#vic's writing

[victoriantreecat]

Blackberry Winter

Lets imagine there are blackberry bushes along the walls of dogwarts.

They're brambles, good for defences, good at guarding the high walls. Early on, they gave some extra food for the villagers, so they didn't get tired of the carrots they farmed. In the hot months the shiny fruits gleamed and glowed against the thick foliage, picked at by birds but still abundant.

Their juice was sweet and stained the lips of all. The king and his hand gathered baskets and brought the delicious morsels as gifts to their brothers in arms, all feasting on a rich harvest, a bountiful banquet.

But the cold- a sudden snap, a dogwood winter, it came and it killed.

The night winter came, the blackberries froze.

The vines sickened in the sharp cold. Frost shrunk the leaves, stripped the branches bare, but for their thorns. The birds had once spread the delicate seeds, but now the food waned and the birds went.

The chill was deep. Bone deep, although the king never seemed to feel it- then again his skin was cool as stone. Little comfort came but for nights the by campfires and the cold comfort of the distant stars.

Ember baked loaves grew thinner and carrots rotted under piles of snow. The moon stole away her sister, snow-filled clouds smothered her. The banners stained the drifts a bloody mess.

But perhaps in all this someone had the foresight to take some berries, pat them dry, and place them by the furnace to store. Let's say the Hand tucked some away for when the chill sunk too deep, for a rainy day, for a hoped-for celebration feast.

It's in this heart stopping cold he takes them again, takes pine needles from the bitter slopes, takes honey from the precious stores below. He soaks them in the snow-melt, strains them gently out, makes tea- adding pine and wild mosses, boiling 'til it lightly simmers. He grinds the renewed berries, and purple the juice runs down- scooped up in careful fingers, mixed with honey, mixed with salt.

Now on ember baked loaves, flat and dusted with dark soot, he spreads the makeshift jam, a violet stain vivid, soaking through spongy bread. As purple as the sky is bright when it peeks through stormy clouds. As deep as the lasting look into the eyes of a lover. As rich as silken cloth with royal Sidonian dye, trimmed with gold.

And of course, a royal treat, then it must be shared with kings.

So to the King the Hand brings this secret delight. A sweet, staining surprise that, perhaps, brings a smile to the bloodied face.

A dipped finger, touched to the tongue, reveals the honey-bright and ambrosia-sweet taste. The berry's flavour entwining itself among their senses, blossoms out in renewed life. And the dark, swirling tea brings a bittersweet warmth to their bones. Like red infused with green, with blue, the warming tea diffuses through their worn out limbs, replacing, just so briefly, all their fear.

Let us imagine tender words suffused with love that dance in the curling breaths they speak into the winter air. Dwell on the gentleness of these who live, surrounded by rock and ice and sand and snow.

Let's imagine the fingertips, warmed by wooden cups, clutching for more. Eyes drooping in sweet sleep. Cups lying long empty. Reams of poetry spilling from purple-stained lips. Soft humming songs echoing off the harsh walls.

The slowly fading, lingering taste of blackberries.

And all this while still the brambles snarl around the frozen stones below the ramparts, and the cold digs it's claws closer to their hearts.

[themotherofhorses]

simon riley x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. soft smut. breeding kink.

On the continuation of my “Soft!Ghost” ideas: 

Imagine lovemaking with Simon. 

Simon has you—his pretty girl—tucked inside his bedroom, sandwiched between him and the mattress. Right in his arms, where you rightfully belong. 

(In his arms, you’re protected. Safe. Nothing could possibly ever harm you.)

Of course, the intensity of sex differs with his moods. On some days, he is a delicious mix of dominant and aggressive, claiming your body with a certain roughness that reflects how possessive he is over you. But, on other days, all Simon wants is to possess your heart and soul, in some desperate frenzy to stake his claim over them. 

You were made for Simon. In his eyes, that is the truth. How could it not be? Every inch of you—from the curve of your hipbones and the tanalizing way your bottom lip shines with a fresh layer of gloss to how your beautiful, doe eyes twinkle anytime he is near—is all his. You’re irresistible.

And when you lay beneath him, completely bare, ripe for the taking, whining out for his touch, what else could he possibly do than worship you? 

One arm keeps him steadily up, towering over you; the other cradles your soft cheek against his palm. His thumb strokes along your cheekbone. He’s gentle, smiling, even chuckling. “I’ve got you, baby,” he purrs in that deep, hoarse accent. “Shhh, darlin’. C’mon, lemme take care of ya.” 

“ Si…”

Your body stiffens as Simon gently slides himself into your pussy, until he’s buried balls deep; he lets out a breathless “fuck” as you tighten around his cock, followed by a low groan. “Perfect for me, aren’t ya?” He pauses, leaning to kiss you for a moment.

“That’s my good girl,” he mumbles against your lips, letting his tongue entangle with yours. “So fucking good for me.” 

His hips slap against yours at a slow, gentle pace—matching his thrusts. “C’mon, baby, fuck.” You whine in response, arching your back, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders while your pretty, teary eyes hold his gaze. 

“ Simon…! ” 

Simon chuckles, takes one of your hands in his, and flattens it against your lower stomach. “Feel that, love?” You gasp, nodding. There is an unmistakable bulge in your belly; you can feel it. “Aye, that’s me.” Your cunt takes him so unbelievably well; he cannot stop pistoning his cock in and out of you. 

God, he thinks, you were made for him.

You were fucking made for me. 

The only thing that could possibly be better than this is—

“Lemme make you a mum,” Simon suddenly says, groaning. “God, baby, need to make you one.” His fingers find your nipple, pinching it before rubbing it back and forth, causing you to squeal. “—make these pretty tits all swollen. You’d be so bloody gorgeous, love.” 

Simon wants a family, so fucking badly. He is beyond desperate for one  — ever since he looked into your eyes for the first time, and saw his future staring back. At the time, the feeling was confusing and disorienting….

…now, it all made sense.

“Yeah?” Mid-thrust, he kisses you again, swallowing your gasps and tiny whimpers as he splits you open on his cock. “You gonna let me make you a mum?” Another thrust. “C’mon, baby, use your words, my girl.” 

You nod, unable to muster up a response to your husband; instead, your mouth falls open—pretty, pink lips dropping into a perfect “o." “P-Please, Si…” your soft, little voice whines out, stirring up more heat in Simon. 

(He loves your voice. So bloody fucking much. You could ask him to raze the Earth to a burnt crisp, and he’d do it for you.) 

“Please what, baby?” 

The sensation of his massive cock overwhelms you. You fall slack as an orgasm rips through your body, robbing away all of your inhibitions; all you can do is let out another high-pitched moan, praying your body gives him the answer that your voice cannot. 

“Fuck — gonna breed you, baby. Gonna have my kid in you by the weekend.”

It’s a promise. His thrusts continue, in the exact same measure as before, not wanting to fuck you, but to make love to you. “You’re so bloody beautiful.” He’s gonna cum. Cum deep inside you; give you the family you deserve.

“Look at ya — bloody work of art.” 

Flushed cheeks; breasts sweaty and heaving with countless love marks scattered around the skin; your fingers card softly through his hair, pulling him closer to you. He’s a lucky bastard, indeed. 

“I love you."

Simon repeats those three words— “I love you. I love you. I love you.” —against your mouth, feeling his entire body tauten before he spills his cum inside you.

I love you. You saved me. You’re everything to me. 

You smile up at him, flushed all prettily, and he flashes a smile back, taking a moment to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. God, he fucking loves you.

“I love you,” he says again…and again…and again.

notes: my attempt at writing smut for the first time in months. if it sucks, it's cause im in my late luteal phase.

[rowerambles]

dropout.tv cast members ranked by how likely I think they are to be temporary Game Changer host when they eventually make an episode where they surprise Sam by hijacking the show

8. Zac: it would be funny

7. BDG: I just want him to be on the show more ok

6. Grant: (more) payback for breaking news and like my coffee

5. Lou: Greenroom/Party Bus victim

4. Vic: I just want them to be on the show more too

3. Trapp: was a bingo victim, has game show host experience, is really good at improv

2. Siobhan: was in the hi welcome to the show surprise I’ve locked you in a room now solve my puzzles episode and the time loop episode

1. Brennan: do I even need to explain.

[svtskneecaps]

lukewarm take of the evening: y'all care too much about being ""outdated"". fellas this smp moves inhumanly fast. it is ok to CHILL holy shit CHILL. y'all are like "(posts BANGER ART) super late guys sorry" friend i am hitting you with a blanket i am snapping you with my metaphorical towel WHAT DO YOU MEAN SORRY. "(posts BANGER FIC) rip this is outdated now" WHO CARES???? I LOVE YOU, OK. ohhhh woe is us as the fandom at large for having MORE HAPPY PILLS ARC CONTENT oh no how outdated!! how could you be writing speculative fiction about how forever felt during happy pills :( slash SARCASM!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!! THERE ARE SO MANY BANGER ARCS, WHAT, YOU THINK WE'RE COMPLAINING????? FOR GETTING MORE OF THE CONTENT WE LOVED????? oh no we're past the period where everyone thought green gay ninjas were like Dead Dead, my work is now outdated and noncanon :( WDYM. GIMME. A BANGER IS A BANGER IDC IF IT TAKES THREE MONTHS. you think rome was built in a day?? fuck you, baltimore, GIMME. my ass has been cooking a goddamn backflipo family fic since july when it was ALREADY outdated do you think i fear god??? "oh no, you're making an edit of slime's (attempted) egg murdering spree?? how could you, that was months ago it's irrelevant" SAID NO ONE EVER.

save your wrists kidlings ok carpal tunnel is no joke. CHILL!!!!! CHILL!!!!!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME SHEEEEEESH OK LOVE YOU <3

[sugaredoleander]

"and I think you know that if you ask somebody who's not real to do something, even if they wanna do it, it can't happen in the place that's real."

...wait. hold on a minute...

[keroanya]

it's everyone's favorite time of the year, and there's no better time for me to come back to writing for a bit <3

so, here's my list of my kinktober prompts for this year, along with the characters i'll be writing for.

reminder, this is an 18+ event, so, minors fuck off please.

due to the contents of some of these prompts, the writings will only be posted on ao3 for certain days. i'll make sure to provide a link to my ao3 post as well as a warning beforehand!

unfortunately, as i have some worsening health issues, some of these fics may be a tad bit late to be posted. of course, i will try to publish these all on time. love you guys ! <3

- updates will come out when i can get them out <3 prompts will continue to be published outside of october

day 1 | voyeurism - gyro zeppeli -- day 2 | dacryphilia - doppio and diavolo day 3 | size difference - jotaro kujo day 4 | mutual masturbation - gappy higashikata day 5 | femdom - weather report day 6 | blood kink - DIO (ao3 exclusive~) day 7 | sex pollen/gangbang - la squadra

wlw will be real this week. day 8 | strap on - balalaika day 9 | vanilla - mitsuri kanroji day 10 | mommy kink - kaato higashikata day 11 | exhibitionism - jolyne kujo day 12 | multiple orgasms - ermes costello day 13 | facesitting - casca day 14 | lingerie - yasuho hirose

day 15 | surprise ! day 16 | accidental stimulation - haruchiyo sanzu day 17 | degredation - il dottore day 18 | praise kink - al haitham day 19 | cockwarming - neuvillette day 20 | outdoor sex - guts day 21 | fuck or die - guts & griffith (ao3 exclusive~)

day 22 | floor sex - johan liebert day 23 | car sex - ghiaccio day 24 | office sex - yoshikage kira day 25 | first time & exhibitionism - noriaki kakyoin day 26 | breeding - young! joseph joestar day 27 | sex tape & threesome - prosciutto & risotto nero day 28 | edging - enrico pucci

day 29 | somnophilia & cnc - narciso anasui (ao3 exclusive~) day 30 | monsterfucking - diego brando (ao3 exclusive~) day 31 | surprise!

[vicsbasement]

Do you think Charles and Carlos will shed a few tears after Abu Dhabi?

I think they might, of course I do. I think Carlos is a very emotional guy even though he was brought up to be closed off about his feelings (and he really did his utmost to challenge those beliefs and he's shown that he no longer needs to be closed off to be taken seriously in this sport). And now with what we've seen from Charles? Oof. There *will* be tears. They were about to break in Bahrain and it's just the beginning of the year, anon. They will have to swap helmets by the end of the year and I'm willing to bet actual money in them hugging and mayble breaking during the hug. Yeah. I mean, in the car, during the whole chili debacle, I'd bet if Charles were to touch Carlos to reassure him, my man would've cracked. Because that's what I do, if I'm *this* close to crying and someone dares to touch me I break like a dam.

Or maybe they won't show the tears. Maybe. But I don't know, they were teary-eyed during Bahrain. I can't even start to think that they would be able to hold off crying until there's no cameras when their emotions are running that high, especially since it will be their last race as teammates. We will be crying, absolutely, and they probably will, too. 😅

[victoriantreecat]

The wind made fuzzy patterns in the ever falling rain. The gentle shower tossed about before it came down to settle on the crop fields. The wooden parapets and walkways atop the cobbled-together walls were soaked through, water dripping down in dismal rivulets.

Martyn let out a heaving sigh. It was not bad weather, per se, just a little, well, cold and damp. And their little hut with its lattice roof was already full of water pooling in the enchanting well, as he could so clearly see from his perch by the door- the only really dry part in all of Dogwarts today.

The rain started getting a little heavier.

He sighed again, ran his thumb over the engraved blade of his axe, worried at the smeared dried blood that seemed to be sunk into the iridescent blue crystal even days after the test, glanced up at the rain trickling in through the roof, considered going down to the basement, dismissed that idea (the floor must be flooded down there, and the villagers complain like nobody's business when their feet get wet). Better he stayed up here , the drizzle wouldnt stop enemies, much as he would have loved it to. Yes, keep watch up here, protect his home. So he stretched his back and surveyed the misty air of the fort.

A gentle splash sounded beside him, the pattering of paws through a puddle, and he glanced through the latticed wall to see Ren coming up from the basement. Ren was glancing around, seeming to search for something within the rain-soaked walls. A brief smile of affection allowed itself onto Martyn's lips before he schooled himself and called out, accented,

"My liege, where are ye going?"

Ren's ear flicked up, and his shroud swirled around his shoulders as he turned towards the hut's entrance.

"Me hand!" He replied in the same lofty brogue. "I was comin' to find ye, me friend. May I come in?"

Something in his cadence was hesitating, Martyn thought, easily leaning over to lift the door latch.

Ren came around the corner, chill drops of rain starting to dust his crown- the water and the blood starting to flow mingled down. And as they came face to face across the threshold, Martyn felt a dread that he would see his king pierced by an arrow from an archer he had missed in the deepening shadow of this rain. But the king now passed bloodlessly through the doors Martyn held open, to stand cramped in the entry, between the gentle flood on either side. His boots were damp, the basement had indeed been flooded- Ren remarked as such, dropping the accent to a hardly audible burr. Still, that slight awkwardness peeked through.

"Well, me lord, what were you looking for me for then?" He gazed up, waited patiently, silently probed his king's countenance.

"Well uh, so I, I've been setting this up for about a week now, and, um, well I thought that today would be the best day to, well, show it to you…" He trailed off, all traces of his thick accent gone now. This was him honest, then, unreserved and unhidden. And he reached into his belt pocket and brought forth a few tiny pinkish crystals, each with an iridescent blue core.

Martyn stared down at them, poised and curious, as Ren stuttered on.

"They're uh, they're my first time making, like, rock candy." The sticky crystals glinted in the dull rainy light as Ren continued. "With a sugar kinda syrup and some roses I found. Err, yeah."

"Milord, thats genius!" Martyn chuckled, eyebrows raised.

"Er, would you like to try one?" Ren's tail was wagging just slightly. "I uhm, I used little chips of diamond to start them, so dont break your teeth!" His lopsided grin showed a little peek of his canines. Martyn reached out to take one of the tiny grains, marvelling at their ephemeral beauty as he plucked one from Ren's calloused palm.

"They just came out of the syrup, my dude, so they're still a bit, er, sticky." Ren looked a bit sheepish, and at this distance, Martyn could see the pinkish residue pooling on his hands. His own fingers had the stuff on them too.

"Yeah, they sure are," he agreed, before popping the little sweet into his mouth.

It was a starburst of sweetness, rosy and round. It bloomed on his tongue, tasting of spring and sunsets, a gentle reprieve from the cold. It was bliss.

Martyn opened his eyes, let the corners of his mouth relax to a contented smile. He met Ren's eyes through his sunglasses.

"Thank you," he said, quiet as the rain that seemed to soften, falling on the fields. "Thank you, Ren."

[madcapberry]

One sec I need to talk about Shiva.

Lady Shiva was introduced in Richard Dragon: Kung Fu Fighter in the 70s. She was a traveling martial artist hellbent on getting revenge for her sister, who she believed had been killed by Richard Dragon. She lured Dragon into a trap, revealed herself as Carolyn's sister, and tried to fight him to the death. Once she realized that Dragon had nothing to do with it, that Cravat and The Swiss (unimportant villain characters, they killed Carolyn) had been the ones to kill her sister, she helped Dragon defeat the villain (by giving him her shiny belt so he could redirect the beam of a deadly laser that was being pointed at them while they were fighting, don’t even ask) and Richard Dragon and Lady Shiva became allies, friends even. Dragon convinced her it would be a waste to kill Cravat and told her that he had killed the Swiss himself. She accepted this. They shook hands. This all took place over the course of one issue of Richard Dragon: Kung Fu Fighter. It took ONE issue for Shiva to go from antagonist to ally. She then tagged along with Richard because she liked the adventures he got up to, the danger, the challenge, and the thrill of it. Richard even called her later on when he needed help on a different adventure. What I’m saying is she didn’t start out as evil.

Okay, so what do we know about Shiva so far? She’s a thrill-seeking peripatetic martial artist of great capacity and skill. She cared about her sister. She’s willing to kill. She’s an adventurer and a valuable ally. Great. Moving on.

The Question 1987 features THE Lady Shiva. A character capable of both ruthlessness and mercy, cruelty and tenderness. A curious, thrill-seeking, teasing character. She was vicious and nonpartisan and she was working as a mercenary for hire. But she was an ally, even when she was beating the shit out of Vic. She loved the O Sensei. You can tell she even cared about Vic in her way. I’m not saying she had a heart of gold, or that there weren’t tropes she fell into. She wasn’t and there were. But she was a fairly well-rounded, morally gray character that played a key role wherever she showed up. She was closer to a non-traditional anti-hero than anything else. Idfk, just go read The Question.

I read a tvtropes article describing Lady Shiva as “an archetypical Dragon Lady, complete with sinister motivations and exotic sex appeal,” which… she isn’t. She subverted this trope in several ways actually. She never had “sinister motivations” until Chuck Dixon got his grubby little hands on her. Her motivations were pretty neutral. She had her own set of principles, she was very morally gray. She wanted to travel and fight worthy opponents on her adventures for the thrill of it. She seemed to operate mostly on personal whims, and on the basis of building worthy rivals, out of love for the art of combat. And she didn’t use her sex appeal for shit (until the Richard Dragon reboot comic kms), she didn’t tolerate sexual advances or objectification. She just WAS NOT a conniving temptress, I don't understand where this misperception came from (but I do blame Dixon, I’ll get to that in a sec).

This same article states that she began as the arch-nemesis of Richard Dragon? Unless you’re accepting the version of the two of them from the very short lived Richard Dragon 2004 series as their canonical relationship then NO she didn’t. But I digress.

There was a marked change in the way Lady Shiva was written by the time Robin (1991) came out, this is where her character starts to lean towards the Dragon Lady trope imo. She also weirdly, and maybe arguably, leans more into traditional femininity while at the same time being written as more wild and uncontrollable. Chuck Dixon seemed to fundamentally misunderstand Lady Shiva as a character. He turned her (sometimes ironic) disdain for brutes who wouldn’t last a second in a fight with her into stereotypical womanly haughtiness. He turned her capacity for ruthlessness into bloodlust. And he made her into a conniving, somewhat deranged, villainous woman, tempting our young hero towards evil (oh my!). Again, I’m not saying she ever had a heart of gold, but Dixon changed core character traits (namely her respect for other people's personal code) to turn her into a villain.

“Kill him, little bird. Kill him and become a predator…Aren’t you my weapon? My instrument of death? Say you are mine.” Like?? She would not fucking say that, respectfully.

That isn’t even to mention Richard Dragon (2004) where Dixon turned Shiva’s relationship with Dragon into a resentful, sexually charged dick-measuring contest.

Even so, I don’t entirely hate Shiva as a villain, especially in Batgirl (2000). Pucketts Shiva is a bit less egregious imo. So she’s a passively suicidal evil mentor-figure who wants Cass to be a killer like her. Whatever, I can get on board with that I guess. I can enjoy it because I love Cass and this is a great comic run. But the retcon that–Listen, THE RETCON THAT IS SHIVA’S SISTER BEING KILLED BY DAVID CAIN, SHIVA DESCRIBING THIS AS FREEING, SAYING SHE’S GRATEFUL, THEN AGREEING TO GET PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD IN RETURN?? This boils my blood. Shiva, who was introduced as somebody who cared about getting revenge for her dead sister. Shiva, for whom freedom and autonomy were core character traits. That Shiva?? That Shiva is relieved her sister is dead and is willing to carry her sister's killer's child to term?? What the fuck?

I hate it. I don’t understand it. Why would you take a complex character who makes it difficult to tell who she really cares about, and flatten them into somebody incapable of love?

Okay I’m done, this is getting too long and I don’t even want to get started on New 52 era Shiva. I don’t have a conclusion, I’m just annoyed. Thanks for reading. The Question (1987) is NOT a perfect comic but if you’re interested in Shiva please please please check it out, it’s very moody and philosophical, noir-esque. Also Chuck Dixon suck my dick.

[themotherofhorses]

simon riley x fem!reader

Imagine holding Simon when he cries. 

Simon Riley is an incredibly strong man, an absolute force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Since joining the SAS in 2001, he has created a name for himself. A military legend—seemingly more ghost-like than flesh and blood. But that is the farthest from the truth, isn’t it? Cause, at the end of the day, he is still human. You’re his girl, the love of his life. His true love—his only love.

You are a source of comfort he somehow found in this shitty, cold world. The home he never had the privilege of experiencing; your arms have provided him with everything he was denied during boyhood.  

So imagine your Simon arriving home one evening—dead silent—merely shuffling his way to where you’re seated comfortably on the living room couch. His duffle bag drops near his leather recliner before the balaclava is tossed to the side. On his face is a certain heaviness, a sadness twisted in his handsome features; his blue eyes are not as bright as they usually are.

You swallow. Did something happen during the mission? 

“What is wrong, baby?” You coo, stretching your arms out wide to welcome him in. 

Without another thought, Simon tucks himself into your embrace, with his head resting gently on your chest. Against your breast, he can hear your heartbeat thundering away in your chest, moving in a rhythm that matches his. He reckons he is the luckiest bastard in the world, to find a soulmate who compliments him in every aspect of life. 

He lets out a small sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling his throat closing up as tears begin to well up. His bottom lip trembles before he bites down on it. 

“Simon,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “What happened, my love?” 

Another tear, followed by three more. A tiny, shaky exhale. Simon remains utterly still for a moment, not saying anything, until…“It’s my father’s birthday today.” His voice is quiet, breathless, unbelievably thick with sheer sadness. 

Your face falls at that. “Oh, Simon.” A sad smile pulls at your lips while you hug him closer, peppering more kisses up and down his hairline, pausing to brush back soft, blonde strands. You say nothing more as he continues to weep in your arms, entire body racking with choked-up sobs and uneven breathing. 

“I loved him,” Simon rasps out, pulling his face up from your neck. Both his cheeks and nose are a cherry-red, with baby-blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, lined with fresh tears. For a moment, he wasn’t the Simon Riley you fell in love with, but the Simon Riley who was five-years-old—all scrawny, little legged and freshly bruised, hiding behind the bookcase in his parents’ bedroom. 

“Loved him so bloody much.” 

You don’t know what to say. What can you even say? Nothing can heal those wounds, cut so deep in his heart and soul that any slight movement reopens them. “I know you did.” You kiss his nose, minding the mess of tears and snot. 

His fists slowly tighten, knuckles whitening as all the memories of his father begin to flood through him; they all carry an agonizing sensation, the kind that is too fuckin' painful to discuss aloud, yet too damn gut-wrenching to keep bottled up inside.

“Do ya…” he hiccups, clearing his throat. “Do ya think…in another life…?” 

In another life. You think for a moment, carding your fingers softly through his hair. “Maybe, my love…” 

Simon nods. “Maybe,” he croaks out, keeping his arms tight around you. There, on the couch, you continue to hold him, letting his torrent of tears soak your shirt; time and time again, your fingers run through his hair in some silent attempt to ease the little boy wailing inside. 

“It’s okay, baby.”

You kiss his temple.

“You’re alright. Let it out, baby.” 

He’ll be alright tomorrow. You know it. In the morning, he’ll be barefoot and content in the kitchen, baking his mother’s special recipe of blueberry and pineapple pancakes—a cup of milk, one egg, blueberries, pineapple, and, of course, the batter—all while waiting for your arms to circle around his chest. 

But for right now, he is five years old, finally being embraced in arms so warm and loving and protective—so unbelievably perfect. The feeling incites more tears.

"Thank you, baby," he mumbles, gently kissing your collarbone; it's a kiss so rich with love, appreciation, and adoration that it stirs up butterflies in your tummy. "For everything."

For everything. Oh, you silly boy. "Simon." You smile down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "For you, my love? I'd do anything."

note: a little drabble for my "let simon riley cry 2024" campaign. thanks!

[sporkberries]

A Tim, Helena, Vic, Kate, Renee team-up would kick ass. Mostly I want Helena and Kate to interact more and bond over their respective Questions :]

Okay i love this idea but it's also literally this

[infamous-if]

You did manage to show G's charm!! It's just a small moment but that scene in the penthouse where G replies "maybe you just weren't memorable enough" to being teased about forgetting MC's name but then looks at MC and says something like "no, that's not true"? The ease with which they say it. Ngl, just that one line did something to me lmaoo

I was proud of that one lmao and yay! g is so cool sometimes but also so pathetic (affectionate)

[moss-abyss]

i'll paint a portrait in your blood,

with eye of newt and crumbling mud.

i'll tear up the canvas and set it ablaze

because why was i the one forsaken

by this fate within my name?

[netherfeildren]

feel so disconnected from this space but miss writing miss posting miss making moodboards miss having a story to connect and talk with you guys about

[svtskneecaps]

I'M A FUCKIN FAILURE I CANNOT BELIEVE IN MY LIST OF PURGATORY 2 ICONIC MOMENTS I FORGOT TO MENTION JVNQ GOING INTO OTHER PEOPLE'S VCS ON DAY 1 AND TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE FACT THAT NOBODY KNEW ANYONE'S VOICES YET TO ASK FOR BASE COORDS AND ACTUALLY GETTING THEM

[mystery-fish-17]

CWTS ptv💪💪