Dustin could prove it with his own eyes. Not only did she have his style but she had a pretty face similar to that of one of the girls from one of Eddie's porn mags that Dustin had unfortunately found in his van. They both shared the same long brown hair and doe-shaped eyes.

What was Dustin going to do? Not only was this girl weirded out by the amount of time Dustin had been ogling her but she could ruin everything. She did not even understand the power she possessed by simply existing in the wrong place and at the wrong time. He had to do everything in his power to make sure neither of them saw each other.

Dustin's feet started to jog in her direction as she had already begun her strut to the front entrance of the school. Before Dustin could get the chance to tap her shoulder, she swiftly turned to face him, discomfort shown in her face.

"Hey man, I would really enjoy it if you could leave me alone." She barked.

"No no no! I don't mean anything bad by following you. I'm sorry for staring at you earlier but um... Oh! The principal had actually sent me to give you a tour of the school and to show you where your classes are!" Dustin had secured a good enough lie to not seem like the creep he was presenting himself to be.

Her eyes widened and her gaze softened.

"Oh, okay." She smiled and Dustin could feel himself getting more anxious knowing that she was that pretty when she smiled.

The bell began to rang, signaling to every student that it was time for Hell to begin. Dustin heard a familiar voice call out to Mike and he swiftly grabbed her hand and pulled her into the school, making sure to avoid any possibly common route Eddie normally took.

"Can I see your schedule?" Dustin asked, giving out his hand eagerly.

It seemed like she could hear the annoyance in Dustin's words and swiftly pulled out the crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. Dustin quickly looked over the paper and let out a sigh of relief. Even though she was a senior, she did not seem to have a single class with Eddie most likely because her classes were for the more advanced students.

"Okay, Y/N. This way!"

Dustin guided her to her first classroom, Mr. Stadford's Physics class, and said that he would meet up with her after her second. After the first period was over, Dustin ran to meet up with Y/N and to make sure he was able to beat her before she left the classroom. Yes, Eddie and her shared similar hallways for classes but Eddie had a tendency to be late to each and every class he went to. Alongside this, Dustin made sure that she was always early to her classes. This cycle repeated until lunch.

--

Y/N had found herself bound to the little curly-headed boy. She shouldn't say boy he was only a couple years younger than her. Moving was hard but going to a new school was even harder. Her parents' divorce could not have been more sudden and even though he had been a tad bit too eager, she really appreciated Dustin's kindness.

She frowned after exiting her third-period class to find no Dustin. Guess she would have to find the cafeteria by herself or simply follow the crowd that had corralled its way down the hall.

Once she entered the cafeteria, she felt the eyes on her, all over her. Thankfully, there were plenty of tables that had not recognized that fresh blood had entered their school. She saw a familiar head of curls bobble in laughter and she started her stride in his direction.

Once she had gotten to the table, it seemed to be filled with only boys all wearing the same T-shirt Dustin was wearing. She assumed it must be some sort of club he had not introduced her to yet. The majority of the boys had noticed her walk up to the table and she could tell they were not often approached by women. The only ones who hadn't noticed were Dustin and an older boy with long shaggy brown hair.

"Hey," She put her hand on Dustin's shoulder and her moved her head down to his level. "I know you showed me around and I might be asking for too much but is it alright if I sit with you?"

A look of dread filled Dustin's face as he looked up at her from his lunch. She had automatically assumed that he had felt bad for not escorting her to the lunch room.

"It's okay! I found the lunch room just fine." She rubbed his shoulder to put him at ease and sat down next to him.

There was nothing but silence.

She had felt as if she had sat at the wrong table and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Dustin was still agape and didn't seem to have changed his expression even after her reassurance. She turned to view the other boys at the table. They stared at her with a sense of confusion and wonder but all too awkward to speak first.

Finally, she turned to the boy sitting at the end of the table. His gaze softened when she gazed at him. His eyes were wide also in shock from a stranger sitting at their table but there was something different in his expression that she couldn't quiet read. Embarrassment? No. Confusion? No. Longing? Maybe but not quite.

This silence was cut short by a food tray plopping on the other side of Dustin.

"Jesus, that line was long!" A boy with a bowl cut sighed.

"Where are you guys so quiet?" He looked around in disbelief but immediately found the source when he spotted the brunette sitting on the other side of Dustin.

"Hey." She waved.

--

A/N: Depending on how things go with this I will definitely continue this as a series. Lemme know your thoughts!

[dunmeshistash]

Interview to celebrate the opening of the Ryoko Kui Exhibition

About Delicious in Dungeon: Story making

Q1. Your first long-running series has lasted for about 9 and a half years. Has it been different from your previous experience drawing short stories?

A1. Compared to short stories, the series has been easier because the same characters appear each time. But I was surprised to find that I got tired of drawing the same characters too many times.

Q2. You have said before that the overall structure of the story was decided before serialization began, but how much of that had you communicated to your editor? Also, what kind of communication did you have during the series production?

A2. The goal was something we discussed and had decided on from the beginning. The goal itself was simple, but the path to get there was more difficult and took longer than imagined.

Q3. Regarding the overall story concept and development, did you write out or put anything down in writing (such as the plot)?

A3. I did, but it was simple.

Q4. Did you come up with the dishes based on the monsters you wanted in the story? Or did you come up with the monsters based on the dishes?

A4. It depended on the story, but usually the story came first followed by the monsters or food. I feel like that was most often the order.

Q5. As you progressed in drawing the series, what elements of the characters, story, or world expanded or grew in the most unexpected way?

A5. Nothing particularly unexpected perhaps. When I used to draw web manga, I tended to think up inconsequential settings. So, from the beginning I tried to restrain myself as much as possible and not expand too much. I was surprised when my editor said "Let's expand it more," in the second half of the series.

Q6. "Delicious in Dungeon" starts with a relatively simple setting, but as the series and the labyrinth exploration continues, the map slowly expands little by little in the readers' minds. It becomes more three-dimensional, revealing the secrets of the world, and taking on a multilayered structure. Are there any sources that you used as a reference, or which influenced you in creating this multilayered structure?

A6. A long time ago, when I was working on my personal web manga (fantasy), I drew it however I wanted, thinking that "Only people who can read this will read it," but I regularly received feedback that it was "unreadable", so I tried to make it as easily. accessible as possible.

Q7. The series combines many elements, including "fantasy", "gourmet", "battles", and "puzzle solving", but I think it's also important that it is a "comedy" which makes people laugh. Could you let us know if you have a creative commitment towards depicting humor?

A7. My hopes are that I can make it fun for people to read.

[page 5]

About Delicious in Dungeon: Drawing manga

Q1. Please tell us about the drawing tools you currently use, both digital and analogue.

A1. In terms of analogue tools, I use a light box, a G pen, a round pen, and a brush pen. And for digital, I use CLIP STUDIO PAINT and a Wacom LCD tablet. Screentone pasting is always done on the computer, so ultimately it all ends up as a digital manuscript.

Q2. Do you have any rules or reasons for using digital and analog separately?

A2. I'm always looking for ways to draw better and save time, so the exact approach is probably different for almost every chapter. Personally, I feel that analogue methods create more appealing lines, but I feel like digital saves time, so maybe I'll do a digital rough sketch and do the inking by hand… I might have been using a G pen, and maybe I'll try out a turnip pen, or this time I'm short on time so I'll draw it entirely digitally, but with digital I can redo it over and over, so maybe analogue is still faster, and so on and so forth. I'm indecisive in this way and so haven't developed a consistent process.

Q3. I understand that you prepare 3D data for your assistants to draw the backgrounds. What kind of data did you make for "Delicious in Dungeon" ?

A3. You could call it 3D, but it's not a proper model, just something to help with the rough sketching. I line up cubes to share the perspective and sense of scale, and they use it as a reference.

Q4. At the beginning of the series, the characters and backgrounds were somewhat simply drawn, and it seems like they became richly detailed over the progression of the story. What was your intention behind using these different styles?

A4. It's simply that my technique isn't stable. I thought I'd put a lot of effort in at the start. I remember being confused when my editor asked me to add more in to the drawing, and I wondered "Where…?"

Q5. Thinking about the food, were there any menu illustrations that you were particularly satisfied with, or which you struggled with?

A5. I've never liked my own food illustrations. But the times when I read other people's manga and thought "That looks delicious," I think it's been more an influence of the movement, the staging, and the situation than the drawings.

Q6. For the world maps and the terrain of each continent, did you refer to any maps of the real world? I feel like the shape of the 'island' is similar to the shape of Fukuoka Prefecture or Kyushu.

A6. I didn't reference any specific geography, but I did try to put thought into things like whether a developed city would be near a river or the sea, and what the coastline would look like. I'm pleased if it feels similar to a real place, because it means my interpretation was pretty accurate.

About Delicious in Dungeon: Other

Q1. Which is your favorite monster?

A1. Nightmare.

Q2. I'm sure you have received a lot of feedback from readers in countries and regions outside of Japan. Please tell us if there was anything from them that made you happy, was unexpected, or which made a lasting impression on you.

A2. When you play foreign games, there are times when you think "Why did they translate it into Japanese like that?" But having been on the side of having something translated, I've realized some things are unavoidable, or endless, and there are many things that don't matter either way from the author's perspective, so it was interesting.

About Ryoko Kui's short story collections and herself

Q1. Dragons are a consistent and important motif in your work. Was there any particular work or experience which inspired this? Also, are there points about drawing dragons which you find interesting or have had to work hard on?

A1. It's less about liking dragons, and more that I'm interested in the worlds in which dragons exist. When I draw dragons, the depiction in itself has a sweet feeling to it. I have never had a pet reptile, so I don't have a very good understanding of them.

Q2. Unomiya University in your story "The dragon's school is on top of the mountain" has a Faculty of Dragons, Department of Environmental Studies, and Department of Technology Studies, and a Faculty of Veterinary Medicine. If you were to enroll in the university, which department or faculty would you like to enter?

A2. I probably wouldn't be accepted….

Q3. The collection includes a short story staged as an essay manga. Are you a fan of essay manga? Please tell us about any genres of essay manga that you like.

A3. I love all kinds of essay manga. I read them often.

Q4. If you were to make your own game, what kind of game would you like to make?

A4. I prefer being a player when it comes to games.

Q5. When did you first start drawing illustrations (doodles)?

A5. I don't exactly remember when I first drew a picture, but I think I started drawing manga around the fourth or fifth grade of elementary school. in my notebooks and had my friends read them.

Q6. What is the most fun part about drawing manga?

A6. Every part is fun and hard in its own way.

Q7. Please tell us if there is anything you "just can't stop no matter what".

A7. My procrastination habit.

Q8. Could you please tell us if there's something you want to draw now?

A8. I've been working continuously since the serialization, so I'd like to take about 2 to 3 months to just draw whatever I want.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Handle Critique

I’ve got to admit, I wish I was one of those beatific saints that could take critique with a grateful smile. Instead, I am constantly suppressing a horrible little gremlin at the back of my head hissing at anything from legit plot critiques to grammar corrections. I’m well aware I used that comma wrong, GOD.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very good at suppressing that gremlin, but the little bastard is still there. He exists because even though your brain knows critique can help, it also knows you worked damn hard on the thing being critiqued, and goddamnit, isn’t that enough???

Anyway, here are some tips on getting that gremlin to shut the hell up.

It is okay to be upset. You worked really hard on this thing, and now someone’s gone and pointed out all the things that suck about it. You cannot control how you feel about one thing or another, but you can allow yourself to feel that way and let it pass through you. Let your critique partner you’re taking time to reflect on it, and go for a walk. Do something else. Let those feelings pass through you before you get back to the page.

Give yourself time. Don’t feel like you need to correct things right away (unless they are minimal grammar tweaks). Some pieces of feedback might take awhile to sink in, especially when you’ve got a whole novel to wrestle through. Set it aside, think about something else for a week or so, and get back to it when you’ve reset.

Get a second opinion and/or ducky friend. It can be very hard to tell the difference between good and bad feedback sometimes. Someone who means very well could give feedback that just doesn’t work for you, and someone who doesn’t give two shits could have spotted that fatal flaw right away. You can bring in a real third party or just make use of the old rubber duck technique, where you talk through the issue with a friend or a Naruto poster telling you to Believe it. Working it out out-loud is a really effective technique to figure out what needs fixing and what doesn’t.

Guide critique-givers toward the feedback you want. I, a person who prefers straightforward fantasy and sci-fi, cannot give the fine-tooth points on how a romance novel should work. However, I can give feedback on what works for me and what doesn’t story-wise. Giving your beta reader or critique partner a list of questions to look for will help avoid vague feedback based on how they don’t like the genre. There are many ways to do this, but consider using the following as a base to tailor your own questions:

Did you get a good sense of the setting? Did the worldbuilding make sense to you?

Was this story clear? Where there any parts that seemed confusing?

What characters did you like and why? What characters didn’t you like?

Did any parts of the story feel slow or repetitive?

Did the beginning draw you in? Did the middle keep you engaged? Did the ending feel satisfying?

If you were to write [insert plot point here], what would you do differently?

Again, all of the above questions are up for debate depending on your goal, but we are rarely taught how to give good feedback, and a guided feedback session would work better for you than a free-for-all.

Figure out what kind of advice doesn’t work for you. It is really hard to give good feedback sometimes, even with guided questions. It can also be really hard to figure out why some feedback doesn’t click with you, and that’s a matter of digging deep to figure out what you really want. You may lean toward characters who are horrible fuck-ups, but your partner prefers more steady characters who always strive to do the right thing. Your characters, therefore, may never click with this person, no matter how much they want to help you. And that’s okay! Figuring out where your critique partner is coming from can help you figure out what parts of their feedback isn’t working for you. Sometimes the only thing you can do is thank them and move on, but you might also want to guide them to focus more on the plot or the worldbuilding when looking at your work.

And last, don’t focus on grammar. It’s great if they point that out, but if you end up changing everything, trying to fix that first is a waste of your time. Grammar tweaks last, plot points first.

And, I dunno, give yourself a treat to get that horrible little mind gremlin something else to focus on. Sometimes patting those bad feelings on the head and sending them away can help way more than ignoring them.

[spoiledblogif]

Join the Patreon for chapter demos, shorts, and early chapter releases.

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This is the development blog for the interactive fiction called "The Second Sight", which you can find on itch.io at the link above!

This is my first IF project, although I've been writing original stories and fanfiction for years.

I've included the story description and character profiles from the itch page below the cut.

This blog will be a combination of development info, images and music that I associate with the story, and other musings.

Fair warning, there might be spoilers from the latest chapters here, so I recommend catching up before reading too far.

Asks and submissions are always open.

LAST UPDATED: 03/22/25 (Chapter 7)

(Content and trigger warnings at the bottom.)

You’re an urban legend in a county full of them.  When you were thirteen, you were found passed out in the road by one of the local cops. No missing persons report. No fingerprints on file. No memories. Just a name.

Oh, and some bizarre psychic powers.  You're content with simplicity. You like your isolated cabin and helping Carter track down missing persons.  You know that in theory there are more people like you out there, but you've never wanted to look behind the curtain to find out.

However, with the disappearance of a local teen named Casey Powell and a recent attempt on your foster father's life, your serene, isolated life comes abruptly to its end and a new chapter begins.

✤✤✤

The Second Sight is an urban fantasy story, where you step into the role of a psychic whose strange powers have always separated them from others. Those same powers will drag you down the rabbit hole and into a world that is both familiar and foreign to everything you know. A world filled with magic, witches, fae, demons, and the unknown.

You can immerse yourself in the story by customizing your protagonist's general appearance, choosing how they interact with others, and whether you lean on logic or intuition to problem solve. There are three love interests planned (more may be added depending on player reception and feedback), the genders of which will be selected by the player upon meeting them.

Characters

Jacob Carter

Age: Late forties

Race: Human. Definitely.

Gender: Male

Temperament: Carter radiates grizzled, old bastard energy and despite being the least paternal person in the world, he is your adoptive father. While harsh and aloof on the surface, he is also fiercely protective of you and has bent over backwards to give a decent life to a kid that isn't even his. He doesn't talk about his life before coming to Herman County and you haven't asked him, though that might change soon enough...

✤✤✤ Renard/Rowan

Age: Appears to be in their late twenties or early thirties

Race: Human. Maybe.

Appearance: Tall and slender, white-blonde hair, and gold eyes.

Temperament: Playful and witty, talking to R always feels like a game of cat and mouse and you can never be sure which role is yours. Part sad clown, part trickster, and always maddening to work with, the only things you can be certain of with R is that they probably know what they're doing. Everything else is up in the air.

✤✤✤

Zander/Zora

Age: Late twenties/Early thirties

Race: Human. Mostly.

Appearance: Umber brown skin, black locs, grey eyes 

Temperament: Gentle and resolute, Z isn't what you imagine when you think of an agent of the mysterious Magic and Anomalies Bureau. Kind, soft-spoken, and exceedingly polite, Z is Carter's former apprentice and something about them puts the old man on edge.

✤✤✤

Unknown aka "The Kestrel"

Age: ???

Race: Definitely not human.

Appearance: Tall, beautiful, elegant, with black hair and blue eyes.

Temperament: The Kestrel is a complete unknown. It's impossible to say whether they are a lethal ally or deadly enemy, but either way they are a powerful dreamwalker. You don't know how long they've been watching you, but you're willing to bet that it's been longer than you're comfortable with.

✤✤✤

This story contains sexually suggestive material, violence, talk of abductions and abuse, and mature language. Not recommended for those under 18.

(All visual elements were made using Canva's free assets.)

Join me on Tumblr @spoiledblog

Join me over on Patreon

Join the discord

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Pornstar! Sandor - Headcanons

not my pics

Warning: big hairy man, mention of twitter, porn star, reader is female, masturbating, use of sex toy, people being thirsty online, voice making people cum, big dick Sandor.

A/n: I want him so bad. Depending on the feedback, I might do a second part, including the reader. Enjoy-L

Pornstar! Sandor goes by the name The Hound and is only online. He never shows his face, only his body. The people who knew him, knows why. 

Pornstar! Sandor has a following of 1.2 million people on Twitter. They are all infatuated by his big body and big hands. The comments on his page are filled with people asking him to destroy them with his 8.5in dick. They ask him to choke them with his big hands. 

Pornstar! Sandor has a big and strong chest that’s covered with dark coarse hairs, it tracks all the way down to his belly and hits the jackpot below, between his legs. 

Pornstar! Sandor is a lumberjack on his days off when he’s not jacking off in front of millions. He doesn’t cum for days until he records a new video. He gives with the people want and they want to see him blow a huge load. 

Pornstar! Sandor sometimes does videos with only his voice! His voice is deep and rough. “Touch that fuckin cunt for me, little bird.” He even throws some for the guys too and they become feral for him even more. They want a big hairy daddy. “Open your ass boy, let me see that hole.” He groans and moans drives the people crazy.

Pornstar! Sandor has videos of him using a pussy sleeve, his followers get jealous when he fills the toy up with his cum. He even shows it to the camera, showing his audience his thick and white cum dripping from the abused hole of the toy. 

Pornstar! Sandor's profile picture on Twitter is of him sitting on his dark green couch, with his legs spread wide. He’s manspreading and his flaccid cock is hanging between his legs. His thick arms are crossed over his hairy chest and his beard is long enough that it can be seen in the picture. 

Pornstar! Sandor is his own boss, he has had offers to tons of companies in the porn industry. He wants to be on his own, dealing with his own money and creating content when he wants to. Plus he didn’t want to deal with anyone because of his scarred and burned face. 

Pornstar! Sandor rarely looks at his DMs, mostly because it’s just messages of people wanting to fuck him and tell him how hot he is. He just shakes his head because they won’t say it once they see his face. 

Pornstar! Sandor is in bed, he can’t go to sleep so he decides to go on Twitter and look at his DMs. Scrolling a few messages he stops when he sees a message. It’s not too sexual but a simple, “Hello, The Hound. I hope you have an amazing day today as always thank you for uploading today's new video. I always finish with a smile on my face.” 

Pornstar! Sandor clicks on your profile and he bites his bottom lip when he sees your picture. You are a sight for sore eyes, a pretty thing. Your smile and your eyes, he’s looking at the top you’re wearing. He looks at your page to see other pictures of you. He’s breathing heavily as he continues to scroll on your page. 

Pornstar! Sandor glances over to look at his clock on the nightstand by his bed. It’s 3am and he wonders if you are awake or even in the same time zone as him. He clicks on the little envelope across your profile picture. 

Pornstar! Sandor hits send when he writes back to you and goes back to your page. All he can do is wait, right? Nah, he’s already naked, that’s how he sleeps. He grabs his cock with his right hand as he uses your picture to get off. 

[cripplecharacters]

I am writing a fanfic about a character known as pure vanilla cookie from a cookie run game who is implied to be visually impaired/blind. And may I ask if it is okay if I write her flower wand as a cane. While the character is still visually impaired, but using the staff as a sort of cane and removing the whole 'fixing disability trope' and i've been wondering if it okay to use the flower staff as cane?

Hello, thank you for your ask!

(Edit: this post has been corrected! Thank you so much to @askablindperson for your feedback!)

Note: I myself am not blind but I did talk with another mod about the ask. If any of our blind/visually impaired followers want to chime in feel free! Also I don't know a lot about Cookie Run lore, so sorry if i get something wrong because I'm going off of images of the character.

I think it's great to change a canonically disabled character so they experience their disability rather than getting magically cured, however looking at photos of the staff there are some things about it that would need to change, and some things you should consider.

I think the main issue with using their wand as a cane would be the flower on top. Real world canes are held at the handel with the top pointed at their stomach, and I'd imagine having a large, bulky flower on top would make it harder to handle. If the flower were to be able to move out of the way or shrink it might be easier to use.

The staff is also much taller than a white cane. Long canes are typically a bit taller than shoulder level, while Pure Vanilla Cookie's staff seems to reach well over their head. This would make it difficult to use unless it can shrink.

The bottom of the cane looks curved, similar to a bundu basher tip (although actual bundu bashers have angles instead of being completely rounded), which are ment for traveling in unpaved, natural areas. This type of tip would make sense for a character that's in nature a lot, but not for a character that lives in a well paved city. I'd recommend looking up cane tips and what they're used for depending on where Pure Vanilla Cookie lives. Cane tips also get worn after a lot of use, so unless the staff can regrow its tip it's going to need to be able to be taken off and be changed.

Another thing to consider is how recognizable it is as a white cane. Signaling blindness can be useful in situations such as a driver knowing a blind person is at the crosswalk and they might start walking before the light changes, it lets other people know to be more careful. This is also why identification canes (or id canes) exist, they're canes that don't help with navigation but instead let other people know that while they do have remaining vision they're still blind.

If you wanted to make the staff a cane you'd have to change a lot about it, or give Pure Vanilla Cookie both the staff as well as a white cane (or a guide dog/animal [if they don't have dogs in CR] or a guide).

I'd also recommend looking through our #white canes and #blindness tags, as well as blogs focused on blind characters such as blindbeta! Feel free to ask again if you have any more specific questions about portraying a blind person or tropes.

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

[accardi-x]

ENA: Beggers Can't be Choosers

Intricate yourself upon the platter. Ravel and unravel before peering eyes. To seek and salvage what no use was done. To have and repent, give the choice to none but one.

Might have mentions of stalking, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, insinuation of addiction, unhealthy dependency, toxic dynamic, yandere themes, Murder, etc.

If you're uncomfortable with anything listed above, then I advise not to read further. If you wish to continue know that you've been warned.

—

The waters were cold you know.

Floating like a weightless body above the vast of many, as they drifted further from what they'd once known. Their eyes face towards the stars, as it's light becomes an illusion that there is still life in them.

Mouths that were once fed were now jarred open; having water contaminated with their own blood inside. Their bodies were sunken and hallowed, no longer plump and full.

Clothes torn and ripped apart, having their naked bodies exposed as vultures ate away their once-soft skin.

They never wanted to rot away, not like this. They had a life cut out for them to follow, but the sea wanted them young. They wanted to see life but a barrel was met instead.

Their hands ached for the feeling of warmth, wanting something to hold onto for they didn't want to die alone. But even the nurses who played as mothers couldn't tie that desire.

They begged for air to course through their lungs; as there was no desire for heaving. They wanted to keep their blood warm, to have their stomachs full, to have the ability to run away.

But God wanted a show.

So they drifted further into the waters, rotting away from a time that was evitable. Being stuck in a cycle. A cycle that they had no voice in.

And the waters will pull them deeper. To swallow their existence as if they never lived.

But even then, when their body couldn't move, their flesh and bones used to feed when they themselves were hungry, their eyes forced to look at the freedom the stars have they still hoped that God would change his mind.

They begged inside the husk of their body to live.

They hoped that God wasn't so cruel to leave them here. Alone.

Although the sea was ready to pull them in the dark they wished for a few more seconds with the light. For they were afraid.

When the vultures gnawed on their skin; Its beak, although sharp, was painless. As their minds thought that if the vultures found them, then maybe a person would, too.

So they begged and begged, and begged, and begged until their consciousness slipped into the sea.

But hope was condescending.

Until someone grabbed their hand and pulled them to the docks.

Word Count: 390

• Hasn't been checked for grammar, nor has it been proofread.

• I'll also like to mention that English isn't my first language so I apologize if there is any error in my writing.

- This may become a series if it receives positive feedback so do tell me if you like the direction it's going.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Breaking Their Trust

Requested: Hello, I hope you're doing good :> could I request something for the boys with a reader who accidentally break their trust ? (I'm in the mood for some angst 💀) Take your time, and don't forget to rest ! - @stinkysam

Requested: please write preference for the boys + homelander reaction to your betrayal Thank you 💓 - anon

A/N: I hope you don't mind my loves, I combined the requests just because the posts would be really similar :) I live for angst!!!! Thank you for requesting! I really hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

Butcher was kind of expecting it. After all he's done to the group, turning your back on him wasn't such a huge surprise. He's been an ass lately. Selfish and erratic and stubborn and generally unkind. Going against him was your way of showing him his behavior was unacceptable. He can't blame you. He knows what he's been like, he knows he's basically unrecognizable, but he has a good reason for it. He's never felt the need to explain himself to others, especially not you, so even if he thinks it's all justified, you have no idea. He knows you have never agreed with him on anything, but this is just too far. Both of you have gone too far. Because you're going against Butcher, the rest of your friends are behind you in your decisions. They all agree with you. He's lost it. It's the right decision to betray him.

Hughie can't believe it. Butcher, he would have guessed. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last time that he's betrayed the group. But you? He wants to ask you why. He wants to know why you did what you did. There's gotta be a reason, a good reason, something to rationalize your decisions. No one else thinks so, though. No one else believes you had a reason. And they tell him this. No one wants to hear the excuses you have for why you did what you did. Only Hughie does. He doesn't care if it's silly or stupid or whatever. He just wants to know why. It kills him that you did this, but it hurts even more than you might not even have a reason. You might very just have done it because you did, because you felt like it.

Annie is speechless. You try so hard to explain yourself, why you went behind their backs for your own self interest, but she doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to see you. You beg her to listen, but she's done. She trusted you with everything and instead of returning the favor, you used it against her. She's sick. Sick of the betrayal, sick of you, sick of idiotic justifications you've come up with. She refuses to acknowledge you, ordering you to get out, to leave and never come back. You never meant to hurt her. You never meant to break her trust. You truly thought what you were doing was the right thing. She couldn't and wouldn't understand. You could explain until you were blue in the face, she wouldn't hear it. She was done with you.

M.M. isn't shocked. You've always done what you wanted when you wanted. You've always gone about your business without thinking about others, even those closest to you. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't hurt. He thought, he hoped, after everything you've gone through, you would at least come to him first before deciding to do something so crazy, something so selfish. You hurt your friends in the process, all of them reeling from your mistakes. He's one of them, though he tries not to show it. He has to be there for everyone else, he has to be safe and solid and dependable. It's up to him to show them that there is still someone they can trust, someone who will take care of them and look after them and be there no matter what. You fucked up. You burned bridges. You turned someone the kindest people against you for reasons he can't understand. It's up to him to clean up your mess.

Frenchie is in denial. You would never do anything like this. You would never turn your back on them, on him, no matter the reason. But you did! Everyone is trying to tell him, to get it through to him, to make him see that this version of you in his head no longer exists. He's more than hurt. Butcher would have done this, everyone was basically expecting it at this point, but not you. Never you. Frenchie begs you to explain. There's gotta be a good reason, right? There's gotta be something that made you turn on everyone you loved and cared for. It crushes him that you don't. Your justification is flimsy at best. You did it out of your own self interest. What could be more selfish than that? He refuses to believe it, coming up with fantastical reasons as to why you betrayed them. He could imagine all he wanted, it didn't help at all. You still did what you did.

Kimiko shuts down. After everything you've gone through, together and separately, she truly thought the bond and trust you had would never break. That it would last forever. You were in this together, you promised. And yet, you did this. She doesn't want to believe it. She doesn't want it to be true. When you try to talk to her, to explain yourself, she shuts you out. She shuts everyone out. If she can't depend on you, trust you, the most important person in her life, then is there anyone she can rely on? She comes to the conclusion that no one is safe. No one is worth trusting. She goes back to her old ways, blocking everyone out. The Boys aren't sure what to do, how to help. You were the one with all the answers and now you're gone. Shut out.

Bonus! Homelander thinks you're dead to him. If you don't disappear quick enough, you will be. He was convinced Webweaver was the mole. So, he got rid of him. Eliminated the problem. But the issues didn't stop after he died. It was after you left, quietly, silently, nonchalantly, that Sage pointed out the mole wasn't Webweaver or A-Train or even Ashley, it was you. All along it was you. Sage told him not to overreact, to think this through, that this was all part of her plan, but Homelander was outraged. He would hunt you down and kill you as slowly and painfully as possible. You didn't just hurt his feelings, you betrayed him. You disrespected your friendship, your relationship, your bond. You lied right to his face and he had no idea. Now you would pay. He didn't care what Sage had planned, he would make you realize just what you've done to the most powerful Supe in the world.