#because I like

[belovedstilldear]

think like. when qblrsmp shuts down i should just info dump qblr!beloved’s lore? itd be a funny prank idk

[confusedpandabear]

Chapters: 1/1 ~ Pillowtalk Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clive Rosfield/Jill Warrick Characters: Clive Rosfield, Jill Warrick, Otto (Final Fantasy XVI), Charon (Final Fantasy XVI), Gav (Final Fantasy XVI) Additional Tags: Rating: M, Fluff and Smut, Making Love, Kind of..., Clive x Jill, they're in LOVE your honour, Gav being Gav, No Plot/Plotless, Smut with no plot, Clive just wants to have some time alone with his wife is that too much to ask Summary: When Clive comes home after weeks of being away, there’s only one person he wants to see. Read here below or on AO3!

Pillowtalk by Confused Panda Bear

Clive rose to his feet, steadying himself against the sailboats mast to watch the Hideaway appear on the horizon.

He had been gone almost two weeks; some errands that had held him up in Sanbreque longer than he intended. Two weeks too long, it felt, especially since Jill had stayed behind this time—admittedly, at his insistence as well as Tarja’s—to rest after their last encounter with Barnabas Tharmr.

She had contended this, of course. Even without her Eikon, she could still look after herself, she said, but his decision had been final. It did not stop him from regretting it, however, especially in the moments on the road where he would have looked to her to find the strength to go on behind her smile.

“Alright, lover boy,” said Obolus as they docked. “Home sweet home.”

With a quiet thanks, Clive practically leapt out of the vessel and onto the pier.

He had not made it four steps before he was assailed into conversation with the carpenter on some repairs, and then in another with Mid and her requests for more materials—and by the time he got to the lift that would take him up to the atrium, he had already given his hasty consent to whatever tasks or commissions asked of him to at least five different people.

Otto, most of all, felt the greatest entitlement to his attention.

“Clive! Welcome home…”

He had galvanised him the moment Clive stepped out of the lift, chewing his ear off about something or other and oblivious to the way Clive hardly met his gaze as he craned his head toward the entrance of the main hall, where Jill had greeted him last time he had been away.

Yes, he was home, he thinks, but it never really felt like so until she was in his arms.

“...And then there’s the issue with the delivery—”

“—Otto,” Clive cut into his ramblings, abruptly enough to stagger. “Can this wait?”

The older man looked as if he was going to protest but was not afforded the time to, when Clive took off towards the stairs to the main hall and was darting up them  two steps at a time.

“She’s in yer chambers!” Charon called out to him without a word of greeting, chuckling as Clive could only offer her a nod of thanks, taking off again before she could tease him about the blush that was creeping up his neck.

He made for the double doors of his room and all but burst through them, startling the slight frame of her leaning over his desk and studying some papers.

“Jill?”

Her voice was hushed, surprised and relieved all at once.

“Clive…”

She straightened up to greet him and he was by her side in two, long strides.

She opened up her arms to him and he gladly walked into them, grasping her face with both hands as he brought her lips to his.

The kiss is sweet, like a lovers should be, but there is a desperation behind it that is all the more pronounced by the way Clive backs her up against the desk and seals her body against his by the shape of her hips.

The contact makes her gasp and he takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.

“Clive,” she holds him by the forearms when he needs to take a breath. She smiles at the way his eyebrows draw together. “How are you? Are you hurt? How did it go in Sanbreque?”

He doesn’t need to make it obvious that he’s not in the mood to chat.

“Good,” he utters, reaching for her again. “We can talk about it later.”

She has to laugh when his hands find their way underneath her thighs and she is lifted onto the surface of his desk in one fell swoop.

Without any lasting hesitation, he moves sinuously between them, aligning their hips and appraising their position with satisfied, half lidded eyes.

There was something dangerously fascinating about the raw sexual charge that emanated from him today. Like he knew exactly what he wanted from her and would not stop—would be absolutely unrelenting—until he got it.

Jill ran her hands up over the familiar topography of his chest, over the swell of his shoulders and tilted her head up to meet him in that excitement halfway.

Their lips come together again with a rumble of his appreciation reverberating to the back of her throat.

At first, it is hard to keep up with his frantic, breathless pace; his insistent hands pushing her clothes aside rather than wait the extra second to remove them.

He does make quick work of her trousers however, tearing them down to the ankles and letting them pool on the floor beneath them, his fingers taking no extra time in skimming over places where she needed them to be.

Her fingernails bite into his shoulders and he sinks two digits into her as an answer.

She breathes the most exquisite rendition of his name and he can’t help but press his lips against hers when she does, like he wanted to swallow the sound of it whole.

He works her like that, her excitement building up in layer upon layer until she can hardly get air into her lungs; and when she comes undone, he aches just from watching her, his skin pulsing and throbbing and tightening over his bones.

Drawing from her what he had sought out to do, his movements become languid, tender and loving; his kisses peppering her face and neck, light as a feather and without the scrape of his teeth and tongue.

“Clive…” Jill whines at the change of pace, and she could feel him smiling against the crook of her neck.

They had spent many evenings together since that night on the beach, acquainting himself with her body and of all of its rhythms and pleasures, so he could be perverse and ask her exactly what she wanted from him, if he felt like it.

He would have done so usually, in another situation where he felt the need to tease her and feed his ego with how much she wanted him, how much she needed him inside of her.

But when he saw the anticipation in her eyes that he was sure a mirror of his own, he answered her wordless pleas by winding an arm beneath her back and pressing her lower body against his so she could feel the outline of his desire for her.

He has to help her with his breaches because all she does is tug at them impatiently, satisfied only when she has him in the palm of her hand and is guiding him to the very core of her.

“Jill,” his head lolls back, his hips jerking towards her. “You feel so—”

“—Clive, I ‘eard you were back—!”

Frozen, mortified, their gazes snapped from each other toward the open door, where Gav had strode in and had stuttered to a halt.

His mouth drops when he sees them, bent over his desk like that, and is struggling to produce an apology that never comes when Jill and Clive yell at him in unison:

“—FUCK off, Gav!”

He not only senses their anger but sees it, glowing under Clive’s skin as he threatens to prime.

He jumps, reaches for the door and shuts it behind him with a muted: “right, yep, I’ll leave youse to it…” as he left.

Jill giggles as Clive looks down at her with a weary sigh, relieved that his cloak covered her and the both of them to enough decency.

Thankfully, the small interruption hasn’t affected his excitement, still poised between her legs and raring to go.

She tilts her head up to him as he smooths her hair away from her face, and passes his thumb over the curve of her lips that part as if to taste him.

“Now,” he murmurs lowly. “Where were we?”

He enters her with a mutual gasp and their bodies rush together in a way Jill could hardly withstand in silence.

She has to brace her hands on the edge of the desk as it moves several inches back with their movements—the strength of his hands on her waist the only thing keeping her tethered in a world that spun and shifted with the most wonderful of sensations.

He wraps her legs up higher on his hips, his pace intensifying with the increasing tension between them.

He is whispering under his breath: “fuck, fuck, fuck, Jill…” and she pulls back so that she could see the face he makes when he says her name like that.

Their eyes locked as they fell over the edge together, gasping for air and grasping for eachother.

Spent, the couple collapse onto the hard surface of his desk and he cradles the back of her head with his hand so she would not knock against it.

Shoulders heaving, Clive hides his face into her neck and the world stops for them for a single moment.

Jill, still coming down from her high, clings on for dear life to the material of his shirt, right over his heart, the beat of it wild.

Hers must have been the same, because it bursts when he mouths: “I’ve missed you,” into the heat of her skin.

“I missed you too, Clive,” she breathes as he draws back to look at her, taking in the rosy colour that had bloomed across her cheeks as a result of the exercise, giving her skin an aching luminescence.

He smiles at her weakly, and lets their foreheads touch; basking in a silent moment of just the two of them until they are forced out of the small eternity they had built by the voices gathering on the other side of his door.

“…I mean, they coulda put a hat on the door knob or summin’.” Gav’s voice, though muffled, was clear as day. “And why the desk? There was a fuckin’ bed right there…”

Clive swore under his breath and Jill pressed her lips together, holding in a laugh.

“I think they’re forming a line outside.”

“They can wait,” he said to her, gruffly.

With obvious reluctance, Clive lifts himself up from on top of her and offers a hand to help her down from off the desk—ever the gentleman.

Still in a satisfied daze, Jill allows him to lead her to the bed to catch their breaths more comfortably. They lie together on their sides, Clive hauling her close so that he could feel every line of her body against him.

She reaches out to sweep the hair from his forehead and the look he gives her is so full of love that his eyes seem clearer than she’d ever seen them before, robbed of the darkness that so often sat within them.

“You got new pillows,” he then said, out of the blue but amused, and without any real consequence.

“Yes!” Jill laughed, shaking her head at him. “I was tired of fighting you in your sleep for the only one you had! I made them myself, Hortense had some spare cloth she said I could use…”

“Have you been sleeping in here whilst I’ve been away?” he asks her with a smile, and watches as she shrinks away from him when she feels her cheeks glowing red.

“Only…for one or two nights…” Jill admits and he gives her a gentle squeeze around the middle.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Jill. It’s your room as much as it is mine…”

They look around the large space together, bare even though it had been their home for the past five years. Or, more appropriately, somewhere to crash in between their many excursions across the continent.

It was no wonder why neither of their personalities had been stamped on it, save the little corner of Clive’s keepsakes.

“…And it could certainly use a woman’s touch,” he adds, pleased with himself when Jill’s face lights up at the prospect.

“You’d let me redecorate?”

“Of course.”

He’d give her anything she asks for, he thinks.

“What would you do first?” he asks and she ponders the thought, before flashing him a wicked smile.

“Well, we should probably start with getting a lock on the door,” she says.

[rubberduckyrye]

I AM A GOD AMONG MEN

[heartbreakincident]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[wacklemons]

lets scream with mama

TERFS STOP INTERACTING WITH THIS POST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DONT LIKE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF YOU DONT RESPECT TRANS WOMEN GET OFF MY BLOG!!!!!! PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!

[jakeperalta]

saw this very [ben affleck depressed smoking image] comment and thought why does blue job / pink job sound like an established concept so I looked it up.....

what's next?? having a bank account is a blue job 💙🏦☺️ not being legally recognised as a person in your own right is a pink job 🩷🥰💅

[sadgirlautumn]

“kids spend too much time on their devices” well what else are they supposed to do? there’s no corner shops with pinball machines in them on every corner anymore. there’s no malls or stores in small towns for teens to hang out in without being suspected of shoplifting or kicked out for loitering. sidewalks are too broken for them to ride their bikes and there’s no bike lane in the street to make it safe for them. i just don’t understand where they expect these kids to go when they keep taking places away from them. and yes having no safe public places for them is what leads a lot of teens into addiction if they end up at a place where people aren’t truly looking out for them.

[arynneva]

wait do people read first person stories and think they're the ones in the story???

Saw people talking about not liking first person, which is fair, but their reasoning was like "I would not do that" and I don't understand that mindset.

First person stories are still about a character. A character making their own decisions. First person isn't about you???? At least I thought it wasn't. What am I missing? I've always seen first person as just a more in-depth look into a character's mind and stricter POV. Not as a reader stand-in.

[bixels]

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

[wukongfeetpics]

characters have to be a little bit awful in ways that you cant defend. its good for the ecosystem. your honor he did do that. He did in fact do that

[sparrowlucero]

like the most politically neutered movie of all time unironically

[queermasculine]

all the "x with mama" posts are getting to me i just drew a butch girl with her mom (who is also butch) and thought "let's look like men with mama"

[chongoblog]

WAIT

I JUST REMEMBERED HEARING AN ELON MUSK QUOTE WHERE HE TALKS ABOUT HOW HE BELIEVES CHESS IS "TOO SIMPLE" OR WHATEVER AND HE SAID HIS FAVORITE GAME WAS A GAME CALLED "POLYTOPIA"

I JUST REMEMBERED THAT IVE PLAYED POLYTOPIA

It being Elon's favorite game (or at least one so important to him that his biographer dedicates a lot of time to it) is.....really really funny.

Basically, imagine Civilization, but as a mobile game. So like if Civilization Revolution was even more dumbed down (that's a Civilization insult. That's devastating. It's devastated right now). For what it's worth, it's not a bad game. On the contrary, from what I could tell in the little bit of time I played it, it's a perfectly competent game with good design. But it's not a deep game by any means. I played through it once, won easily on my first go, then saw that the other playable characters had barely any differences between them.

Like, not to imply you can judge a book by its cover, but here's what it looks like

I came across an article by Dave Karpf discussing this exact thing, and I think it describes it wonderfully

[so-i-did-this-thing]

The evolution of (trans) man.

(Well, this one, anyway.)

Age 9: "Tomboy"

Age 15: Strictly enforced femininity

Age 30: Hitting the mental limits of being closeted all his life and about to crash HARD

Age 47: Fifteen years now since starting transition. Far more good days than bad, no regrets.

The world may be full of uncertainty and danger, but I resolve to continue to find joy in who I am. Be joyful to be kind to yourself and be joyful to spite the bastards who would tear us apart.

[charbroiledchicken]

if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.