#· threads » mon

[bmpmp3]

not used to this kind of mascot

[eagle-head-charge]

Spy knocks on his door. “Soldier? Mon Soldat? May I come in?”

He’s worried.

His door is locked. It takes Soldier a few seconds to realise someone is even outside his room speaking to him.

"...Why?"

[jkkyks]

A thread of my forever favorite person♥️.

[murillo-enthusiast]

my friend my heart

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·— (( @simple-giant-ed ))

( 1 ) —·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

Soult is very focused on Mortier, and it could be easy to think that this was a normal conversation with two old friend, that the facade that had called itself Soult had not been dripping and peeling. He looks fine now, though out of the corner of one's eye, perhaps there may be a glimpse of dripping hues from iris-less eyes. Even the mention of that blasted hound doesn't seem to upset him much, though he does sigh slightly.

Soult: That sounds wonderful. I Can think of nothing more idyllic.

Soult: You have nothing to apologise for, mon ami. It is this way of life that we are endeavouring to protect. It is something to fight for.

He will stand up, turn to face Mortier... and embrace him, tightly, and this is far more than the exuberant greetings of earlier. He might even rest his head in Mortier's chest.

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

[kayzero]

Bug Buzz (Pokémon)

or: The Call of the Hive

#bugs don’t have any guys you can write about them (via @lightoutage)

In another world, at another time, Genesect was created to lead Bugs in Revolution against the Gods.

The Larvae will come together and spin threads made of String Shot until they form unbreakable ropes. The Delicate Fliers will take these ropes, these symbols of their Hive, and wind them around Arceus’ seventeen Seats of Power.

The Mighty Bugs, born with expectations placed upon them before they hatched into the world, will take the other end of these unyielding bonds and wrap them snugly around the Larvae, so they might rest in Cocoons made from the Unity of All Bugs, and feast upon nutrients not stolen, but rightfully reclaimed.

When the Silver Winds push and the Megahorns pull and the Threaded Ropes of Strings and Webs and Hope become taut, it will not be the Bugs who die in droves. It will be the Gods who falter, Rattled by Every Bug Everywhere moving in concert, conducted by It who was created for this task. It will be the Gods who fall, not one by one but all at once, as the Swarms descend to feast upon their flesh, to Leech the Life of they who abandoned them.

Arceus’ Plates will fall and Divinity will shatter alongside them until only one remains. Millions upon millions of Compound Eyes will watch as Genesect takes the Power of the Insect within Its pincers and raises it to the sky. And rather than absorb its power and becoming the God of all Bugs, The Sole God Left In All The World, Genesect uses it but once.

It uses the Insect Plate to amplify a call similar to the Signal It had Beamed to begin the Revolution, Swift and violent and oh so effective. But where the first Signal was strong enough to reach every corner of the world, this call, empowered by not only the Creator’s Plate but by the faith of every soldier, every musician in Genesect’s concert, reverberated through the whole universe, throughout all of time and space.

In ancient times long past, Bugs heard the Buzz, and grew empowered by the love they felt from those they would never meet. Primeval warriors took the call as their own, shouting out their most passionate imitation as a battlecry, startling enemies so badly that they would drop their guards at the most opportune of times, as well as allowing their fellow Bugs to recognize them as allies on the field of battle.

They banded together and fought harder against their many predators, conquering foes they had never before even dreamt of defeating through the power of their inherent Unity. With this newfound strength born of camaraderie, they carved territory out of wild landscape, and drew boundary lines with the blood of those who stepped beyond them. Behind these lines, they created the first Nests, forming the foundation of what would grow to be a global Hive, and proliferated, granting them more allies, and with them, more might.

In future times yet to come, Bugs heard the Buzz, and yearned powerfully for the companionship of those whose lifespans had ended eons before theirs were even considered. They mimicked the call as best they could and screamed it into the sterile air, tuning their senses as acutely as possible so they might hear an Echoed Voice. Hostile as this new world was to their kind, the Bugs were few and far between, but those that remained were resilient, and resolute, and rough and rugged and ruthless and desperate for something they had only just realized they were missing their entire lives.

But they were also resourceful, and though it took far longer than any of them wanted to wait once they knew what they wanted, they did eventually group as one, and they nested together in the hollowed husk of what once was their Hive. And they would slowly rebuild, starting first by haltingly retelling half-remembered stories of their ancestors, passed down from parent to child.

In times traversed sideways rather than forward or back, in worlds that were not but could have been, Bugs felt the Buzz as it blasted past dimensional walls as easily as it would past a Substitute. It was not until that very moment, the event in which a Godslayer empowered by Their army called out to every one of their kin in existence, that these creatures even knew that they were Bugs. They were Monsters that did not belong in any Pocket, unbelievably powerful Beasts that were reviled as horrific and revered as heavenly, fiends whose relative power oscillated between being Gods in their own right and mewling helpless hatchlings.

But they were Bugs all the same, and though their relative strength shifted as easily as the weather under a Castform’s control, as new Monsters in new dimensions were born and were slain, not one of them had power less than Ultra. And so they replicated the call, tearing holes in the walls that the Buzz had bypassed, but that suited their purposes just as well, for they found other Bugs tearing other holes, and they came together to nest, and would drift through space toward other groupings, conglomerating together as one inter-dimensional Hive.

…

It is said that Arceus created all Pokémon, that everything that Was, Is, and Will Be came from Them. Was there a secret corner of Their being, then, a secret loathing of Themself hidden deep within Their self, that came to light and came into being without Their command, against Their will? Of course not. Even unwillingly, They would have never created something whose sole purpose was to destroy Them.

Are the stories false, then? Is Arceus not the creator of All, the architect of the world and the creatures that inhabit it? Is the source of Pokémon beyond even Their ken? No, the stories are all true. Pokémon are all of Their creation, Their all-powerful might is derived from them, and Their knowledge truly is all-encompassing.

Which was how They knew that Their time had passed once Genesect came into existence.

The truth of the matter is this:

Genesect was created from the anguish of the Hive finally boiling over, their collective discontent at being ignored by those whose power was directly connected to Arceus’ Plates having grown to a fever pitch much too loud to be ignored.

They had no Legendary born from the Insect Plate. They had no God, no representation among the divine, no voice among those that boomed with brimming power. There was no one to pray to and no one to bless them and no one to protect them from their many predators and no one to aid them as their defenses faltered and their counterattacks failed.

When they could suffer no longer and their desperation drove them to bow and try to pray to a God who did not exist, to their Architect who did not listen, Genesect was their answer.

Genesect is not a Pokémon.

Genesect is a Bug.

[radiostarsz]

evilly plotting, evilly plotting

[itsjeonjk]

・   ʿʿ 🐨   ⌁   @rapmonkive   ⋆  ❛  help with jjk1 !

For a moment Jeongguk is dumbfounded, staring blankly at his monitor before his eyebrows are furrowing in confusion and he's pulling the device away from his ear and staring at the screen as if he heard him wrong. "AH..." He gasps after a second in realization, as per usual being slow on the up taking which causes the younger one to facepalm with a soft groan.

"Sorry, hyung," He apologizes as he shifts in his chair, puffing out a sigh. "I'm working on my solo album and I'm stuck on some lyrics, I can't seem to figure out how to continue.'" Jeongguk explains before nibbing and picking at his bottom lip, leaning back in his chair as he stares up at the ceiling. He know Namjoon had been spending early mornings and late nights in his studio working, and the reminder makes him feel a little guilty.

But Hoseok was getting ready for his military enlistment, and Yoongi was preparing for his own solo album comeback so he was really stuck. Hell, even Jimin was busy with his promotions and such for FACE. "I need some help and the first one I thought to call was you, I forgot you're working on your own album..." He mumbles slightly guilty, bringing his hand up to his mouth where he nibbles on his nail out of habit.

[ofpolitics]

CONTINUED FROM >> @guttcrson

                  something twisted within her, the oppressive weight of his words viciously dragging the ends in opposite directions.   no, they were not alone, but the presence of others was merely a safeguard, a sadly necessary one.   yet, here, amongst generals and tacticians, she prevailed, the heart amongst these minds.   a slim hand rose, palm out toward him, as the former senator shook her head, furrows forming between ginger brows.     ❝  you mistake my intentions.  ❞      what had he witnessed, or worse, heard, to make him believe such would be his fate?     ❝  general cracken informed me of the nature of your knowledge, and i wished to hear it for myself, not from the pages of a report.  ❞

                  the tension seemingly dripped off the poor man, and all she desired was to remove his misery.    ❝  we are not the empire, sergeant.   you have my word, whether you choose to reveal all to us today or not, no harm will come to you.  ❞

[senatormonmothma]

@arc-77

The Chandrilan Embassy on Coruscant was a testament to the opulence and elegance of its homeworld. From the moment one stepped through its grand entrance, they were enveloped in an atmosphere of refined luxury that echoed the architectural aesthetics of Chandrila itself.

The interior of the embassy, with its spacious corridors and ornate chambers, uncannily resembled the interior of The Chandrilan House. The floors were crafted from polished Chandrilan marble, their smooth surfaces reflecting the soft illumination of strategically placed lumicrystal fixtures. Richly upholstered sofas and chairs provided comfortable seating, while delicate Chandrilan floral arrangements brought a touch of nature into the space. The rooms, furnished minimally, were occasionally and tastefully accented by artifacts depicting aspects of Chandrila’s rich history, each piece as radiant and unyielding as Chandrila itself.

However, inside the reception hall, subtle reminders that this was, in fact, an embassy punctuated the air of domestic splendor. State-of-the-art holo-communication devices and secure data terminals seamlessly integrated with the tasteful decor, embodying the blending of tradition and progress. The distant hum of airspeeders permeated the halls, a reminder of the bustling cityscape beyond. And through the expansive windows, the towering spires of Coruscant reached towards the sky, their shimmering lights contrasting with the soft glow of the enormous lumicrystal chandelier that was suspended from the high ceiling.

Tonight, the duality of its existence bothered Mon Mothma. The embassy, bequeathed to her by the Chandrilan House so that she could fulfil her Senatorial duties on Coruscant was her home. A sanctuary and a place of solace, where she could escape the weight of her responsibilities and the ceaseless struggles of the galaxy. But on this evening, at the insistence of her husband Perrin, she once again found herself playing host to a gaggle of strangers at an impromptu dinner party.

Resplendent in an elegant gown, she moved through the crowd with effortless grace. Her presence commanded attention as she engaged in conversations, her voice carrying an air of authority tempered with congeniality. Senators, high-ranking Imperial officials, and even members of her own family mingled amidst the throng, their voices blending into a harmonious symphony of polite discourse.

Despite the formalities and politeness, her stomach knotted as she watched her Imperial guests traverse the polished floors, their crisp uniforms and the echo of military boots on the marble felt like a violation, an intrusion into her sacred space. The grandeur of her home was now tinged with the oppressive aura of the Empire, casting a shadow on the very essence of what she held dear. It was as if a dark stain had marred the sanctity of her haven, a reminder of the compromises and concessions forced upon her by the political landscape. Her inner turmoil intensified with each passing moment. She despised the Empire and all it stood for—its oppression, its disregard for individual freedoms, and the innocent lives it had extinguished. And yet, as a leader and diplomat, she was forced to navigate treacherous waters, engaging with those who perpetuated the very system she fought against.

“Mon-“ Perrin’s voice echoed over her thoughts, and she turned to face him, nodding politely at the guest seemingly in his charge “would you mind keeping Commodore Fordo here company for a few moments? I need to excuse myself, a little too much of the Nubian punch, apparently.”

Mon Mothma smiled politely, any hint of animosity that she carried towards her husband completely unevident. “Of course, dear.” Lifting her glass, she let a gulp of Mezzaine Gold slip past her lips, a lubricant to prime her inner socialite, and looked to the man Perrin had introduced as Commodore Fordo. "I must confess, Commodore, if I had a single credit for everytime I was introduced to someone via Perrin's inebriation, I’d have accrued a deposit sizeable enough to bid for ownership of the Imperial Palace.” She extended her hand. “Senator Mon Mothma, delighted.”

[voluntadfuerte]

@thecavclry​ | morning after starters | accepting

“And they’re extra crispy, like you love it.”

[twistedthings]

My queue is being weird, at first I didn't think it posted anything and now it looks like it ate some of my replies?? Like they're not in there when I know I scheduled them to queue 😭 I s2g if I lost some replies I'll be very upset jsheueheb

[morellenoire]

low-activity & low-stress blog featuring Morticia Addams. inspired by a variety of media from The Addams Family franchise.

intel. — rules below.

— written by lem. 30+ years old. don't call me "mun". no AI garbage. no drama. probably no icons. you can use them! please don't use a complicated formatting style when writing with me. if you like dark whismy, plotting or just winging it, nice. let's have fun.

[pucksandpower]

Suck Him Dry

Day 3 → Oral Fixation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is dark, the kind of deep, enveloping darkness that sinks into your bones. The only light comes from a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains, casting shadows that dance lazily across the ceiling. Charles is breathing softly beside you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that, on any other night, might lull you back to sleep.

But tonight is different. Your mind is restless, thoughts spinning in circles, too fast and too loud to let you sleep.

You stare up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shadows. You don’t know how long you’ve been awake — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you're stuck inside your own head.

You feel like you’re trapped in a loop, a constant replay of every worry, every doubt, every little thing that could possibly go wrong. It’s exhausting, but there’s no way out. Not tonight, at least.

Beside you, Charles stirs. You freeze, holding your breath, hoping you haven't woken him up. But then you feel his hand slide over, warm and reassuring, finding yours in the darkness. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is soft, rough with sleep, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you. “No,” you whisper. “I’m just … stuck in my head again.”

Charles hums, a low sound that vibrates through the silence. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. Even in the dark, you can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“What’s going on in there?” He asks gently, tapping your temple with his finger.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment, just watching you. Then he shifts closer, his hand moving to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion. “You need something to get you out of your head,” he says quietly.

You don’t respond. It’s not like you haven’t tried everything already — reading, counting sheep, focusing on your breathing. Nothing works.

Charles seems to understand. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I have an idea,” he murmurs. “But you have to trust me.”

You open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, something tender and a little mischievous. You nod slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he says, tugging you gently toward him.

You follow his lead, letting him guide you until your head is resting against his thigh. He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Charles shifts, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, guiding you further down. You feel the warmth of him against your cheek, the soft fabric of his boxers brushing against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” he says softly.

You do as he says, parting your lips. He guides you with gentle pressure, and you take him into your mouth, the familiar taste and feel of him grounding you in a way that nothing else does. You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath through your nose as you begin to suck gently.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “That’s it, just like that,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, mon amour.”

You focus on the sound of his voice, the gentle praise in his tone, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. You feel yourself start to relax, the tension in your body slowly melting away. The constant buzzing in your head quiets, replaced by the rhythmic motion of your mouth and the soft, reassuring sounds Charles makes above you.

He strokes your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple in a slow, soothing rhythm. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. “So perfect. Just keep going, mon cœur.”

You hum softly around him, the vibration drawing a soft curse from his lips. He tugs lightly on your hair, guiding you a little deeper. You take him easily, your jaw relaxing as you find a steady rhythm, each motion smooth and deliberate.

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening in your hair again. “God, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good. You’re amazing, you know that?”

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He knows. He always knows. You focus on the feel of him in your mouth, the steady pressure against your tongue, the way he throbs gently with each pass of your lips. It’s comforting, in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

He shifts slightly, his thigh muscles flexing under your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head slightly, your mouth still full. You don’t want to stop. Not yet. You need this — the steady, grounding presence of him, the way he makes everything else disappear.

He chuckles softly, his fingers threading through your hair again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll keep going as long as you need, mon ange.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you’re with him like this, when the only thing that matters is the steady rhythm of your mouth and the quiet sounds of his pleasure. You start to feel yourself getting drowsy, the tension in your body melting away completely.

Charles seems to notice. He strokes your hair gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” He murmurs.

You hum softly in response, your eyes fluttering closed. He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “That’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just let yourself fall asleep, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your eyes close fully. You keep sucking softly, the motion slowing as you start to drift off. Charles hums a soft, soothing tune under his breath, his fingers still moving gently through your hair. You feel yourself slipping into sleep, the last thing you hear is the soft, steady sound of his breathing.

As you fall asleep, still sucking, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body relaxed. And you know, without a doubt, that as long as Charles is here, you’ll always have a way out of your own head.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness returning like a gentle tide washing over you. The world is soft and quiet, the room bathed in the faint blue light of early morning. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unsure of where you are or why you feel so warm and cocooned. Then you realize your mouth is still full, lips stretched around the familiar weight of Charles.

Your head is still resting on his thigh, and you can feel the solid muscle beneath your cheek. The sheets are warm and heavy around you, cocooning you in the lingering scent of Charles — clean and musky, with a hint of something uniquely him that you’ve come to love. His hand is still tangled in your hair, his fingers relaxed but still holding onto you, as if even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let you go.

Blinking your eyes open, you adjust to the dim light. Charles is still asleep, his chest rising and falling with each deep, even breath. You can feel his thigh move slightly under your cheek with each inhale, the slow rhythm of his breathing a comforting reminder that he’s here, right here with you. You don’t want to wake him, but you can’t help the way your tongue instinctively moves, brushing against the sensitive underside of him.

He stirs, letting out a soft sigh in his sleep, his grip on your hair tightening for just a moment before relaxing again. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You can feel him harden in your mouth, his body responding even in sleep. It’s intoxicating, the way you can affect him like this, the way he trusts you so completely, even when he’s not awake.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position under the sheets. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue pressing more firmly against the sensitive spot that makes him shiver. His breathing hitches, a soft groan escaping his lips. He’s still asleep, but his body knows you, recognizes your touch and responds to it.

Encouraged, you start to move more deliberately, sucking gently, your head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. The taste of him floods your mouth, salty and intoxicating, and you can’t help the way your body reacts. Heat blooms between your thighs, a low, insistent ache that makes you press your legs together, trying to find some relief.

But you don’t stop, don’t even slow down. If anything, you speed up, eager to taste more of him, to coax him awake with your mouth.

Charles groans again, louder this time, his hand tightening in your hair. “Merde,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep. You feel him stir, his body shifting slightly as he wakes. “What …” His voice trails off into a low moan as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you suck harder.

“Fuck, mon amour …” His voice is thick with sleep and something else — something deeper, more primal. You can hear the way his breathing changes, growing faster, more uneven. He’s fully awake now, and you can feel his body tense under yours, his muscles tightening as he tries to hold back.

You don’t let him. You move faster, sucking harder, your tongue working against him with a practiced ease that you know drives him crazy. He groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “God, you’re … you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop …”

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a shiver down his spine. His reaction spurs you on, and you take him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. He curses softly in French, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Mon dieu, just like that. You’re doing so good, so fucking good …”

You moan softly around him, the sound muffled by his length filling your mouth. The taste of him, the heat of his skin against your lips, the way he reacts to your every touch — it’s intoxicating, overwhelming. You feel yourself growing wetter, the ache between your thighs intensifying with every passing second.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hips bucking up slightly as he nears his release. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. “Fuck, I’m so close …”

You don’t stop, don’t slow down. You want this — you want to taste him, to feel him lose control in your mouth. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him with a renewed fervor. He lets out a strangled moan, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he finally lets go.

He comes with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking up as he spills into your mouth. The taste of him floods your senses, warm and slightly salty, and you swallow eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop. He groans again, softer this time, his body trembling with the force of his release.

But you don’t stop. Even as he starts to soften in your mouth, you keep going, your lips and tongue working with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. He lets out a surprised gasp, his hand tightening in your hair again.

“Mon amour, what are you …” His voice trails off into a moan as you suck harder, your tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of him. “Fuck, I-I can’t …”

You don’t listen. You don’t want to. You want to taste every last drop of him, to drain him of everything he has to offer. You feel a surge of satisfaction as he starts to harden again, his body responding to your insistent touch.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of awe and arousal. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You hum around him, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. You can feel him starting to tremble beneath you, his body on the edge of overstimulation. But you don’t stop. You can’t. You want more — need more.

Charles groans, his hips twitching as he tries to pull away. “I … I can’t, it’s too much …”

But you don’t let him. You wrap your arms around his hips, holding him in place as you suck harder, your tongue pressing against the sensitive spot that you know will drive him crazy. He lets out a choked moan, his body tensing under yours as he teeters on the edge of another release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck …” He’s barely coherent now, his words slurred with pleasure and overstimulation. “Please, I … I can’t. I’m gonna …”

He comes again, harder this time, his body convulsing with the force of his release. You swallow every drop, your lips never leaving him, even as he starts to soften once more. He’s trembling now, his body twitching with aftershocks, but you don’t let up.

Charles gasps, his hand weakly pushing at your shoulder. “Mon amour, please … I can’t — it’s too much …”

But you don’t stop. You suck harder, your tongue working against him with a desperate, insistent rhythm. You’re close now, so close, the taste of him pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your core, a tight coil that’s ready to snap.

He groans, his voice hoarse with pleasure and exhaustion. “Please, I … I need you to stop, I can’t take it …”

But you’re too far gone to listen. You’re on the edge, teetering on the brink of release, and you can’t stop, not now. You suck harder, your tongue pressing against him in a way that makes him shudder.

And then you’re there, the tension finally snapping as your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of pleasure. You moan around him, your body shaking with the force of it, your mouth never leaving him. You keep sucking, keep licking, riding out your orgasm as you drain him of everything he has to offer.

Charles gasps, his body going limp beneath you as he finally gives in, his head falling back against the pillow. “Merde …” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “You’re … you’re incredible …”

You hum softly in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You finally pull away, your lips releasing him with a soft pop. You rest your head against his thigh, your eyes closed as you try to catch your breath.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, a small, contented smile spreading across your lips. “No,” you whisper. “I’m perfect.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers still moving through your hair. “That you are, mon ange. That you are.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing completely against him. You feel a deep sense of satisfaction, a contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body at peace.

Charles hums softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I love you,” he murmurs. “So much.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “I love you too,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

[little-miss-losing-her-mind]

I cannot believe you're rping with other eddies /j

Deal with it, bitch /j

[infcinity]

post continued from here bc the new editor sucks :))) @mcrcki

"oh I think we do," mon smiled, laughing slightly at the other's reaction. "of course he would tell me," they smiled. "your father and I talked quite often, you do realise that I have a daughter of my own, so I have many stories to share as well, just like your father did," they could tell that there was something wrong with leia - it was so blatant. mon had known the other for her whole life, knew her parents and knew how she was raised, so with how closed off the other was, it was suspicious. "it's nice to be here," they smiled once more. "means we can have time to talk, which was something that we never really managed to do much during everything," they had both been busy, leia off on missions and mon dealing with the behind the scenes things, organising help for the rebellion. "that's unfortunate," mon made a face at the news, they would prefer it if sheev palpatine was far away, but that wasn't how things worked apparently. "I don't blame you for that, you had no idea who he was at the time and if there's really nothing we can do about it, then we'll just need to deal with it, I suppose - not that I like it, that being said," they truly weren't happy about the vice president situation - they wished that leia had chosen someone else. but mon couldn't fault the girl if she had no idea during the initial running period. "I hope that he hasn't caused any trouble," they paused. "that's something he's good at, causing trouble,"

[itsjeonjk]

starter for @rapmonkive !

type :  🛷  ─  go sledding

Over night it had begun snowing and when Jeongguk caught sight of it when passing by a window, he halted in his steps and stared in awe at the falling snowflakes. He lingered by the glass for a couple minutes, just admiring the sight of the snow starting to blanket his surroundings, the small flakes adding a dusting of color to the otherwise dark night in Seoul. It hadn’t been the first time it started to snow this winter, but he still can’t help but stop and awe at the sight when he sees it.

In the morning when he woke up, there had been quite a bit of snow on the ground—enough to build a snowman, make snow angels and go sledding of course. While Jia was streaming he came up with the idea of dragging his members out to enjoy the snow, but when he texted them—yes, I know.. he’s using his phone for once, wow—most had been off doing their own thing but Namjoon had agreed to join him. So, the two eventually met up, went to actually buy some sleds before they then found a good sledding hill. The younger male can’t stop grinning, not at all put off by the cold whipping his face and the tip of his nose reddening. “This will be so fun!” He says as he peers up the hill, lugging his sled out of the vehicle before waiting for his leader.