#and then they just! don't fully follow through!

[getvalentined]

Thinking a lot recently about the constant comparison of Oblivion to Skyrim, particularly claims that Oblivion is superior in every way strictly by virtue of quest length and the greater grandiosity of the organizations in Oblivion, and I think there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of what's actually going on with Tamriel during the time period of Skyrim. Even though it's like...one of the core concepts of the main storyline.

Putting most of this under a cut for length, but I just...I think people misunderstand what's going on here. This is not a "One Game Good Other Game Bad" post, it's an analysis of a major, key difference in story basis between the two that I think gets lost in the (frankly asinine) argument about which is superior.

See, everything in Skyrim sucks. Every organization you can align yourself with is falling apart. Literally every single one.

That's the point.

To summarize:

The Companions (equivalent to the Fighters' Guild) are about a dozen strong, literally cursed, and their most beloved leader gets murdered very early in the storyline.

The College of Winterhold (equivalent to the Mages' Guild, not to the Arcane University) has seemingly only been saved from collapsing into the sea because a master of Restoration fused himself with the structure itself when the Sea of Ghosts tried to tear it down a little under a century ago and his presence is constantly physically "healing" the foundation.

The Thieves' Guild has lost the favor of every possible patron deity, having been outright cursed by Nocturnal after one of her Nightingales murdered another and stole the gift she offers her champion, while the boon that the organization's founder claimed from her in ages past (the cowl) is missing.

The Dark Brotherhood has been all but completely dismantled, the Night Mother's tomb in Bravil having been raided and struggling to persist without a Listener for over a decade; the bodies of the Night Mother's children have been lost and she's essentially being smuggled from region to region in an attempt to find a safe place to continue operations.

The Empire itself has been kneecapped, forced into a traumatic treaty by a fascist regime determined to strike the beliefs and culture of anyone not Altmer off the face of the planet; the Thalmor have gone so far as to torture and radicalize the figurehead leader of the Nords in order to use their own nationalism and superiority against the Empire, sparking a civil war that will further weaken the Empire and allow the Aldmerri Dominion to destroy it wholecloth.

This extends out into the rest of the world, too! We have confirmed existence of Hist-deaf Argonians. The Dunmer are floundering to recover after the quadruple-whammy that is the fall of the Triumverate, the destruction of Vivec City when Baar Dau finally made impact, the Red Year, and the Argonian uprising. The Bosmer are literally endangered due to habitat loss following a super-isolationist cultural shift due to wars with the Khajiit and Altmer. The Void Nights were devastating to Khajiit culture and population in ways that have yet to be fully explained.

The world is falling apart. Everything is dying.

And then Alduin shows up.

We all kind of talk about Alduin carrying on as World-Eater through the course of the Skyrim storyline like it's him being a piece of shit, since he'd started it ages ago and was just displaced in time to land on the Last Dragonborn's head in the Fourth Era, but I don't think that's the case.

Based on the state of things, I think Alduin arrived right on time. I think it's the end of the world. The only reason he "should" be stopped is because the Last Dragonborn has the capacity to stop the world from ending in a more down-to-earth sense than just defeating Alduin: they can't save everyone, but they can "fix" every single organization that's holding "the world" together.

They can align with the Imperials and keep the civil war from further crippling them, keeping the Empire from being too weak to push back against the Aldmerri Dominion.

They can save the College of Winterhold, the only group in the right place at the right time to stop the Eye of Magnus from opening, and in doing so make sure that the Psijics are able to put it somewhere nobody else can find it.

They can lead the Companions, cure the curse for those members who don't want to run with Hircine after death, which bolsters their spirits enough to keep doing what they can even when everyone else is trying to kill each other. A single neutral martial force in the middle of a civil war.

They can regain Nocturnal's trust for the Thieves' Guild, restore the Nightingales, and in doing so they can return the luck that was stolen from them as punishment for Mercer Frey's transgression. They can even reclaim the Crown of Barenziah and award the guild with a paragon to increase their newly-regained luck.

They can hear the Night Mother, becoming Listener for the Dark Brotherhood to restore the balancing force of Sithis in the world, purify the most broken Sanctuary the Brotherhood has ever had, and finish a story set into motion way back in the Third Era—Emperor Titus Mede II is murdered under the order of a Motierre, a descendant of a mark the Brotherhood specifically kept from dying during the Oblivion Crisis.

The Last Dragonborn can't do anything outside Skyrim—there's nothing they can do for the Argonians or the Bosmer or the Khajiit, and they can only do very little for the Dunmer via work in Solstheim—but they can work with every single guild or guild-adjacent group, strengthening the Empire to stand against the biggest threat to Tamrielic culture since the First Era, and in doing so they can make it so the world isn't ready for Alduin to eat it.

The Hero of Kvatch exists when Tamriel, and presumably Nirn as a whole is in the prime of its life, that's what makes the Oblivion Crisis such a big deal. This is a world that isn't ready to give up, it still has the strength to fight, it just needs someone standing at the head to direct it. The Last Dragonborn comes into the story when everything is falling apart and nothing really feels worthwhile, when it's hard to see why the world is worth saving. They have the chance to prove that there's still some life left here, that the world isn't too far gone to save—Alduin arrived right on time, it's the Last Dragonborn's job to change that.

I can see how coming from Oblivion to Skyrim would feel disappointing and hollow, but I'm pretty sure that's literally the point of the story.

Oblivion tells you the world is worth saving because it's got so much left to live for, even with the odds stacked so high against it. Skyrim asks you whether a world that's dying is still a world worth saving, and it's up to you to prove that it is.

[baphometsss]

As someone who grew up as the youngest of five children and the only AFAB one, I felt this in my soul. It's what I've been trying to explain to my parents for as long as I can remember and they just don't get it, or care, that it's their expectations which are feeding into their disappointments about me being gnc. I'm actually trans but they're massive bigots who don't get that so to them I'm just a Weird Girl who doesn't shave and keeps their hair short, but I digress.

There is absolutely a tendency for people to think that this shit is harmless too, because most of them are generally pretty shallow and lacking in thoughtfulness so they don't consider that they might be wrong to do it. It's also hard to explain the level of entitlement that these people exhibit when you don't perform gender in the way they dreamt of. I've been feeling like the parent in the relationship with my mother ever since I was a kid because she would throw straight-up tantrums if I didn't do the girly thing. When I came out as trans, she tried to put me in foster care. She was willing to throw me away because I wasn't what she had in mind, as if having a baby is like a food order you can send back to the kitchen in a restaurant. I wish she had followed through tbh.

It took me until I was in my late 20s for my mum to accept that punishing me for not being the person she wanted me to be was poisoning our relationship. I had to hammer it into her skull that her fantasies are none of my fucking business, and she needs to accept that I am not ever going to live up to the imaginary child she dreamt up before I was born.

I fully believe that people do not have children for their children and my own upbringing is a part of why I know that in my soul. People do it to a. have the experience of parenthood and b. mould someone into their idea of the perfect person, or to create a carbon copy of themselves. The fact that having a child is total crapshoot is just totally lost on them because they're terrified of the fact that their children might be, you know, fully realised people with their own minds and hearts, and that they might not align with their expectations.

Gendered parenting is so weird. As a little kid I was a total daddy's girl, I was told I would always try to sneak the garage, I was always very interested in everything he was doing and would follow him around while he was working, but while my family was never the type to outright say "you can't do that because you're a girl", they simply didn't entertain the idea that I could possibly be interested in cars. Then when my little brother was born, it was just assumed he would become a mechanic like our dad because he was a boy. Even though he, unlike me, didn't like being in the garage much and wasn't all that interested in what dad was doing. Once he got to a certain age, dad started making him help and would drag him away from his actual interests for it, which lead to a lot of arguing and not much actual learning.

Gendered expectations sort of create doubles of children. There's the real child with their actual personality, interests and behaviors, and then there's the Gender Child.

My real brother hated soccer and team sports. The Gender Child that existed only the minds of the adults in his life enjoyed playing soccer because that's what a Boy Child likes.

Growing up, I always felt like adults didn't actually know me as a person and they weren't interested in getting to know me. Because they felt they'd already learned everything there was to know about me when they were told "it's a girl".

When I talk about how I never got gifts I actually liked from my relatives (to this day I still don't like getting gifts that aren't something I picked out myself), it isn't actually about the gifts themselves. I don't even remember them. What I do remember is the feeling of being given gifts that were seemingly not bought with the real me in mind. They were for the Girl Child™️ version of me. The me that adults wanted me to be, not who I actually was.

[22ayla21]

The Lion Without Underwear

When an innocent visit to Leona turns into a face-to-face encounter with the completely naked "king of the savanna," his poor girlfriend is about to experience the most awkward moment of her life.

Leona's room was an exact reflection of his nature: relaxed, cozy, and with a creative mess. A light scent of sand and spices hung in the air, and the sun sleepily filtered through the half-drawn curtains. In this lazy atmosphere, our "kitty" was sleeping peacefully, as befits a lion at midday — sprawled across the entire bed, his arms and legs carelessly flung out.

And — as usual — in his underwear.

Well... he usually slept in his underwear. But today, apparently, he decided that was for the weak.

Today, Leona was sleeping completely naked, covered only by a light sheet.

The girl, in her kind habit, decided to visit him. Everything was going according to plan: she wanted to wake him up, maybe take him for a walk, or just sit beside him.

And she was sure she would find her lazy "kitten" in his usual briefs.

She quietly entered, tiptoed to the bed, and smiled, seeing his peaceful sleep.

"Leona-a..." she purred, leaning over him. "My sleeping beast..."

In response — nothing. He only sleepily twitched his tail, which hung over the edge of the bed and swung lazily in the air.

Smiling at her mischief, she gently pulled the edge of the sheet to wake him up — just a little, so he would stir and grumble in discontent...

But a second later, the realization of the catastrophe dawned on her.

The sheet slipped off... And she saw... Everything.

Absolutely everything.

No underwear. No protection for her innocent eyes. There was only... Him.

In all his primal glory.

For a moment, silence hung in the room. In her head, it seemed a small apocalypse had occurred.

Her eyes widened so much they could probably be seen from the other end of campus. And then a scream erupted.

The shriek was so piercing that even the birds outside the window fluttered from the branches.

Leona, naturally, woke up. Instantly.

"W-what's wrong?!" he mumbled sleepily, sitting up abruptly and instinctively pulling the sheet back over himself. He hadn't fully grasped what was happening when the nearest heavy object — his own pillow — flew in his direction.

"Idiot! Pervert! Lecherous degenerate!" she yelled, showering him with accusations and gesturing furiously, as if exorcising an evil spirit.

"Hey, take it easy, I was sleeping!" he protested, dodging the pillow and the slipper that followed. "This is my room, after all! What did you expect to see? A prince on a white horse in armored briefs?!"

"I expected at least basic civility! At least some underwear, Leona!!"

Her face was burning with anger, and not only her cheeks were red — even her ears were glowing crimson.

And the worst part — she involuntarily assessed.

Oh yes, she assessed. The size.

And — damn the Great Seven — the size was very, very... impressive.

Not that she was staring on purpose! No! She was an innocent girl! She just had excellent eyesight... And it was almost like — a punch to the gut!

"Uh..." Leona drawled, finally realizing what the matter was. A bruise was already forming on his head from the flying slipper.

"Don't look at me like that!" she shrieked, covering her face with her hands as if that could erase what she had seen from her memory. "It's just inhumane!"

Leona, instead of apologizing as he should, merely snorted, clearly enjoying the situation:

"Hmm. So, impressed, were we?"

"NO, I WAS NOT!" she yelled, but her crimson face said otherwise.

He slowly stretched, rubbing his bruised head, and smirked lazily:

"Well, since that's the case... maybe you should now compensate for the moral damage? Hug a lion, for example?"

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"

"...Or maybe take another look?" he continued casually, stretching in a way that the sheet once again slid treacherously off his hip.

The second scream was even louder than the first.

"I'LL KILL YOU!!!" she roared, bolting out of the room.

Leona collapsed back onto the bed, laughing and burying his face in the pillow. His shoulders shook with laughter, his tail lazily swished across the bed, and mischievous sparks danced in his eyes.

"Ha-ha-ha!" he chuckled to himself. "Well, at least now she knows what kind of lion she got."

And honestly, he wouldn't trade her reaction for even the most well-behaved lady in the kingdom.

[e-therealife]

Can I Help?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader [friendly, romantic] description: your best friend doesn't want you to miss out. (inexperienced!reader) (first kiss)

After giving up playing cards with Nat (because she couldn't help but brag when she won and refuse to admit defeat when she lost), you've decided on 21 Questions. You knew most things about one another, so a majority of the questions were just hypotheticals and teasing. You're both lying on her bed, Nat with a cigarette in hand.

"Okay. If we were stranded, who on the team would you resort to eating first?" Nat asks.

You laugh in shock. "Dude, I'd rather die than get to that point. Fuck no."

"It's Mari, isn't it?"

"Alright," you immediately fold. "I have my reasons. Don't you remember when she started that rumor that I was the one who left those gross clothes on the locker room floor all because I didn't pass to her that one time?"

"You mean the underwear?" Nat asks, as if she wasn't there, doubled over with laughter at the following practices where you had to plead your case to the team.

"Yes, the underwear," you sigh, closing your eyes as you recall the situation.

Nat's laughing, holding the cigarette away from you as she rolls toward you a bit, her head now resting on your shoulder. You open your eyes to see her looking up at you. "You sure it wasn't you? Seemed about your size…"

"Okay, what? How would you know?" Sure, you changed in the locker rooms together, but you were pretty quick. Had she really looked long enough at your body to guess your underwear size?

"Well," she starts all-knowingly. "You remember that time the bathroom stall door swung open—"

"Shut up! Just shut up."

"Alright, alright," she surrenders. "You had on cute underwear, though—"

"Nat!" you interject, covering your ears to keep yourself from hearing anything else that would fluster you further.

"Hey," Nat grins, pulling the hand of yours that's closest to her from your ear. Her demeanor is softer now, less teasing, more comforting. Despite this, she continues, "Don't worry. I'd also eat her first, just for you."

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, resting both your arms across your chest. You've still got a bit of a smile, though. Despite the unfortunate wording of it, it was sweet she cared enough about you to note who you did and didn't like. Which, of course, a hypothetical like this would never happen, but knowing that she'd support you through anything just made your affection for her grow, that ever-present warm tightness in your chest that you always have when she's on your mind growing. "My turn."

Nat moves off your arm to take another inhale of her cigarette, blowing the smoke away from you.

"So. Are you and Kevyn a thing?" You keep your tone playfully nosy as you speak, and you're confident it's convincing.

She rolls her eyes. "No, Kevyn and I are not a thing. You know that." Her tone is a little bitterly annoyed, like she's offended you'd asked.

"Really? Well, how about you and—"

"My turn," she interrupts sternly. She stubs her cigarette out in a cup she's converted into an ashtray, just a little more forcefully than necessary, then turns fully to you, resting on her side.

"Who's the last person you kissed?" The question is much more serious than any of the last that were asked. It's not the words themselves that are so strong, but her demanding tone and searching look. Her gaze is flitting between each of your eyes, like you've got some secret that she has every right to know.

This is technically something she should probably be aware of as your best friend. However, you'd always avoid topics like this with her, getting flustered when she'd teasingly flirt with you and feeling a little inadequate because she had more experience.

"I haven't," you admit softly.

Nat furrows her brows as if she's not just shocked, but disbelieving. "You haven't? Like, recently, or… ever?"

"Ever," you confirm.

You watch her head jerk back slightly, her gaze flitting around as she thinks over your words. After a few seconds, she's back to looking at you. Her expression is more relaxed now, and she appears almost… excited? Her eyebrows are just the tiniest bit raised, and you can see the slightest upturn at the corners of her mouth. Then, you notice her lips twitch into a slight purse, like she's trying to hide her smile. You figure she's just about to tease you.

"Why not?" Nat asks.

You laugh. "I dunno. Never had the chance. Not one I wanted, at least."

"Well… aren't you curious? What it feels like?" Her expression is no longer confused, but playful. Oddly, it feels like she's masking something.

"I mean, I can guess. But I'm sure it feels better than I'm imagining."

"It does," she replies quickly, leaving no room for argument. She suddenly holds herself up with an arm on the bed and asks, "You wanna see?"

Now, Nat's eyes are more attentive, lips slightly parted in question. She's expectant, hanging on every little reaction of yours. You're not sure exactly what she's offering, but whatever it is, she seems hopeful that your answer is going to be yes. It's as if she's seized some moment, and things are finally falling into place for her. She's a little too excited, a little too invested for this all to be spontaneous.

"Uh… I mean… yeah." Your eyes are darting around her, though not really seeing anything. You press your lips together, nervous and trying to hide the new topic of conversation.

"Can I help?" she asks quietly, pressing her hand to your face like there's no time to lose. You know she can feel the heat under the skin of your cheek, and you watch as her gaze approvingly focuses on the contact. She looks proud, her smile breaking through her act just a bit.

You nod. "Yeah. You can. You can kiss me." You say it explicitly, just in case you're being delusional, and this was all just going to turn into her saying she had some hot date to set you up on. You were close enough with Nat to be sure she wouldn't hate you after saying something like this, even if she didn't have romantic feelings for you. It'd definitely crush you if you heard her rejection, hence why you hadn't confessed, but you couldn't help yourself from letting the words tumble out now.

She smiles, then traps her bottom lip under her teeth. Her gaze flicks between your lips and your eyes as she leans in.

She nudges her nose against yours, giggling. You know what she's doing, trying to break the tension and make sure you're relaxed. You let your eyes close, lips parting slightly in a smile, and hold her waist.

Then, she tilts her head and presses her lips against yours.

It's soft and light for a few seconds, lips just brushing against one another. She moves a little closer, and you open your mouth just slightly wider to take more of her in. You can faintly taste nicotine from her mouth, something slightly bitter and peppery. But it's Nat, so it makes your heart flutter, excited you get to know your best friend even better, get to have her share herself with you eagerly.

After a few seconds of uncertainty, you relax, mimicking the way her mouth moves against yours, and it's suddenly easy. Natural. Right. Maybe it's just because you've imagined this so many times, but you don't have to think about it. It's as if your body moves on it's own, somehow one with hers.

She adjusts herself on the bed, but refuses to break the kiss. You feel one of her legs slot between yours, and then the weight of her body as she leans down against you. Her hand moves from your face to your arm, holding herself up above you. After a few more seconds of trying different angles, she pulls back, looking down at you in what you can only see as awe.

"So?" She's smiling, but you sense the slightest bit of insecurity in her tone and expression, a plea for validation.

"Can we keep going?" you reply quickly.

She grins wide, her eyes all light and soft and admiring, then nods. “Yeah. Whatever you want."

author's note: hey guys! hope you like this, and thanks for all the interaction after my last post! i've made a masterlist with rules, so if you want to request headcanons or one-shots, check that out!

[aethercoreheart]

caleb x fem-reader | scrambled eggs | [nsfw/18+]

You're not sure what it is that wakes you first. Is it the smell of cooking bacon, or the sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains in Caleb's room?

Either way, you stretch and groan, trying to get yourself to come to your senses. Caleb is no longer next to you in bed. The smell of his cooking wafts into the bedroom, and it makes your stomach growl. You push back the covers and stretch your arms up and out. They're still a little sore and stiff from last night. You make your way out of the bed, and only then do you realize that you are still fully unclothed. You tiptoe around Caleb's room and make your way to the nearest dresser - you're pretty sure he has something that you can wear in there. You rummage around in the middle drawer and find something suitable - one of his old training shirts from the academy, with his cadet number embroidered on the breast. You slip into it, and head out of the room to find him.

You make your way around his apartment, following the appetizing smell of whatever he is making. You find him in the kitchen, wearing only basketball shorts, his bare back facing you. You see the muscles in his back rippling as he takes a few eggs out of their tray carefully and places them onto the counter. You lean against the wall, contentedly watching him as he continues to work on the eggs.

"How long are you going to just stand there and watch me?"

Caleb greets you without turning towards you. You smile to yourself and walk up to him. You wrap your arms around his waist, and press your chest against his back.

"Good morning," you mumble against his skin.

He sets the eggs he's currently holding back onto the counter. With his hands now free, they cover yours and give them a gentle squeeze.

"Mornin'," he replies, his voice still thick and croaky with sleep. You feel a shiver go down your spine - you love it when his voice sounds like that.

"What are you making?" you ask him, craning your neck around his back so that you have a view of the counter.

"I just finished making the bacon," he explains, releasing your arms and hands. "I'm starting on the French toast now."

"Mmm, sounds good." Your stomach growls again, as if to confirm your statement.

Caleb chuckles and he turns to face you. He goes immediately still when he finally looks at you.

You take a step back from him, trying to read his expression. "What? What is it?"

"That shirt," he croaks. He suddenly sounds parched. "Where'd you find it?"

"Oh." You look down at it, your hands immediately pulling down at the hem. It's a little bit oversized on you, just covering everything that needs to be covered. "Sorry, I hope you don't mind. It was in one of your drawers. I just needed to throw something on."

Caleb regards you carefully, and you can tell his brain is running at a million miles a second. Either that, or it has completely stopped. You see a red flush spread across his cheeks and up to his ears.

His reply comes out in barely a whisper. "I can't decide if I want to tear it off of you, or if I want you in it."

In the next second, he closes the space between you. He leans in, your faces almost colliding before holds himself back. One of his hands finds its way to the back of your neck, and the other is snaking its way down your back, as if he's caressing you through the shirt. His hand reaches the end of the shirt, and meets your skin.

"Don't..." he breathes. You see his eyes widen and his pupils dilate. "Don't tell me you're–"

You smirk up at him. "Yep. I'm not wearing any underwear."

"... Fuck."

His mouth is immediately on yours, desperate and open. You feel like you're almost suffocating, his kiss taking the very air out of you. He pulls back and he looks into your eyes, his own a little crazed.

"I'm putting breakfast on hold for now," he mutters, pulling you closer to him again. "I'm hungry for something else."

With that, he lifts you with both arms, your feet suddenly leaving the ground. You yelp in surprise as he brings you to the kitchen counter, and places you on top.

"Caleb, watch out for the eggs!"

"Fuck the eggs," he growls, but then you see his conscience take over, and the glaze in his eyes disappears momentarily. He scoots you over gently, then reaches for the eggs. He takes two in each hand at a time and places them on the other side of the counter, far from where you are seated. He then turns his attention back to you.

"Where were we? Right, lean back for me."

You do as he says and lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows. You watch as he places his hands on your knees and pushes them apart. Your breath hitches in your throat as he plants a tentative kiss on your knee, then another one a little higher up on your thigh. He keeps trailing kisses up your thigh right up until before his mouth reaches in between your legs. He teases you by kissing around your inner thigh and you have to stop your hand from reaching out, grabbing his hair and pushing his face into it.

As if he read your mind, he looks up at you and gives you a sly grin. "Be a little patient. I'm almost there."

And with that, his tongue licks at your slit and the small action sends waves of electricity throughout your body. He glances up at you again. "Look at that, you're so wet already. You're leaking all over the counter."

His tongue works its way around your cunt, skillfully licking up and down. You can't help yourself, and your fingers lock into his hair, pushing his head in deeper. He moans into you as his lips lock onto your clit, and he starts to suck on it, making your thighs tremble. One of his hands leaves your knee and joins his mouth on your pussy. Two of his fingers play at your entrance before he inserts them in, then pumps them in and out of you, slowly and deliberately. Your breath comes out in short, hitched pants as Caleb continues to eat you out without coming up for air. His fingers continue to pump in and out of you, and he occasionally lets out a whimper as he continues to suck on you. You feel your core tightening, your orgasm slowly building, and Caleb senses this too. He adds a finger in, but keeps the pace the same.

You're about to reach climax, but you push his head away, and he looks up at you again, almost surprised. Your juices are dripping down his nose and chin, and you almost regret stopping him.

"W-what's wrong? Aren't you enjoying it?" he gasps as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you.

The hand you have in his hair makes its way down to cup his cheek. Your thumb rubs against his cheekbone as his eyes stay locked onto yours.

"I am. I just want us to enjoy it together."

Caleb's brow knots in confusion for a moment, but then his eyes light up with understanding. He leaps up from where he was kneeling in front of the counter, and you see his erection pushing up against his shorts. You reach over and pull them down for him, his cock springing up past the elastic. He closes the space left in between you, and you take his length in your hand. You guide him to your entrance, and tease him by sliding his tip up and down your slit.

"Pipsqueak," he breathes, his eyes glazing over again. "Please. I need to be inside you." His hands are gripping the edges of the counter, his knuckles turning white.

You release him and place one hand on his hip, pulling him towards you to encourage him. You both groan as he fills you up, and you still for a moment as he twitches inside of you.

"I don't think it'll take much for me to cum," he admits in a mumble, his head buried in the space between your shoulder and neck.

He starts to move, slowly pumping in and out of you. One of his hands stays on the counter for stability, and the other grips at your thigh. His pumping turns into thrusting, and his heavy breathing turns into grunting. You can tell he's close, and so are you. The sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with your moans and his grunting. His thrusting starts to become erratic and more intense at the same time you start to feel your orgasm building again.

"I'm close," he gasps, barely managing to get those two syllables out.

You nod, unable to form words yourself. His hips ram into yours, and you feel him empty into you, his breath coming out in short, broken pants. You follow soon after, your walls tightening around him, squeezing out the last of his load. Both of you are still again, leaning against each other, out of breath and panting.

His lips manage to find yours again, and this time you can taste yourself on him.

"That shirt looks good on you, Pipsqueak," Caleb murmurs against your lips. "You should keep it."

Your hand goes for his cheek again, and you grin at him. "It's got your cadet number on it - wouldn't that be, like, impersonating an officer?"

"I'm not sure you could pull off impersonating me," Caleb laughs as he pulls his shorts back up. "Stay here," he tells you as he jogs down the hall. You stay seated on the counter and watch him head to the bathroom and come back out with a wash cloth. "Let's clean you up."

His eyes flicker to the eggs still waiting on the other side of the counter. "Damn, I still have to scramble those eggs."

You can't help yourself - the quip leaves your mouth before you can stop it. "You know, I've also got some eggs that need scramb–"

"Oh my god, don't."

[kingcenred]

He grinned at Mal's chuckle, and his mind was almost made up over his outfit choice. It was bold for him, yes, but he knew it would certainly still be classed in the sophisticated category when compared to some of the more extravagant outfits they would surely see tonight. Still, he wouldn't be quite sure if he could pull it off until he saw himself, fully suited, standing next to his boyfriend. "Well, that's a relief. Maybe I'll just get out my other suit then," he teased. "That's true, it can all be part of my disguise. Perhaps only you should wear a crown tonight, to utterly confuse everyone," he playfully suggested.

The king hadn't realised quite how hungry he was and he quickly devoured several chips, pausing to take a couple of generous sips of his champagne. "Why, of course," he agreed, with a grin. "I wouldn't dare consider anyone else. Although, I'm not technically allowed to give you the title of royal florist...only Essetirian businesses qualify for the royal seal of appointment. You'll just have to open another floristry shop here, too," his words are still playful and his tone light, but he would be thrilled if Mal ever decided to do just that.

He chuckled at Mal's dramatic response, and playful reached over to steal a chip from his plate - despite still having plenty of his own. "Better eat up then," he insisted, and he couldn't help himself but wink as he very deliberately licked the salt from his fingers. Once their impromptu small meal was complete, he followed Mal through to the bedroom - taking both his suit and the bottle of champagne with them - and settled himself down on the bed, more than happy to merely sit and watch him get ready for the next hour. He'd try his own suit on a little closer to the time, when there would be less of a chance of him changing his mind!

"A pity we don't have time for a fashion show," he mildly complained, as he began to unbutton his shirt. "I'm sure I would enjoy seeing all your potential outfits."

It was sweet just how relieved Cenred was to have gained his approval, a soft chuckle spilling forth as he leaned in to brush a kiss across his cheek. “Oh, I don’t think I could ever get bored of you.” He assured, playful yet entirely honest as he gave the other man a gentle nudge of the elbow. “And you shouldn’t worry, you’re going to look wonderful. People are going to do a double take when they realise it’s you.”

As their food arrived, filling the suite with the utterly heavenly aroma of freshly cooked chips, Mal immediately descended on the plate once the staff had left, popping one into his mouth and practically moaning at the taste as he realised they were cooked to perfection, already sprinkled with salt. “Mm, these are good.” He hummed, reaching for his champagne glass and clinking it against Cenred’s with a fond smile. “Your only florist, I hope.” Mal teased, flashing a cheeky grin as he reached for another fry, amused by the novelty of them drinking champagne that was probably worth an absolute fortune with such a humble food. “You can’t get flowers from just anybody now, you know.” As for whether or not an hour would suffice for getting ready, the smaller man figured he could make it work — he’d at least had the foresight to shower after work before Cenred had come to pick him up, so that was one less thing to worry about.

“It’ll be tight, but I suppose I’ll manage.” The florist mused, sighing in feigned resignation, though he couldn’t keep up the ruse for very long. “At least doing my makeup won’t take so long when I’m just going to have the mask on anyway.”

[laur-rants]

Ko-Fi Memberships, Shop, is now Open! Help Fund my Dreams and make them Reality

For those who don't want a long read: I am finally opening up monthly Memberships on my Ko-Fi, as well as offering up high-resolution prints of some of my art for download! My goals in 2025 are to work on not one, but TWO new children's books, one fully written and illustrated by yours truly. Join today and get news on my book updates and any other original work I may be working on.

Become a Member Here || Shop Here

I plan on providing monthly updates for members, and it's all available in a single, comprehensive tier: the $3 Noodle Tier. The Noodle Tier currently gives access to updates and to my discord with a special role. Nothing fancy, just the privilege of watching my work come to life.

It's a very small price monthly to simply help keep me above water in these trying times. And that includes NO AI: All made by me, with words by people, and drawings from life.

Thank you everyone who supports, and has followed me for so long on this journey!

Now for the long part lol

I don't talk about this a lot, but for many years, I have feared (rejected) the idea of a Patreon. Mostly because, I would see what artists were doing, fulfilling orders and burning themselves out on a monthly basis. I never saw what I was doing as worth that. I never believed I would be able to keep promises, and I don't like making promises I can't keep.

But over the years, my tune has been changing. I have realized I can simply ask for support, and in doing so, that support can help me do what I want to do, as opposed to what I think I need to be doing, and in turn, be able to produce more. I also have been changing my tune because after so long, I have finally realized: I cannot make what I want to make, alone.

May is my birthday month, and what I would really like for my birthday more than anything, is a little more financial security to help my pursue the things I would love to do with my life and my time. I chose Ko-fi because I trust it more than I do Patreon, and it gives me far more freedom and flexibility with how I can approach my customers.

What is the first thing I would like to share with my members? Information on what I want to do most right now: Starting on not one, but TWO children's books -- one centered on a very special borzoi named Jack and his story, and one based on my own two dogs, Strudel and Zill. This support will also help fund any other smaller projects I would like to work on, including paintings, prints, editing, learning Blender, and more.

For now, the tiers will unlock sketches and works in progress on pages as they are illustrated and painted. Some of the final images will be available for preview there, but not all of them, for the sake of the book. As work progresses, you'll learn firsthand on any ideas for kickstarters or crowdfunding campaigns, to make one or both of these books happen.

Once again, thank you to everyone always for your support! Whether it is through commissions, monthly subscriptions, my twitch subs, or just general moral support of being there for me, I can't thank you enough. This sort of support is very difficult for me to do, I never have felt like I had enough to give. But finally, I have a goal and a direction I want to move. Thank you to everyone who is helping me move that way, and making my longtime dreams, a reality.

Until next time! I will see you then. Please feel free to share!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 10

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You always thought the term 'touched out' was ridiculous. You like your space and you don't like unwanted contact, but this is something else. You don't want to be. You just want to fade into oblivion.

You know he won't let you. Your mind is static but through it all, Tony haunts you. You shudder and spasm as you swat away hands that aren't there.

You're alone, but not for long. You roll around the large bed, agitated by just the weight of the satin sheet over you. You slowly drag yourself up and lean on the headboard.

Your eyes skim the space. The bed draped in red satin, variations of the famous avenger's mask displayed on a shelf, a carpet of what you hope is faux fur. It's every assumption you ever had about the egomaniac come to life.

"Ahhh," Tony struts in with a sigh. "I was ready to write you off, babe, just another trailer girl, but damnit if you don't squeeze the tip just right--" He rubs his palms together and stops at the foot of the bed. "You hear me or you still clearing out the cockwebs?"

You blink at him and grimace. He snorts. He's fully dressed but you're not sure that's a good omen. You're too tired to do much more than stare.

"Look, baby cakes, it's getting late and I'm starving. Really work up an appetite."

You tilt your head. He lifts his brows and strides to the double doors on one side of the bed. He pulls open the walk-in clost and disappears.

When he emerges, he has a hanger in hand. A dress in black satin; the top has lace like a camisole. He smirks at you.

"No panties required," he lays it out on the mattress.

You squint.

"I got it a bit outta order. Wine and dine first but you know... you got something about ya," he snickers. "Oh, pussy cat, don't look at me like that."

He hovers his finger over his wrist. You jolt up and wince. You throw your hand out.

"No more. If do whatever," you yelp. "Please, I..." you put your hand over your pelvis. "It hurts."

"Old Ton can kiss it better," he winks.

You groan. "Please, just... stop."

You reach for the dress and he tuts.

"Sweetheart, I can't talk you out covered in sweat and cum, as hot as that is. Go to a shower and the stylist will be here soon."

"Stylist?" You echo.

"Gotta be your best when you're on my arm, babe. Or my dick." He winks and spins on his heel. "Friday, hey that shower going for the missus."

A female voice makes you squeak as she responds from thin air, "yes, Mr. Stark. Shower initiated." The door to your right slides open on its own. Jesus. You don't know if you can handle all this.

🔴

"Smile for the cameras, sweetheart," Tony says and wraps his arm around you, firmly gripping your hip.

He ushers you through the glass doors and the sudden flash has you blind. "Keep your feet moving. Don't let the sharks get ya."

You put your hand up and lean into him. He's the only thing keeping you upright in the sea of cameras. What the hell? He lives this way?

"Tony, who is she?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Is this new?"

"What about Pepper?"

He doesn't stop. You're thankful for that. The heels make it harder to keep your balance.

"Watch your head, sweetheart," he warns.

You duck down as he nudges you ahead of him. You grab the side of the car and dip into the backseat. You feel a pinch on your ass and the paparazzi laugh.

You quickly sidle across the seat as Tony follows you in. You cross your arms, humiliated. You measure your breath to keep from snapping.

"You deal with this all the time?"

"Sure do. What can I say? I'm a fascinating man."

You could scoff but you don't. You are trying to behave if only to keep him from touching that damn watch. You nod.

"That's shitty," you say.

He laughs, "guess that's one way to put it."

"Not as shitty as having your home exploded but..." you mutter.

He laughs again.

"That's why I like you. You just can't help yourself," he says.

"Uh huh," you look through the tinted window.

"So, you a lobster girl? Or you like t-bone? Filet mignon?" He asks.

"Well, believe it or not, I wouldn't know," you retort dryly.

"Hm, makes sense. You like the #2 at Mickey Ds. Classic."

You send him a look. He chortles and slides closer. He drapes his arm across your shoulders.

"I like it when you look at me like that. I got ladies, legs up to their eyes, tits out to Timbuktu, and they just bat their lashes like Bambi witnessing a murder." He rubs your thigh, "but you look at me like you want to gut me and it makes me wanna get up in your guts."

"You're disgusting," you sneer.

"I am but it didn't stop you from soaking through my couch. And my sheets. Don't worry, I asked for new ones for our return," he nuzzles your cheek. "Ah, come on, I'm a philanthropist. I'm giving back. A girl like you, did you think you'd ever get out of the park?"

You bristle. You're not just mad at him for saying it, you're mad because it's true. Somehow him destroying everything you had is the best thing that has happened to you, even if he is the worst.

You sigh. He presses his lip to your cheek and growls.

"Well, baby, dinner will be nice," he hooks his arm around your neck and taps his watch. A low thrum buzzes through you. Just enough to unsettle you. "I might let you cum with your dessert."

You grit your teeth and snarl.

"Bastard."

"And yet you'll be begging me before we get home." He taunts.

[starwovenkiss]

Snapshots: Kyle Garrick

a fake dating op that traumiatizes the rest of the 141, a phone call takes a turn, laundry mishaps, and the spiral that comes with being on medical leave.

content: suggestive content, mostly fluff, and a tiny bit of angst

a/n: sometimes i get little ideas for scenes, but i don't know how to turn them into full fics. here's some of my favorites :) to everyone who said something nice about sleep tight, soldier, please know i read and reread each comment a million times. thank you thank you thank you thank you! <3

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── 1. “Gaz, hold my hand. People are watching,” you murmur under a smile. He follows your lead, grabbing your hand before immediately pulling it back.

”Bloody hell, your hand’s sweaty,” he takes a beat to wipe his hand dramatically down the side of his tux pants, and you roll your eyes while subtly doing the same.

“I’m nervous, don’t be a dick, Kyle,” you admit before you realize what you’re saying. Kyle bites onto the confession, and grabs your hand again, giving it a slight swing.

“Aw, love, do I make you nervous?” he grins, grabbing a glass of champagne as a waiter walks past.

“Absolutely not,” you respond following his lead, and taking one for yourself. At this rate, you’d like to chug every last one.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

“It is not!” Is it? You try to count the beats, but can only focus on his hand in yours and how great he looks in his tux.

“Then -”

“Will you two shut up and focus?” Price interjects into your comm, and you both flush at that. You roll your eyes at Soap dramatically gagging in the background as Ghost sighs heavily.

“Swear tae god,I’m gonna puke,” Soap whines, and you subtly flip off the camera you know he’s watching through.

“Thanks, cap’. Was tempted to ask Soap to toss a grenade and do us all a favor,” he says.

“Still time,” Soap responds.

“You were the one who said that we were the most believable couple for this op,” you snap, and Soap snickers.

“Aye, wouldn’t’ve picked you two if I knew it mean’t sufferin’ through this. Thought Kyle had more game than that,” he responds.

“We’re not flirting,” you say just as Kyle snaps “Speak for yourself, I pull just fine.” 

“Soap, you might be right that Kyle needs the practice,” Price murmurs, and you mutter a slight ‘kill me now’ under your breath. 

“I don’t need practice,” he grumbles, “And our target just exited the ballroom. Everyone needs to get into positions.”

2.

“What are you wearing?” his voice crackles through the speaker, and you giggle.

“Your shirt, the jersey you wear during football games and a pair of shorts,” he hums in response.

“Darling, aren’t you going to ask what i’m wearing?” He asks after a beat of silence.

“Are you trying to get me to have phone sex with right now?” you raise a brow, knowing he’d laugh at your expression

“Is it working?” he says and you laugh fully at that.

“C’mon love, it’s been weeks since I left and I miss you,” his voice turns gravely at the end and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

You bring the phone closer just as he murmurs, “Can’t get off on just my thoughts anymore. Need the real thing.”

“Fine,” and you play along, feeling a lot like a high schooler on the phone with her boyfriend. “What would you do if you were here right now?”

3.

“Do you and Soap have something you need to tell me?” You turn to where you’re folding t-shirts in your shared bedroom, and see him leaning up against the door, smirking.

“Why would we have anything to tell you?” you turn back to laundry, and he walks over to you, tugging slightly on the back of the hoodie that you’re wearing.

“Your hoodie says Mactavish on it,” he whispers, and you immediately try to turn your head 180 degrees to see what he’s talking about. 

“What the hell?” You finally manage to twist the hoodie around to find out he’s right — you’re baring the name of his teammate across his back. You move to take it off. “Swear, I just grabbed it out of the laundry. It looked like one of yours!”

He pouts, not even believable with the way he’s unable to contain his giggles.

“My own girl and teammate, conspiring behind my back. Oh, the betrayal” he sighs like some sort of shakespearean heroine, and you roll your eyes.

“Why is his hoodie even in our laundry?” you ask, throwing it at his chest, and he stops laughing, ears flushing red.

“I might’ve grabbed it during our last op. We’re on the go so much that I grab a fresh shirt without checking.” You stare at him for a long moment.

“And you’re judging me?” You begin to laugh and he laughs too.

“It’s different, darling.”

“It’s really not.” 4.

“Did the doctors say how long it’s going to be?” you fluff the pillow where he’s laying, and he closes his eyes.

“Six months, could be up to a year,” he groans as he tries to move his arm to grab the cup of tea next to him. Before he can lift it too much, you’re already there, holding it out to him. He murmurs a thanks, gripping the mug tightly.

“Well, that’s not too bad. With physio, you’ll be back to normal in no time.” You continue to adjust his blankets, and Kyle can feel his temper rising, tries to quell the anger building his chest. “We can get you on a schedule for showers and moving you. Soap and Ghost already said they would help out with dinners, and Price could-”

“Will you fucking shut up for two seconds?” He snaps, and you flinch. He’s never raised his voice at you in the two years of dating, and you recoil slightly, holding on to the blanket.

“I’m - I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it,” he whispers as you simply wave it off, trying to hide the tears welling in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” your voice wobbles, and he shuts his eyes tight. “I know this is stressful for you and all that. I’m going to go check on dinner.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and he sits, feeling useless as he can barely sit up from the couch you have him set up on. He hates feeling out of control from his own body, for so long feeling so in sync with the machine he’s built since joining the royal military.

All to be destroyed from a car wreck and a labral tear.

And here he was snapping at the one person who’s stuck by his side since he woke up in the hospital three days ago.

He tries not to make a noise, not to groan as he moves himself over to you, but he can’t help the flashing white pain he feels as he moves his body.

“Honey, I can help you,” and there you are. Back by his side in two seconds, trying to get him up from the couch.

“I’m so sorry,” he breaks. “I just, I feel so useless. What do I do if I’m not fighting?” 

You simply run a comforting hand over his, and sit next to him, “You’re not just a soldier, Kyle. You’re more than just a war.” 

[angstigone]

WARNINGS: dynsfuctional families background (not rindou and reader), neglect and discussion about no contact, second chances (not between rindou and reader), domestic moments, reader and rindou have a son, pls don't do the math about the son's age and the wedding, cute moments, hurt/comfort, meeting again, mommy issues, she/her - afab character.

Rindou Haitani wasn't exactly a good person.

He still got insane road rage although his bike had been shifted for a comfortable car that could carry a baby seat in the back.

He still got the instinct to smash noses when anybody ever came closer to you, more than he’d like to allow. 

He definitely pictured the thought in his mind, only, though before breathing deeply, just putting an arm around your waist, glaring viciously at who had come forward.

He still disliked helping anybody if it meant going out of his way.

Still with a child in the raised seat of his shopping cart, he had to set up a good example as he noticed an elderly lady struggling to get a product placed on the highest shelf which came a few good inches taller than the woman’s head. 

It wasn’t like he was a daily asshole - that was Ran’s role - and he knew about … chivalry, which was probably the sole reason why he got you.

So now he held doors, waited for the slowest ever old men to cross the road and helped ladies with their own groceries although he was running on three hours of sleep and had no interest in being in a loud supermarket store at ten in the morning on a busy Saturday.

Still, you had been behind with some deadlines and had spent the previous night fixing your son’s birthday decorations, while Rindou finished a DJ set so that he could have the weekend free to spend it with you.

You had seemed almost bashful when asking him to go to the grocery store to get some further plastic cutleries since you had thought that you might be short as the previous night you had gone through a count of the potential kids coming to the party and found yourself wondering the worst; Rindou hadn’t minded, especially because he knew he’d have done anything for you, without even the need for a ‘please’.

It only came natural to act this way with the person that had blindly followed him into Tenjiku, after he had been an utter asshole to them.

So, if you wanted more cheap cutleries, he’d have gotten them for you while you finished the projects you had put aside and brought your son out of the house so you could fully focus.

And now he’d have helped an elderly lady because he knew you enjoyed it when he set up a good example for your child, although he was barely a toddler, actually becoming five the following day.

«Miss, wait!» he called out, without paying the woman too much attention and instead going to grab the confection quickly before handing it down carefully as he knew he could be quite scary with his imposing stature. 

Rindou had cut back with the gym since your son had come in the picture as he had required as a baby your whole attention and although he had kept a steady routine, he hadn’t been the gym rat of the family for a long time.

Still, he retained a steady physique that had many dudes ducking their heads and he knew that oftentimes ladies would cross the street to avoid him, especially as he was oftentimes accompanied by his usual grumpy expression and oversized clothes. 

Rindou didn’t fault them as he was annoyed at people half of the time, but had by now grown used although a quick look on the woman’s face and he came to the realization that she wasn’t scared.

There was a slight familiarity on her as he slowly came to a shocking realization: it was your own mother.

Now, he wasn’t an utterly shit son-in-law, but his genuine surprise came from the fact that the last time that Rindou had ever seen the woman, he had been eighteen, holding her gaze while you shook and trembled and insisted that ‘you wouldn’t be doing what she wanted anymore’.

“I won’t let you mold me into something I am not” the words had shaken Rindou to the core, especially with the conviction that had accompanied them, while your fists tightened at your sides. And that way you had spent two more years in your mother’s household before moving away for good. 

You - and Rindou as much - hadn’t heard anything of her since then, not even when you had sent a marriage invite.

It had always bewildered Rindou that your mother would be so obstinate in her path, after you had rejected her ‘picture perfect plan’, which entailed you as a doctor married to somebody less suspicious than Rindou and deeply unhappy as you had oftentimes explained. 

His own mother hadn’t been the best - a bad case of ‘tough love’ - but she had always stood by her sons’ sides, now treating you as ‘the daughter she hadn’t ever had’.

It was still a discourse you didn’t touch: although the almost twenty years that separated the timelines.

Her silence to your wedding had been enough to send you into a frenzy and Rindou had thought it was easier to simply ignore the whole aspect; your son had a loving grandmother, from his side, who dotted fondly onto him and a funny grandpa from your own and that was enough of a family.

And yet, Rindou couldn’t help but want to ask her why she had abandoned her own child; since Sora had come into the world, he hadn’t ever thought that his son would do any wrong. 

He’d have supported him throughout, whatever he chose.

“Even if he decides to join a band of delinquents?” Mickey had once teased at one of the get-togethers after the birth of Rindou’s son with the other former members of the Toman.

“Might as well give him my blessing, considering who his uncle is” Rindou had shot back, well aware that Sora had his uncle Ran wrapped right around his little finger; he could have asked for a bike right now and somehow you’d have found it outside of your house a few days later.

In conclusion, if his son told him that he didn’t want to follow the path ahead of him to choose another - that wouldn’t have hurt him nor others - he’d have no choice but to give him his blessing, smiling happily at the future. 

He knew you felt the same and that’s why he held such curiosity for the mother that had so easily thrown you to the side.

He had wondered - and felt guilt - about whether he had been at fault, blaming himself as he had tried to distance himself away from you but it never worked and each time he pulled away, you pushed yourself together with disastrous enough results that he just gave up and decided that he’d have lived with the guilt of it, if it meant witnessing your sweet smile and his son’s giggles.

Silence was awkward and Rindou thought for a moment to simply move away and pretend that he hadn’t ever been there, but the woman’s voice came just in time to hold him in place.

«Rindou, is that you?» that she still remembered the face of the man that had taken away ‘her little girl’ spoke tons and Rindou tried not to take it too personally.

He smiled awkwardly nodding when he heard, clearly an amused giggle and your mother did as well as her sharp gaze moved to the shopping cart and specifically onto your son.

It wouldn’t have taken a genius to realize who was the other half to Rindou; Ran had always joked, after meeting his nephew for the first time,  that Rindou hadn’t even tried it as your son looked wholly like you. 

A fact for which Rindou was glad although he always pretended to be quite vain.

He was glad that your child had your gentle scrunch of a nose when it laughed or narrowed eyes when you’d be annoyed with him, a reflex of the one he loved in the child you had produced.

Still, at the moment, he dreaded how easily your mother could predict that it was your child as well.

 It’d have been stupid to think otherwise considering that - hadn’t she thrown out the envelope upon opening and seeing the name - she had to know you had married Rindou five years ago. 

Still, he had wished to protect his child from who he thought to be a threat.

Still, her eyes didn’t seem half as judging as they settled onto the child, whose face morphed into bashful consciousness promptly hiding himself as he scooted back against his seat. Rindou would have thought him cute and teased him but he felt at a stalemate as your mother spoke again.

«Ahem… he… he does… he does look like her. When she was at that age».

«Ran always says that, as well» he shot back for the sake of conversation, trying to appear like he had nothing to hide, although he wished to simply duck away and move his cart towards the exit «… although she always insists that… he got my features».

It felt like a losing battle, although you tried to convince him that Sora would have grown into him.

“A loser?”.

“The best man I know”.

«How… how… how old is he?».

There was a strange interest for somebody who hadn’t even sought out her own daughter in years, simply because you had chosen a different path than the one you had envisioned and Rindou couldn’t help but be alert. 

Would she make Sora her newest project? 

Pushing what you hadn’t been able to achieve onto him? 

«… am I… am I allowed to ask that?».

Something about the woman’s consciousness about her own limits - and faults - though shattered something in Rindou, who had always hoped - if anything to lessen his guilty conscience - in a possible coming together of the two of you, again. 

There was… obvious regret in your mother’s voice as her eyes left Sora to duck to the ground.

«He’s five» you had discovered about Sora halfway through your honeymoon much to Rindou’s chagrin as he had spent most of the morning off in Bali holding your head back, after ruling out a food poisoning before his own crisis of ‘shit, I am going to be a dad, when I haven’t ever had one’ «… or better, he’ll be tomorrow».

«We are hosting a party!» Sora proclaimed, clapping his hand and a little less bashful probably as he saw how Rindou was handling calmly the situation; he always seemed to trust his father’s instinct which was something that made the older man cry at times in the safety of your arms at the thought that such a small thing could believe him to be worthy of trust with everything that he had done «You should come!».

Your mother cackled although obviously tense at the invite.

«Thank you, darling» she spoke attentively, ducking a slight look to Rindou’s face, clearly panicking «… but I…».

«You should come».

Rindou didn’t know what he had thought: there was a reason if you hadn’t ever sought out your own mother after the wedding and it was because she hadn’t ever tried to do it. 

Simply because she was endeared by the thought of being a grandma, it didn’t delete the years of no contact that had been left behind. He shouldn’t have made the decision for you, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

He hadn’t ever known his father and although he hadn’t cared - Ran had always been there when it mattered - he had always wished that he could have had a moment with him to ask all the questions, for his peace of mind and with little to no interest in a relationship. And he knew you felt the same.

«It’s an informal party at our house» the details rolled off his tongue almost instantly while your mother’s gaze ducked from Sora onto Rindou again «… around three p.m. and won’t last long».

It was a trial for her: come and finally clear up the air with your daughter or be cut off from her - and your grandchild’s life - forever. It felt … somehow sick that there had to be a child involved for your mother to shake off years of disinterest, but Rindou would have played dirty.

He wasn’t a good person after all.

Still, he could tell that it wasn’t just Sora who changed the cards on the table, as your mother’s eyes carefully moved to where his hands were, seeking out a ring and then up back to his face, seeking out something else as the typical motherly worry distended and tensed her features.

«I am not… I am not sure… I…».

«Did you have any plans?» any charity events to go to?

Or a book club to terrorize?

«No, not really».

«Then I think you should come» he said as a matter of fact as he finally went back to get his shopping cart while Sora waved enthusiastically to his own grandmother, probably having understood the context of the situation. 

He undoubtedly got the smarts from you because Rindou could tell he was doing something undeniably stupid.

«… Sora and she will be happy about it».

He gave her his own shoulders, not wishing to be the second person she disappointed with his silence, as he moved off glad that the cutlery was halfway across the supermarket and not having to wait for an answer. If your mother had shown up at your doorsteps later that day, it’d have been a problem of future Rindou.

Which seemed to be the case as - after an hour of nervously waiting and fending off sugar high kids - he went to open the door to find your own mother, nervously shifting from one foot onto another as if she was a minute from running away, hadn’t Rindou answered the door bugged by you, who was trying to show some five year old - and Shion - how to create an origami.

He startled especially as he noticed how pristine your mother looked; she had always been the picture perfect wife and mother, but she looked like she had gone - in the brief span of hours since this morning - to the hairdresser and then aesthetician, sporting a soft updo and a cream colored dress that well suited her age and figure. 

She hadn’t also come empty handed, as - aside her own expensive bag - she had two tote bags that Rindou could see contained many toys.

If she wanted to play it like this…

«Who is it?» you called and this time it was Rindou who wished to run away, as you came from the outside area of your place where the party was happening. 

Fingers lightly sticky with what he could only guess was glitter glue and your dress already reeked a stain of what was probably orange juice.

«… Emma did tell me that she was having some issues, because Draken had to work…».

Whatever you had meant to say was dropped on the floor as you took in the sight of your mother.

This time the older woman was close to running away and instead she did the opposite: she threw Rindou right under the bus.

«He told me I should have come».

Ran had always told him that had he ever thought of divorcing you, he’d have paid you the best lawyer in town and he guessed that was what would be happening next as he could feel your threatening aura although you walked by his side and welcomed the guests properly albeit a bit formally.

«… then do come inside».

It wasn’t forceful but almost mechanical as Rindou had noticed you welcome the mother of the Sora’s friends that you knew the least: a simple smile and arms stretched to get the children’s backpacks or the gifts. 

Your mother somehow seemed scared by such an implication, moving backwards although she quickly composed herself with a soft breath.

«I can… I got them» she spoke awkwardly, as she sneaked a look to Rindou, who wished to tell her “handle yourself” after she had merrily thrown him under the bus.

«We are storing the gifts till the cake» he explained, knowing that it was the best way to avoid a mess with the wrapping paper, as he held out his own hands «… don’t worry, they’ll be fine. Although I wouldn’t suggest keeping that bag, because those monsters have sticky fingers and I mean it quite literall…».

«Then… ahem…» your mother looked bashful as her eyes ducked to you - crossed arms and eyes vigilant - and she went to get something from one of the tote bags, which proved to be an expensive bottle of wine «… this isn’t for the children…».

«We don’t drink in this household» one of the consequences of having a former alcoholic, although Rindou’s interest was barely perked up by the expensive title on the bottle. 

Still, your mother looked mortified and it wasn’t just your harshness but something deeper. Imagine coming to the house of the woman that you had raised for eighteen years and just be surprised by how new everything felt.

He almost felt pity for the woman.

«Oh… I… I didn’t know».

«Because you didn’t even bother to show up to the wedding» he knew that you’d have dragged it out and it was better sooner than later. 

Had your mother come, she’d have known that no alcohol had been served, because he had been six months sober.

«… and now you are here. Because my husband told you so».

Rindou worried of the worst, before you took a deep breath and calmly opened your mouth in a tentative smile.

«If I had known that it was all it took to see you again, I’d have done it a long time».

It was a tentative branch of olive and peace and Rindou couldn’t have thought for a better outcome, as your own mother seemed to almost relax although that attentive look of guilt didn’t leave her eyes. 

He noticed they were slightly wet but neither you nor him commented on it, simply nodding towards the garden, grabbing off her things.

She looked incredulous for a moment before allowing it to happen and skipping towards where her grandson was playing on a cute tricycle that had been ‘uncle’ Izana’s gift. 

That fucker would have been the reason for many skinned knees but somehow it also felt fitting.

«You are not off the hook, just because your plan worked» you uttered as something icy went down Rindou’s spine, well aware that he had marched onto your boundaries that day, risking destroying them for his own ego and what he thought he knew better. 

Still, you had stuck around with him through so much thick and thin, giving words to emotions he couldn’t process and you had stuck around.

He needed to do the same, although clumsily, stepping onto your feet.

«… alright, I’ll clean up the mess» he surrendered as he gently turned alongside with you, knowing you went in opposite directions - you back with the children and him to your rooms to put back the toys - but wanting to steal a moment out of the busy crowd.

«And I get a foot massage» you added cunningly, as you gently brought him closer by putting your arms around his neck since he was busy. 

Lips barely an inch apart as they had been when you were but teens and exploring feelings that bordered between friendship and love.

«… and a hand one. Fuck my editors have been working me to the bones!».

You said it, as if Rindou wouldn’t have done it without being prompted. 

Still, he knew that you felt vulnerable and being requested was a way to gain back the reins. 

He didn’t fault you, he never did.

«Haven’t you grown a bit spoiled?» after all, like mother, like son.

«And whose fault is that?».

And as Rindou kissed you fully, among the laughter of his friends and your child, couldn’t help but think that it was all his fault.

And he’d have done it all over again.

[landwriter]

I know you've sort of migrated over to Arcane for the time being, but would happily take any Sandman thoughts or WIP updates floating around in your brain!

(Also please feel better soon. ❤️)

Thank you! :)

Funnily enough, I just started working on the seventies SF AU (Lighthouses tag) again after months away. I'd been feeling really uninspired on it but something this week called me back! It's in that awkward stage--maybe you know it, depending on your writing process?--where you've got all the really good solid bits down but it's missing some vital connective tissue. It's 32K and I think I can come in under 40, but those last bits really are the most treacherous and annoying.

As far as Arcane goes, I don't think I've migrated as much as been scooped up temporarily and dropped into my own private obsession. It truly is one singular fic and a highly specific haunting that I need to exorcise. I just cannot and will not get over the idea of these two characters being foils for one another, who are alike in so many ways but living on opposite sides of a coin (a coin that says, I have made myself into a weapon, a coin that says I measure myself by my service to others, that has manacles engraved on it with the word loyalty underneath); who collide once, by chance, and then come together again and again, like magnets, a visceral inexplicable yanking; recognizing themselves in the other, and believing, despite knowing better, that love can transform another person enough to change who they are, and change them enough to save them. It's the Fox and the Hound. It's two knights in warring kingdoms. It's lovers trapped in a story that always ends with facing each other down on a bridge. It's holding hands in the dark, and trying to rewrite the ending. I digress! Very normal about it. As you can see. Super normal.

Have a big long (1.5K) Lighthouses excerpt under the cut. Any of you who've been following along and waiting for this fic are saints in your own right. Dream phones Hob while sick, and Hob talks to him until he falls asleep:

When the sound of the phone ringing cuts through his sleep, Hob stares at the ceiling for another ring or two before he fully understands it’s a phone, and his, and he has to get out from under the covers to answer it. Groaning, he stands and turns on the light, blinking hard. The kitchen clock says it’s just after five, and he jolts the rest of the way awake, hurrying to pick it up. Something’s wrong at home. Nobody here would call him at this hour, but it’s already eight o’clock back east. “Ma?” he answers.

“Oh. No.”

“Dream,” he breathes out. Relief unknits his shoulders. “Hey. Why are you up so early? Did something happen?”

“I did not sleep. In the first place.”

Hob waits, but he doesn’t say anything else. The sound of Dream’s voice, scraped raw, answers the rest of Hob’s question anyway.

“I’ll bring you notes from class. Is that why you called? You sound rotten.”

“Yes,” says Dream, haltingly. “Thank you.” He starts to say something else but stops and coughs sharply. Then he speaks again, in tight measured bursts, and Hob can nearly feel the titanic effort of Dream stubbornly holding off from coughing. “Did I wake you. You said. You were. An early riser.”

Then he muffles the receiver and resumes hacking. Hob grimaces in sympathy. He glances sidelong at the clock, and bites his lip. 5:05. He’d bet a crisp Benjamin he doesn’t have that Dream was staring at the clock too, waiting for the first acceptable moment to call. The sudden wash of protective fondness threatens to drown him.

“I am. I’m up for the day,” he says, as soon as Dream catches his breath again. It is, technically speaking, the truth. He’s not going to go and let Dream feel even worse for what the man presumably deems the mortal sin of needing a small favour when he can barely string together a sentence.

The quiet susurration of static hisses between them. When he realizes Dream isn’t hanging up, he eyes the front door. “Listen, if you can’t sleep, do you want company? I could come over.” He shifts and stretches, putting clothes on in his mind.

“No,” says Dream, and his imagined self, half the way out the door already, turns back and glares bitterly at the phone.

Hob chews his lip instead of asking, Can I come over anyways? He can’t bring himself to let Dream off the phone just yet. “Well, let me distract you from your misery. If you’re lucky, I’ll be boring enough that you finally catch some sleep.”

There’s a long pause. “Alright,” Dream replies. “Since you insist.”

Hob grins. “Can your phone reach your bed?”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re definitely not going to fall asleep if you’re standing by the phone, are you?”

“Oh. No.”

Hob smiles at his own bed across the room as he listens to the sounds of shuffling. His stomach does something funny, with Dream in this state, still him but not, slow and pliable from exhaustion. Letting himself be bossed around by Hob. Just a little.

He hears a distant cough and then Dream brings the receiver back to his mouth. “Alright.”

“Good?”

“Miserable.”

Hob snorts. He can picture Dream sitting propped up in his bed with his phone beside him, receiver cradled in his hand. Chest aching like hell, probably. Delirious with exhaustion. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. Doesn’t even know what he’s going to say until he opens his mouth, still thinking of other nights he’s been up, sleepless. Thinking of withstanding suffering. “Alright. When I played football in high school,” he starts, smiling when he hears a little huff on the other end, “Coach would lead us in this prayer before games. Same one every time, sent up to the patron saint of athletes. Saint Sebastian, give these boys the strength and fortitude to prevail. We must’ve heard it a hundred times. I end up looking him up in the library one day on my free period. I’m killing time and I see this big book of illustrated saints off the shelf. Alright. I wanna know. Who’s this guy that’s supposed to stop us from getting our asses kicked, right? What’d he ever do?”

“I know who he is,” rasps Dream, who even while sick as a dog can’t resist showing off his omniscient knowledge. “He-”

Hob hushes him. “‘Course you do. But I didn’t. Picture me, sixteen or so, finding his entry. In the school library. Saint Sebastian, martyr. Commanded to be shot to death by archers. But the art. He’s in this little loincloth, bound by rope to a tree, muscles straining, pierced with arrows. I stared at it until the bell rang. Then I did something terrible.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I tore the page out of the book and shoved it right into the pocket of my letterman jacket.”

“No.” A scandalized croak.

“Oh, yes. I took him home with me,” he says, laughing. “Hid him under my mattress between the pages of a Playboy. He became my patron saint.”

“Undignified.”

“No way. Undignified was me imagining how I’d come upon him in the woods, and rescue him. I was one of his loyal converted soldiers, wasn’t I. I’d untie the ropes, suck the venom out of his wounds-”

“Venom?” interrupts Dream.

“Listen, I’d just seen Strange Cargo.”

“That’s a myth. It doesn’t work.”

“Come on, you’ve gotta give me a little creative leeway for my sexual fantasies, man.” Then he realizes what he’s said and feels his ears get hot. “But it doesn’t work in the movie either. The guy doing it knows it won’t do anything. He just wanted the guy who was poisoned to know somebody cared about him, before he bit the dust.”

Dream is quiet. The hush of static over the line feels charged in a way it didn’t before. Hob winces. He’d just wanted Dream to laugh at his expense. He grasps for a change the subject, but Dream speaks up before he can find something, anything, better than sexual fantasies.

“That’s very kind of him.” A beat. “Is that what you’re doing now?” His voice is low. He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing at all.

“God, you’re dramatic. You just have a cold,” Hob says, while trying very hard to not imagine pressing his mouth tenderly to a mortal wound on Dream’s thigh. Failing.

“But you do,” says Dream, very quietly.

“Do what?”

“Care. About me.”

Hob swallows down the first three traitorous words that spring to his lips. Dream must be feeling pretty damn sorry for himself, talking like that. Doesn’t mean Hob has any right to say what he wants to say. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Of course I do. You’re my best friend. I’d suck the venom out, any day. Even if it did no good.”

Dawn is starting to lighten the room. Hob hums. “You know what, I’m pretty sure that’s why I imagined it. Embarrassing as hell, but that’s what it was for me. I mean, it was hot. But mostly it was the thought of putting my mouth to another guy’s skin and, God, and showing him I care, you know? Acting all swaggering like Steve McQueen or Clark Gable but secretly saying, I cared about you. I really cared. Being somebody’s arms to lie in, as they died. As long as there was mortal peril. Saint Sebastian, barely surviving the arrows, or that poor bastard in the desert, bit by a snake. Because there was no other good reason I could think of to hold another man that close.”

He twines and untwines the cord around his fingers, itching for a cigarette. This is the sort of thing he could never say to somebody’s face. Not even Dream’s.

“Sure, it would be nice to be somebody’s arms without all the tragedy. But that didn’t occur to me back then. To be honest, I’ve only just started to realize it is. Never felt possible before. So I never got around to wishing for it. Until here.” Until you.

He trails off into silence. Dream says nothing.

“Dream?” he asks, softly. His heart is pounding again like he just got woken up.

Nothing but the faint hush of static answers him. Hob squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Hey. You still awake?”

There’s no response. Well, for the better. To be spared of hearing Hob empty his guts like that.

He gently hangs up the phone, and groans as he stands up, stiff, and walks back to his bed. He imagines Dream in his own bed, dozing curled beside the phone, receiver lying next to his face, and wishes he could be there. Wishes he could see him, getting some rest at last.

Wishes, so stupid that it hurts his chest like holding in a bad cough, that he could be his arms to lie in.

[runawayrafetrain]

Pantry sex

Plussized!reader x surfer!JJ

Warnings: MY FURST SMUT SO DON'T BE SURPRISED WHEN IT SUCKS 😓, p in v, unprotected, in a pantry , public but no one's around and no one sees, on the job, JJ is kinda perverted in this I'm not going to lie, not super proof read, poor writing, kinda oblivious reader, I hate how this turned out I'm not even going to lie, mild oral (fem receiving and like one lick) LMK IF I MISSED ANYTHING

Content: cute smut

Too hot. You'd looked too hot all day, way too many of the guys that came into the surf shop looked at your ass. You were only wearing a bikini and a hoodie. His hoodie. It was long on you so it almost looked like you were wearing nothing underneath at all.

It looked like how you'd dress when he stayed over at your house, underwear and a hoodie that was always his. he's had a hard on all day. It throbbed when you would walk by and kiss his cheek as you helped someone find what they wanted to buy.

The shop is finally empty, the pouges are all doing something that he didn't bother listening to. So, it's just you two. Alone.

"do you want lunch?"

"what?" He was zoning out, badly.

"I'm making myself a sandwich. Do you want one?"

Now is his only chance, no one is in the shop so he gets to have you alone. He quickly stands up, becoming painfully aware of his erection. "I'll eat"

You smile, not suspecting anything. He stands up and follows you to the pantry. When you step in you turn on the little light that pope installed so everyone could see.

He closes the door and locks it, you hear the click and turn to him "what are you doing?"

"having my lunch... if you'll let me?" The look of realization that passed over your face was priceless for JJ. "May I?" His fingers travel to the waistband of your bikini bottoms.

"but we're still working..."

"you'll be quiet, right? All I need is your consent"

"yes" it would be stupid of you to say no, the only time you ever said no to sex with JJ was when you were sick and couldn't stop coughing. Any woman on this island would kill to be in this position right now so who are you to deny it?

He lays you on the floor, Rolling up a packing blanket that someone left in there under your head. "Are you comfortable baby?"

"yes" your voice is breathless and you're already squirming under his sharp eyes. You can feel the wet patch in your bikini bottoms. JJ unties them and slips them down your legs, your slick is all over the bottoms as he pushes them into his pocket. "I'll need those after-"

"I'll get you some actual pants instead and I'll use these for myself" JJ reaches under the hoodie and unties the back of the bikini top, also sliding it into his back pocket. "You're such a perv"

"I want to see your pretty tits bounce under my hoodie as I slide in and out of you"

Your hips jerk forward, his zipper isn't even down yet.

Once his pants are just low enough to get his fully erect dick out he lines it up with your slick cunt. As soon as he's halfway in youre already moaning under him "baby you have to be quiet" your head quickly shakes, your eyes shut tightly. The stretch always burns for a few seconds before it turns into a pleasure so good you can't breathe.

JJ takes your bikini out of his pocket and puts it in your mouth, you open for him without hesitation. His hands move to your plush hips, thumbs running over the stretch marks. "Ready" you just nod, not able to talk because of the bikini currently stuffed in your mouth.

his calloused fingers tighten on your hips to get a good grip and he starts thrusting. Quiet whimpers escape you through the fabric. "You're so tight huh?"

After about ten more minutes youre about to snap and you can feel him twitching inside you. You lift your ass of the ground so that he can hit deeper. Please is the only word that comes to your find, silently begging him to let you cum with your eyes. He clearly gets the message because he speeds up, hitting that spongy spot in you.

Your thighs start trembling, the fat jiggling on each side of JJ. For him it's like heaven and it's enough to make him cum in you right then and there but he's smarter that that. As soon as he feels your squishy walls tighten around his length and that warm liquid on him he pulls out.

JJ empties himself all over your thighs, creaming on you as your creamy white liquids drip onto the cold wooden floor.

Your body is still shaking when he pulls your bikini out of your mouth and puts it back in his pocket. Before you have time to even question what he's doing his face is between your legs and licking up your juice. I whispered hum leaves you in an attempt to be quiet. "You did so well, I just thought I should clean you up"

He wipes his mouth with the bottom of his t shirt. "You stay here and get yourself presentable for the public and I'll go get some shorts for you to wear, mkay baby?"

Tags: @angelpoguesofia, @yesshewrites1, @suzuki-18, @bubbleguppieshh, @bbyg4rl

[inchidentally]

if i see one more ‘oscar’s reaction to lando’s comment about max’ video im gonna blow up!! you mean oscar turning his head to talk to george?? truly dont understand why ppl want them to be petty and bitchy like you Want your drivers to act this way??

(if you don’t know what im talking about i envy your peace and implore you not to disturb it by finding out)

I have no idea what that's about and someone has done some insane level of misreading bc I literally slo mo everything and couldn't say what this is about ???

wait... is it what me and Lola saw as Oscar's "Max F face" when Lando got sassy about Max in the weird truck thing to the cool down room (and oh my god when will ppl learn norstappen is ride or die they literally say this stuff to wind up the media and then P runs up and hugs uncle Lando days later) bc that was literally Oscar going "oh mate" the same way Max F does when Lando starts saying uwu kitten to him while making his character crawl around on his knees during stream aslfgasjlfglsa like if that's what ppl are crashing out over then they are going to d!e of a heart attack before we get halfway thru the season ???

but yea honestly guys I mean it when I say that if you're already feeling pissed off by the nonsense then it's time to restrict and curate to follow-only feeds <3 when a team is at the front then the insanity in fandom reaches fever pitch so trust me it's only going to get worse! I have no interest in forgetting that real things in life matter and getting into rages over millionaires driving absurd cars in male dominated sports is literally a living death like I couldn't imagine the bile of regret if I spent a second of life crashing out over a misconception of what one millionaire athlete said or thought or looked about another. it's fine for me to be stupid over them for my own amusement as long as I'm enjoying myself but I saw so many ppl lose it over charlos wars only for them to this very day seek each other out and speak tenderly of each other and their gfs still being besties. what a waste of time to fight with strangers on sm and spend valuable hours w blood boiling for these two men to still just be friends like ??

fortunately as far as the landoscar side of it, all the ppl who have been around since the mcl was a shitbox aren't the problematic hyper intense rpf types who get competitive over real life friendships or lose track of real life vs fantasy. in general landoscar tends to lose those fans as fast as they latch on bc we love Lily and we don't deny Lando's love life ~whatever it may be~ and Lando and Oscar haven't done the whole PR bromance for fans so there's nothing to like "uphold". those fans get bored and move on to another ship (rip but I think bear nelli is their next target)

and we've all fully been here for how gradually and carefully Lando and Oscar have decided to get to know each other and that all the closeness they have now is fully natural and real instead of part of it being just to appease fans/appeal to sponsors. and god knows we're prepared by the constant hammering of the same gd brocedes-centric question that yes they will have tensions and probably some difficult moments - but also, they've committed to each other and built the current car together and instituted degrees of professionalism as well as mutual respect that these disaster pairings never have. those others just assumed being tight as friends would see them through being direct competitors whereas landoscar's friendship has only now fully blossomed after they've put in the work to build their partnership. they only started hanging out socially after the car became competitive at the front and the awkwardness of who to favor became an issue. and ironically, despite tensions arguably racking up in terms of chasing a WDC, they've been looking more relaxed and closer as friends than ever. big surprise but them laying healthy groundwork and communication before anything else might end up paying off !

like yes fandom at large will always live in a parallel universe of made up drama - but in terms of reality I think it's entirely possible that even in the times they're fighting landoscar will ultimately be underwhelming for Bob Netflix and the people who want to see blood/screaming matches/friendship-ruining statements to the media. it's looking to be more like tensions/disagreements and then they calm down and go back to long stretches of nothing to the point where twt has to latch onto stuff that didn't even happen just to feel something like I'm sorry but they might be too emotionally well regulated and have a healthy perspective on this sport and both said they have lives and futures outside it asfgslajfgasjl

[seaseren]

I just. I really need to know if Yda was as dumb as Lyse pretended she was. I want to know if that whole act was like. a sick dunk on her dead sister for no reason. Lyse why do you make the choices you do rest of the Scions why do you enable her

[starlingfawn]

send me back in time and i'll bring us back in line

[shopwitchvamp]

Oh I apologize, I didn't realize you weren't using the Shop app anymore. The email I got with my order confirmation said the orders could be tracked through that app, you probably already knew that was happening but that's why I got confused lol. Thank you again! Very excited to own some of your gorgeous skirts!! ❤️❤️❤️

Gotcha gotcha, that's good info for me actually! I'll have to dig around and see if there's some way to change those emails. There might not be tho and tracking is through the app no matter what 🤔 Tbh I'm not sure, and they really don't make it easy to figure out. Thank you too!! 🥰