#cfts

[gaiaxygang]

garfinpkk ig

[spaceexp]

Starliner CFT

[halfnekoslair]

I am converted

@somerandomdudelmao apocalypse series continues to deliver drama.

I wanted to do a quick sketch but end up adding too many random spots and now it doesn't even look like the original frame >w<

[lonestarflight]

At this point, might as well.

(in all seriousness, I wish Boeing would get their shit together.)

Posted on Facebook: link

[city-flag-tournament]

✯ Round 7 ✯ Match 2 ✯

The current flag of Tikiraqjuaq (Whale Cove), Nunavut, Canada

Propaganda:

None

vs.

The current flag of Kanepi Parish, Põlva County, Estonia

Propaganda:

KANEPI MEANS WEED IN ESTONIAN IT'S LITERALLY A WEED FLAG FOR THE WEED PARISH

Tournament Policies: ✯ Choose the flag that's more meaningful to you! ✯ Be respectful of place names and cultural symbols in your commentary! ✯ If you want to submit propaganda, you may do so at the submission form linked in the pinned post. It will only be included if it is submitted before the next post with that flag is drafted and will be included in all subsequent posts the flag is featured in.

[freemansgirl]

cool for the summer

pairing: amber freeman x reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: amber and reader basically get down on vacation in the hotel while reader’s parents are away for a bit

warnings: smut, choking, strapon sex, vibrating strap on, oral sex (reader is receiving), orgasms

a/n: a lil vacay smut for my girl amber bc it fits the summertime vibe rn🤭 enjoy <3

once she heard the sound of your parents leaving the hotel room, amber began to get instantly to work as she sat you on top of the bathroom counter, removing the cover up off of your bikini set. lots of kisses and soft bite marks were spread across your neck skin, each one feeling so sensual and heated, amber needed you.

this whole entire vacation trip with your family has left her feeling pent up sexual frustration that she wanted to let out so bad, but couldn’t. it would be hard for her to make any type of advance on you whether it was romantic or sexual but especially sexual because you two were always around your parents. it’s like you could never really have a moment with her without feeling like her every move is being watched. your parents had no clue what was going on between you and your so called “best friend” amber freeman, your relationship was really secretive between you two.

they simply saw amber as a sweet girl who happened to be a wonderful friend to you; as a result, they asked her to come on the vacation because they admired and loved her for always being there for you. they never thought that she would… so happen to be your girlfriend as well. the way amber stared at you for too long especially at the beach or how she would “accidentally” brush her hand against yours multiple times, when she was helping you bring in your luggage was suspicious to them but they never thought much of it. they just thought of the whole luggage thing as her being a good friend to you, but now that innocent “good friend” look was now gone leaving you two to this whole scene in the hotel bathroom.

she was so glad to actually be able to show some affection towards you, this is what she was waiting for. the temptation of trying not to put her hands on your thighs in the car on the way was hell for her. the “best friend” act was slowly getting unbearable for her to contain because she loved you. you know your girlfriend amber was the touchy feely type too, it hurt her knowing she had to hide this relationship. her eyes kept trailing down to that damn revealing, sexy (favorite color) two piece bikini set that you wore to the beach that made her go feral. since you two and your family left the beach, she's been trying to break you out of that set; at this point she found a way. the moment that your parents left, she took advantage of it.

now, look at your girlfriend, her pale hands roaming all over your body and giving nice squeezes to your ass. you exhale in surprise as she spreads your legs so she can press her hips to the inner part of your thighs and moves them closer to you. your lover’s black strap on was right up on the fabric of your bikini bottom, she stared up at you with the most lustful but excited eyes ever. “pull it down for me, love.” she ordered, which cause you to nod to follow her instructions, the bikini stopping around your ankles. when the black strap touched your damp folds as she aligned herself with your entrance, you let out a groan.

“fuck…..” you whisper causing your (eye color) eyes to widen, the strap on slowly deepening inside of you, you have to grab onto your girlfriend’s wrist to keep yourself grounded. this causes her to laugh at you, while she pushes your hips more into her sex toy. “i’m just getting starting, and you’re already grabbing onto me? i know you can take it like you always do for me.”

you start to lock your legs around her hips, both of your knees on the side of her thighs. you watched her hover over your figure, amber’s forehead is pressing against your very own, eyes both locked on each other. the pace was beginning to change now, she was going at a really fast speed causing you to widen your eyes and let out such breathless yet loud moans, your nails were digging so hard into her back, but not too much to leave a scratch as you didn’t want your parents to suspect where your supposedly “best friend” got them from.

“you’re so fucking irresistible… do you know how long i been waiting to do THINGS to you on this trip?” amber confessed, as she continued with fucking you so much. you were moaning so much from everything that you couldn’t respond as best as you can, but you tried to mutter a response back. “y-yeah, i see the way—“ you let out another breathy moan from another thrust, “you…. look at me all of the time, i been wanting you too….”

then, she grabbed you by your neck to bring you forward to her for a kiss. this kiss was so passionate and fiery, it was filled with so much desirability and neediness. you had your hands on her cheek, caressing her smooth, pale skin then your hands trailed down to her waist. the two of you had a really good makeout session, fighting for dominance in the kiss, but of course, amber won it. eventually, you pulled back once you sensed how fast your girlfriend was going, it felt like it was hard for you to keep up.

“too fast, ambs, too—“ you were now cut off with more slamming into your wet, drenched pretty pussy from your girlfriend’s strap on. amber’s strapping was so good that it was damn near causing your knees to buckle against the tension of how fast she was going. your moaning became pitiful and whining as she continued to stretch you; you tried to beg her to slow down, but the constant pounding of the strap kept cutting you off. you really prayed that your whole session with the dark haired girl finished before your parents came back with tonight’s dinner so they didn’t see you like this.

“oh shut up, you know you enjoy it when i go faster.” amber taunted, grabbing on your thigh to keep you still so you couldn’t resist her. while one of her hands gripped your thigh, the other one was still wrapped around your neck, choking you with more added pressure. your head rolled back, the back of your hair touching the bathroom mirror while you bit your left. you could feel yourself getting more turned on by this than you already are. she wasn’t wrong, even though you did ask her to slow down, you couldn’t lie you loved when she fucked you this fast because she liked fucking you so stupid on her strap. perhaps, it was a good thing that she secretly snuck her strap on inside of her suitcase, she always had a trick up her sleeve.

your girlfriend started looking back at the mirror then at you. you looked so fucking sexy just letting her get her way with you. the black sex toy was vibrating more and more inside of you, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer. the pressure was getting to you now, your eyes were so needy as your body was about to give out for amber. “go ahead and cum for me, princess.” she whispered, pushing your hair back and giving you a soft kiss to cheek, giving you permission.

once you came all over her, you let out a breathily moan as you felt so good releasing all over her strap. the pressure she had applied on how tight she gripped your hips was now no longer there, her touch is now soft and gentle. she pulled out the strap on from inside of you and pulled you down off of the counter. “you did so amazing, all for me like always, darling.” she sweetly spoke to you, kissed your forehead and brought you in for a hug.

after that, the two of you cleaned up the mess of everything, making sure everything was wiped and disinfecting things. your girlfriend began to grab your hand and looked into your eyes, a gentle expression on her face now before taking you over to the shower. the hot, steamy water waiting for you two to enter as your girlfriend was going to treat you to aftercare to get rid of the smell of sex before your parents came home.

[paraparaparadigm]

[starrcrossrose]

I’ve been wanting to throw color onto this panel since the day it uploaded! I finally, FINALLY, got around to it! I love! Uncle Tello so MUCH! I wanted to color other panels from this chapter too because goodness gracious give me any excuse to make them glow and look super cool! 😭✨

@somerandomdudelmao your comic has had a death grip on me for months and I love your work and emotional storytelling. I hope you’re doing well 💖

[saccharinesunsetretired]

Yours, Anyway | Revivebur x Reader

Fun little piece I did for this event using one bed, forced proximity and a tiny bit of enemies to lovers as my trope prompts :) I don't know how good this is but I will cut myself some slack

Summary: Wilbur gets lost in a snowstorm after the destruction of the burger van. With frostbite, exhaustion, and desperation setting in, he ends up on your doorstep despite believing that you despise him. After all, what other choice does he have?

Warnings: Brief mentions of vomit, unhealthy eating habits and weight loss (Revivebur is not the healthiest guy)

Word Count: 4.6k

Minors DNI

The last thing Wilbur had wanted was to get caught in a snowstorm. After days of no sleep and hardly eating, it was the last thing he needed. Yet, there he was, knee-deep in the snow as wind whipped his face. His ears were nearly numb, (he cursed himself for not owning a hat) and his fingers were aching, the first sign of potential frostbite. 

The plan had been to make it to Phil’s house. After the…incident at the burger van—now a pile of rubble—Wilbur needed a place to stay, to lick his wounds and relax while attempting to assuage his guilt. The weather had other plans.

He braced himself against the wind, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. He would have buttoned it, except all the buttons were slightly loose and would probably have popped off had he tried. Considering this was his only coat, he couldn't afford to ruin it. With the combination of the wind blowing his hair into his eyes and the snow hitting the side of his face, he could hardly see ten feet in front of him.

However, he could see a light in the snowstorm, the warm glow of a fireplace through a cabin window. “Finally,” he murmured under his breath, his words immediately carried away by the harsh winds. As he approached, however, he realized this wasn’t Phil’s cabin at all. It was yours.

Wilbur’s relationship with you was…tense, to say the least. You had struck up a friendship with Phil and Technoblade after Wilbur’s death, becoming a member of the Syndicate and training under their guidance. You’d heard about Wilbur, of course, the man who betrayed his friends and reduced his own country to rubble. The man who, in your eyes, repeatedly took advantage of his father’s kindness and resources, only to squander any opportunity at bettering himself. You had become protective of Phil, viewing Wilbur as a threat to his father’s well-being. While he couldn’t always disagree, Wilbur’s bitterness toward you hadn’t faded in the slightest. After all, what did you know about his relationship with his father? Who were you to judge him? 

When he recognized that the cabin was yours, he nearly kept walking. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make heads or tails of where he was. He knew Phil and Techno’s cabin couldn’t be far, but he didn’t know which direction he was looking in. He had no compass and no map, and even if he did, it would be nearly impossible to use them in this weather.

Despite his reservations, he found himself knocking on your door. With any luck, you wouldn’t toss him out the second you saw him.

The door opened. Wilbur could feel the warmth radiating from inside, and it was tempting to shove his way in despite any protest you might have. However, he refrained, meeting your eyes instead.

“What are you doing here?” you asked. Despite the harshness of your tone, Wilbur couldn’t help but be mesmerized. You were far from being friends with him, but despite that, he found himself drawn to you. You were tough, principled, independent. Unlike him, you didn’t need to rely solely on the kindness and leniency of others to keep yourself afloat. He envied you for that. Ever since his revival, it seemed that all he did was survive off other’s pity. 

But you didn’t pity him. You treated him as a person. And even though the two of you didn’t like each other, he was drawn to you. It wasn’t surprising to Wilbur. He’d always been attracted to things that were bad for him.

“Was trying to get to Phil’s,” Wilbur said. “Got lost.”

“I can see that.” Your eyes narrowed at him. “What do you want?”

“Shelter. Obviously.” Wilbur motioned to the flurry of wind and snow behind him. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a storm going on. A pretty significant one. And I don’t exactly have proper winter gear.”

“And whose fault is that?” you asked sarcastically. “Maybe, instead of mooching off your father, you should’ve gotten yourself a place. Somewhere that you won’t get caught in a snowstorm by yourself.” 

“Yeah,” Wilbur replied tersely. “I get it. Look, can I please come inside? Just for a bit, to warm up until the storm is over, or at least has died down.” He shivered, a little more than he actually felt the need to, just to show you how cold he was. Wilbur had become good at evoking pity. 

There was no pity in your expression, however. “Are you armed?” you asked. Wilbur shook his head. “Good.” 

To his relief, you stepped aside, allowing him to enter the cabin. He was hit with a wave of warmth. He closed his eyes, standing just inside your cabin and soaking it in. He heard the soft click of the front door being closed, and he opened his eyes as you walked past him further into the cabin.

Once his eyes were open, he took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The cabin was simple, only two rooms. He could see the fireplace in the center of the room, made of stones cobbled neatly together. A small pile of firewood sat to the left of the fireplace, logs ready to be burned in order to keep the place blissfully warm. There was a window beside the front door, the one he’d seen while stuck out in the snow. You had a bookshelf as well, full of neatly placed books and some random objects that you’d found on your travels. A cushioned loveseat sat in front of the fireplace, and beside that sat a comfortable-looking chair. To his left was a small room—most likely a bathroom—and tucked against the wall was a bed. On the opposite end of the room was a kitchen, stocked with the bare necessities. A table sat in the corner, only big enough for three people, perhaps four if you tried hard enough.

It wasn’t a large, luxurious place, but it was comfortable. It reminded him of his childhood, spent in small homes and cabins similar to this one. “Nice place,” Wilbur said. “I’ve seen it from the outside, but I’ve never gone in.”

“You’re right,” you said. “And there’s a reason for that.” You turned your back to him, walking over to the kitchen. Wilbur watched as you filled a glass of water and handed it to him.

Wilbur took the glass, confused. “Then why let me in? Why help me?”

“As much as I dislike you,” you replied, “I think Phil would be pretty upset with me if I left his son to die in a snowstorm.”

“You dislike me? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Then you’re even dumber than I thought.” You looked Wilbur up and down. “You look like shit.”

It was true. He still had ash clinging to his coat from the burger van incident. The bags under his eyes had become more pronounced, and he hadn’t eaten in ages, which he figured must be evident based on the way you were looking at him. “Thanks,” he replied simply. He took a sip of the water you gave him. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he took a sip, and the glass was emptied in less than thirty seconds.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” you asked.

“A while. Why?”

“You’re just going to throw up all that water if you don’t eat,” you said. “Your body won’t absorb it.”

Wilbur didn’t mention that eating often went poorly for him since he came back from the dead. It was as if his body knew he wasn’t supposed to be alive, that his time was supposed to be up. If he ate too much or too quickly, he often felt nauseous. He’d thrown up more than once by not being careful and eating too fast. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “I don’t exactly carry a meal on me at all times,” he said.

“Sit down,” you said. “I’ll make you something.” He looked at you in disbelief. “Are you going to sit, or you going to stand there and stare at me?”

“I’ll sit.” Wilbur glanced around the room. “Do you want me to take my boots off?”

“Just set them by the door,” you said. Your back was already turned to him again, gathering ingredients to make him something to eat. “You can hang your coat up as well.”

“Thanks.” He did as you said, removing his worn, leather boots as well as his coat. He cringed at the sight of it, the coat that had carried him through Pogtopia, through the afterlife, and all the way to your front door. It had seen better days. 

Actually, he supposed it hadn’t. He’d only started wearing it when he was cast into exile from his own nation. The only version of himself that wore that coat was the version that was broken, fractured into a million pieces. The coat had only ever belonged to a man who felt like the shell of his former self. The man who hurt everyone he loved. 

He shook the thoughts away and hung up the coat next to one of yours before walking into the kitchen area, trying not to let the guilt consume him. He sat at the table, perching himself on one of the wooden chairs. “The chairs look handmade,” Wilbur pointed out. “Reminds me of the ones my dad made for the house I lived in as a kid.”

“He taught me how to build,” you replied. Your eyes were focused on your work. “Helped me assemble the chairs. And the table, for that matter.”

“So you’re my dear old dad’s new kid then, huh?” Wilbur asked. “His new project.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your jealousy is showing, Wilbur. It’s not a good look on you.”

“How would you know? You’re not even looking.”

You turned toward him. His breath caught in his throat. In the dim light of the kerosene lamps that lit your cozy cabin, you looked practically ethereal. At first, he thought you were going to say something, but you faltered and turned back to your work.

Moments passed in silence. Wilbur tapped his fingertips lightly on your kitchen table, a nervous habit. Before long, a bowl was placed in front of him.

It was oatmeal, sprinkled with some brown sugar. There were fresh berries in it as well, berries that he figured you’d likely picked yourself. “Thank you,” he said. He hadn’t had oatmeal since L’Manberg. The thought made his throat feel like it was closing up.

“You’re welcome.” To his surprise, you sat at the table with him. He felt unnerved by your proximity. If he scooted a few more inches to the left, his elbow would brush against yours. 

He feared that one touch from you would be his undoing.

He ate a few bites of oatmeal, resisting the urge to devour it. Instead, he ate slowly and carefully, trying to appease his sensitive, post-revival stomach. He could feel your eyes on him even when he wasn’t looking at you, and he tried to ignore it. You, unfortunately, were very hard for him to ignore.

It didn’t take long for him to finish the oatmeal, despite him trying his best to eat slowly. The second he was finished, the bowl was lifted and carried to the sink by you. His eyes followed your movements, then looked away as you turned back toward him.

“Better?” you asked.

Wilbur nodded. “Much better. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome again.” To his surprise, you smiled at him. He’d seen you smile, but never due to something he’d said or done. The sight was a pleasant one. “I didn’t know if you were capable of being polite,” you said. Your tone was more teasing than malicious. 

“What can I say? I’m a regular gentleman.” Wilbur returned your smile with one of his own. He felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Multiple times, you had scolded him for taking advantage of Phil’s resources and generosity, and here he was, proving you right by doing the same thing to you. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, attempting to assuage his guilt by asking if he could help you in some way to return the favor.

“Yeah, actually,” you said. “You can go take a shower. You’re stinking up my cabin.” Once again, the words were said in a way that were more indicative of banter rather than malice. Wilbur wasn’t sure what to make of your kindness.

“Can do,” Wilbur said. “A shower sounds…wonderful, actually.” He’d washed himself off recently, of course, but hadn’t had a proper shower. He didn’t have access to one. “Except I don’t have any other clothes with me.”

“Phil lent me some of your old ones once,” you said. “Mine got dirty.”

“How did you manage to get so dirty that Phil needed to lend you my clothes?” Wilbur asked, amused.

“Sparring practice,” you replied. “Technoblade kicked my ass, and I ended up in the mud.”

Wilbur snorted. “Sounds like Technoblade.”

“Don’t worry, I got him back for it later.” You walked over to your dresser and shuffled through the drawers before pulling out some clothes. Wilbur recognized them—an old, gray sweater, a pair of sweatpants. He hadn’t seen those clothes in ages. He wasn’t even aware that Phil had kept any of his old clothes. “Bring these with you into the bathroom,” you said. “There’s a blue towel hung up in there that hasn’t been used. The shower water takes a minute to warm up, and you can’t stay in there too long. Waste of water.”

“Got it.” Wilbur stood up and gently took the clothes from your hands. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy your shower,” you said.

“I will.” The notion of warm water on his skin sounded heavenly to Wilbur. He was still chilled from being outside in the storm. The second the bathroom door was closed behind him, he was stripping himself of his clothing and turning on the water. Just as you’d warned him, it took a moment for the water to warm up, but as soon as it did, he stepped into the shower.

The water felt so good that he could cry. He scrubbed every inch of his body, lathering himself in more soap than was probably necessary just because he could. He washed his hair, working his fingers through all the knots and tangles. By the time he was done, he felt brand-new. Plus, he smelled like you, now, like lavender and honey. 

He got dressed and exited the bathroom. When he stepped out, you were sitting in bed, dressed in your pajamas, flipping through a book. You looked up from your book at Wilbur, still damp from the shower. “You look better when you’re clean,” you said.

“I feel better when I’m clean.” Truthfully, Wilbur dreaded having to leave, having to carry his dirty clothes, to put on his boots that were nearly worn through and his coat with loose seams. He dreaded the walk to Phil’s house, and he dreaded the moment he would have to tell Phil that he’d ruined everything. Again. 

One day, you would hear about it, and once again, your scorn would be tossed in his direction. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind. Right now, things were peaceful. Surely, he deserved a bit of peace for a while longer. 

“I bet you do.” You watched Wilbur, who looked unsure, not quite knowing where to sit or what to do. To his surprise, you scooted over. “Sit.”

He obeyed, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs. His eyes drifted toward the window. The snow was still coming down hard, flakes of it hitting the window. “Do you think this will let up before morning?” he asked. You were so close to him that the two of you were nearly touching. He could almost feel your warmth, so close and yet so very unattainable. 

“It’s not likely. My guess is you won’t be able to leave until the sun comes up.” You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I would suggest that you take the couch, but it’s just a loveseat, and considering how freakishly tall you are I doubt you’d fit on it.”

Wilbur couldn't help but laugh a little. “I could take it anyway. It’s just one night.” At least he’d be warm, he figured. 

“One more problem,” you said. “I don’t have extra blankets.” 

Wilbur blinked a few times. “You live in the arctic. How do you not have extra blankets?”

You shrugged. “Never needed them. It’s not every day some guy shows up asking for a place to sleep.”

Wilbur, despite trying to shove his pride away, couldn’t help but say something. “‘Some guy’, huh?” Despite intending to joke, his tone came out sounding needlessly defensive. He cringed at his own words. 

“Ah, right,” you replied. “You’re the infamous ex-president of L’Manberg turned burger van owner. That’s quite the name you’ve built for yourself.” Your tone wasn’t teasing anymore. It was back to reprimands. 

“If you dislike me so much, why are you letting me stay here? I feel like one second, you don’t hate me, and the next, you want me gone again. Why?” Wilbur watched you intently, trying to read every shift in your expression. 

“Because one second,” you retorted, “you’re pleasant to be around, and the next, I remember what a self-important dick you are.” 

“I’m self-important?” Wilbur laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. He watched as you got off the bed, clearly not wanting to sit next to him any more. Even as he spoke, he could tell that he was about to take it too far. As usual, though, he just couldn’t stop himself. “Have you seen yourself? You show up out of nowhere, make friends with Technoblade and my father, and now you think you’re so special because they let you join their book club. It’s pathetic.”

“Oh, look who’s talking,” you snap. “Poor, poor Wilbur Soot, showing up on people’s doorsteps in the snow reeking of ash and body odor, relying on other people’s generosity. Do you not realize how pathetic you look to everyone else? Everyone is either scared because you’re a ticking time bomb or sad because you’re so pitiful.” You crossed your arms. “Like I said, I helped you because I can’t in good conscience turn you away after Phil has been so kind to me. That’s it. It’s not because I like you. It’s not because I care. It’s because of who you’re related to. So maybe, just maybe, you should grow the fuck up and realize that you only get so many second chances.”

Wilbur stared at you for a moment, your words slowly sinking in. He’d had the same revelation himself the moment the adrenaline from the burger van incident wore off. All he had done since he was revived was fuel a petty rivalry and get people hurt. And for what? For a desperate power grab that was doomed to fail. For a sense of control that he’d lost long before his death, a sense of control he may never have possessed in the first place.

“You’re right,” he said slowly. His eyes met yours. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.” He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to outrun the guilt forever. It always came back, like a dog on a lead that he wished he could just let go of. And there I am being selfish again he thought to himself. Wishing I didn’t feel guilty for the things I deserve to feel guilty for.

You shook your head. “It’s not me you need to apologize to. I’m not one of the people you’ve hurt.” 

Wilbur nodded and looked away. He felt the bed shift as you sat back down, arms still folded, eyes fixed on him. “Yeah, I know.” He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. “I know that I’ve been selfish. Selfish and prideful and careless. And I know that…that you have good reason to not like me. I’ve hurt and taken advantage of people that you care about. I doubt I would like me much either if I were you.”

A moment of silence passed, and Wilbur’s eyes reopened to look at you and gauge your reaction. “How do I know you’re not saying this because you know it’s what I want to hear?” you asked. 

Wilbur shook his head. “You don’t. I guess you have to trust me. And I know how stupid that sounds, but it’s the truth.” 

“…So what are you going to do?” You asked.

“I’m going to apologize,” Wilbur replied. “I’m going to try and make things right, to make amends as best I can.” He hesitated before speaking again, unsure how much he should say to you. “I apologized to a few people when I first got revived, but it wasn’t…earnest. I wanted to be forgiven. I wanted people to forgive and forget and move on.”

“And what do you want now?” Your tone became softer, quieter. You looked at him with a look of curiosity, sympathy, even. 

“Closure,” Wilbur replied. “For the people I hurt. And maybe, one day, for me.” He gazed at you, you, who was so much stronger than he had ever been or ever would be. “Are my answers to your satisfaction?” 

“Are they to yours?” Your shoulder brushed against his, and Wilbur hadn’t realized how much he craved someone’s touch—anyone’s touch—until this very moment. 

“I think so.” Wilbur went quiet, deep in thought. “For what it’s worth, I admire you. You came here, joined the Syndicate, made a name for yourself. I’ve seen you spar with Technoblade, and it’s impressive. And Phil speaks highly of you.” He paused. “You're doing well for yourself."

The silence that filled the room was long. Just as Wilbur was about to speak again, you spoke for him. “The storm stopped.” You tilted your head toward the window, motioning for Wilbur to look. Sure enough, the storm was over. Snow was no longer falling, and the world outside the cabin looked still and calm. 

“Looks like it.” Wilbur made no move to get up, not wanting to move from his spot on your warm bed. He knew he had to at some point, that you were bound to kick him out, so he soaked up every second he could get. 

“For what it’s worth,” you said suddenly, “I don’t think you’re a bad person.” He turned around to look at you. “And…and I don’t think Phil is blameless in all of this. You may have asked him to kill you, but he shouldn't have done it.” 

“I deserved it,” Wilbur said. He tried to focus on the crackle of the logs in the fireplace rather than the soft sounds of your breathing beside him. “You may not have been there, but you know all about it. You know what I did. And now Ranboo got hurt because of me, and I…” He realized that his fists were clenched, and before he could un-clench them, he felt the soft weight of a hand over his own. He looked at you in surprise.

“What happened to Ranboo?” you asked softly, your hand gently holding his.

Wilbur swallowed. It was hard enough to talk about this, but confessing this to you while you were being gentle with him felt impossible. He never wanted that touch to go away. “He, uh, lost a life,” Wilbur says quietly. “We set up this—this stupid trap for Quackity, and everything went wrong, and Tubbo was going to get hurt, so Ranboo sacrificed himself.” Wilbur squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the reprimand. 

You sighed. “Wilbur, I don’t even know what to say to that.” 

“It’s a lot. I know.” To his surprise, your hand was still there, resting atop his. 

“Whatever else happens, you need to apologize to him for dragging him into your shit,” you said. “And you should definitely apologize to Tommy. From what I’ve heard, the kid has gone through hell for you.”

Wilbur felt his heart squeeze in his chest, felt the guilt weighing him down. “I know.” He laughed, but the sound was empty and self-pitying. “Still think I’m a good person?”

“I never said you were a good person. I just said you’re not a bad one. And I stand by that.” 

“You also said that I only get so many second chances.”

“I did.” You squeezed his hand gently, and he un-clenched it, properly taking your hand in his. He reopened his eyes, finally having the courage to look at you. “I don’t think you’re out of second chances yet. I think you have time.”

Wilbur faltered. “What if I don’t deserve that?”

You shrugged. “Whether you deserve it or not, you have it anyway.” 

Wilbur felt his throat close up, tears threatening to build up in his eyes. He was so tired, so tired and so ashamed that it felt like it could kill him. And there you were, someone who didn’t even like him, showing him kindness anyway. He wanted to say thank you, but he feared that he’d sob the minute he opened his mouth.

“Stay,” you said softly. “You’re not dressed to go back outside in this. I’ll take you to Phil’s tomorrow.”

Wilbur didn’t have it in him to fight you, nor did he want to. He managed a nod and watched as you let go of his hand and slid under the covers. The second your hand left his, he felt the absence of it. “Not tired yet?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Very tired,” he replied. 

“Under the covers, then.” Wilbur complied despite his nerves. The nerves disappeared, however, as soon as he was warm under the blankets. He sighed with relief, happy to be in a proper bed instead of a ratty mattress in the corner of the now-destroyed burger van.

Once he was comfortable, he became hyper aware of each of your movements, every small shift and breath. “You didn’t do all of this just because I’m Phil’s son, did you?” he asked quietly. 

“Unfortunately for me, I have a bit of a soft spot for you,” you confessed. “Despite you being a careless idiot.” 

“Thanks…I guess.” He stared at the ceiling for a few moments before turning on his side. You were on your side as well, facing away from him. “I’ll try to be less of a careless idiot in the future.”

“And I will believe it when I see it.” He couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at your words.

“Fair enough.” Wilbur relaxed even more, unable to stop looking at you, even if all he could see was the back of your head. “Thank you, by the way. Genuinely. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” Slowly, you reached a hand back, tugging gently at the front of his shirt.

Wilbur laid there, confused. “Wait, do you want me to-“

“Yeah. Get over here.” Wilbur hesitantly scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “See? Cozy.”

“Yeah.” Wilbur was grateful you couldn’t see his face. He was willing to bet that he looked just as flustered as he felt. He wanted to question you, ask why you wanted him like this, but he felt he already knew the answer.

He wasn’t sure that he deserved your affection, but he had it anyway. And that was enough.

[doctors-star]

love going to the theatre! disappointingly difficult to blog about it afterwards. next time you're all coming with me. friends don't let friends rotate characters alone or something.

[toiletwipes]

PIECES | vampire! wilbur

Part 1 — I'm here again

Summary: There's a vampire, wandering and mourning for a love that died by his hands. He wanders and drifts along the universe until the love has found him.

In this part, we meet Wilbur, a man turned into a vampire and the love he has for someone.

THIS FIC IS PART OF THIS EVENT! [The Common Fanfiction Trope Writing Event] Mainly mainly for oblivious pining! i bet i could squeeze friends to lovers in this though.

[Warnings: blood, mention of death and killing, the usual vampire stuff]

~2.6k words.

title and chapter title from the song pieces by red

———

He walks. For a long time in his life, it was all he ever did. He would walk and walk, never really needing to stop. Walked until there were no sidewalks, until there was only dirt. Till he tilted his head up and was unable to recognize the stars above him. And then he’d continue. One foot after the other.

There was never a reason to stop walking, other than to stop and feed but that was getting rarer and rarer. Starving himself wasn’t ideal but with how often he walked and how often he would walk miles without noticing it, his head somewhere else. In a different time and under a different set of stars. But starving himself was the only right thing to do, nowadays. Sure, the hunger was unbearable… if he was focused on the present.

And then… one day while he was walking, it's late at night and he entered a new town, one he hadn’t been in before. He doesn’t know why, why he stops walking for the first time in a week, why he stops and turns his head but when he does, the wind is knocked out of him, his chest tightening in knots when he sees your face.

His first victim, the first drop of blood came from you. Your death solely defined his role as a monster. It was his one regret out of all of this- becoming an eternal nightmare, cursed forever to starve and ache and burn under the heavens while everyone else lived and breathed and loved and died. Becoming this only happened because he was too weak to stay away from you, starved himself of his nature, starved himself of you.

Your death had been the nail in the coffin.

And yet.

There you stood, in an old diner, taking orders and serving drinks and meals. A smile on your face while you did it. Talking and walking and breathing and… alive.

And he hasn’t fed in a while. Couldn’t bring himself to, stuck in the useless cycle of why bother? And he could feel it in his throat, the unbearable itching, the burning. The empty pit in his stomach. It almost was too much, all of these feelings and seeing your face. Seeing you and hearing you and only able to feel the hunger consuming him. He fled the scene, hiding behind a building, and sucking down on the rats that didn’t scurry away fast enough.

An older woman had opened the door next to where he had slid down. “Oh, there you are, Wilbur, I told you not to come through the back again, there’s rats out here darling.” He ends up realizing she’d mistaken him for her grandson or someone else, but she drags him in anyways. The rats had been enough to curb the hunger, and he let her take him inside of her home. She gives him free reign of the bathroom, handing him clothes that weren’t torn to shreds by the course of time and the elements.

When he looks in the mirror, he finds a creature of extreme camouflage. A monster that blends in so well, you’d almost be entranced by the sight of him alone. The clothes are loose, they hang off him like he has no meat, and to be fair, he doesn’t have a healthy diet, but they fit well enough. And when he helps her into bed, tucks her in and closes the door behind him, he thanks her quietly and hopes her grandson makes it home safe so she won’t be alone in the morning.

Standing outside, freshly scrubbed and in a set of clothes that don’t belong or smell like him, he feels like an imposter, a wolf in sheep’s clothing if you will. He looked closer to normal and human, to something less dangerous than before. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He finds himself heading to the diner again, unable to help himself. Were you a hallucination? Were you a dream, a mirage in the distance with his hunger caving his mind in on itself? A horrible trick to get him to slip up and fall at the hands of a well-sharpened stick?

Didn’t matter because before he could begin to think of an escape route, a bell slams against the door-frame as he steps through, the lights sting his eyes and he barely manages to seat himself in the corner with the light bulb out. It’s just a shade darker but that’s all he needs. And before he could register it happening, he sees your face, the light framing your face as if an angel to take him away. He can hear your voice clearly, asking him about his night and such as you pour him a glass of coffee. The steam rises as you nudge it closer to him. “Need anything just call for me,” you wink, tapping at the name tag pinned to your shirt. You are the one and the same in every possible way, and it's haunting.

He leaves after a few minutes, sure that had he been alive, the only thing he would hear is his heart pounding in his chest and the blood rushing to his ears but the worst part, is that he could only hear yours. Everyone else has been drowned out by how loud you are, how noisy your life is. It’s as if you’ve built a neon sign pointing at yourself, calling out for every bloodthirsty being to come and claim your soul. Maybe that’s just him. Maybe this is his personal hell. Maybe he was supposed to live through this and find it painful.

He knows he’s a sick bastard, but he didn’t know how sick he was until he returned the next night.

×

He returns for a week straight until another vampire catches him before going in, taking him to their place and telling him he needs to go eat, to change clothes, and to do something because he’s attracting a lot of attention for someone laying low.

So he shackles up with him, gets clothes with him less he wants to get caught wearing something from thirty years ago. Time is fast, these days, you can’t blame him for not paying attention to the fashion.

The eating part is hard. Because every bone in his body, every inch of his skin wants to see you. Wants to taste your blood, the sick part of him wants to know if you’d taste just as good as you did the first time. He wants to know what’s changed and what hasn’t but so far the only thing that’s changed is that you’re alive and you don’t know him at all.

He could survive it, he survived your death, he could survive your rebirth.

That is, until you caught him behind the diner, blood smeared over his clothes and six feet from the back door. He insisted on no doctors which frustrated you, he could tell, but despite the freezing temperature his body is always set at, you drag him inside. Unaware of the dead body tossed carelessly in the dumpster behind the two of you.

You sit him in the bathroom, wiping the blood from his face and demanding that he take his shirt off of his body. You even turned around, a dangerous endeavor with a creature like him. Alas, he just fed so he… felt normal. Enough. Normal to pretend that he’s a human for a brief moment and normal enough to pretend that he doesn’t want to tilt your body into his, to nudge your head to the side and kiss it like he used to. To smear praise and worship over your skin, to taste the salt off your skin and hear you call his name.

It’s times like these that he reminds himself, he’s not alive, you’re not you, the one he knew, the one he killed, and that you’re waiting on him.

You take great care of looking him over, checking for any open wounds and despite not finding any, you bravely asked if taking his pants off would be too much. He almost felt dizzy.

He puts his shirt back on and lets you tug him back to his corner, pouring him a coffee and letting him be with a soft touch to his shoulder, throwing a stern look over your shoulder as you tended to your other regulars.

He tries drinking the coffee, just to try, just to feed into his delusion if not a little bit.

He found himself back in the bathroom ten minutes later, gagging as the coffee forcefully left through his throat. It burned his mouth and throat as he sat back on his heels, trying to steady himself. You come in seconds later, brushing his hair back and feeling his forehead. The sensations are nauseating and making him lean into your touch, into your body. His nose is pressed against your apron waist as you try to talk to him.

After unsuccessfully trying to get him to call someone he knew, which, wasn’t that a funny new thing, calling and phones? He tried to laugh, though he could only let out a pathetic sigh, feeling weak.( And he fed on some poor stranger. He’s a monster, and not even a good one, at that.) But when you finally realized he wasn’t going to be any help, you heaved him out of the bathroom and took him to the back, sat him against the wall. You crouched in front of him, pushing his hair out of his forehead and looking him over, “I have one more hour and then- then I’ll. I’ll- fuck, I’ll figure something out but you’re sick and you should get checked out by a doctor or something.” And when he could only respond with a noncommittal hum, you sighed, your head dipping down.

Picking yourself back up, he can barely watch through the slits of his eyes your disappearing figure. He tried to call your name, in the language he once knew, but his mouth barely opened. And when he blinked his eyes open again, there stood the other vampire in the area. He pulls on the collar of his shirt, tugging him forward and onto his knees. “You trying to get us killed, there are hunters-” he cuts himself off, looking around, before he stares him in the eyes. “Listen to me. We’re getting you to my place, fixing you up, and you’re gonna get out of here, no more lolly-gagging and no more dilly-dallying, do not pass go and do not collect 200-” he speaks while he’s slinging him over his back. Assuming he checked for nobody watching the two of them, the vampires make an escape.

He wants to know what you think when you go back there to get him, already to go home and relax or whatever humans do nowadays, and you find him gone. He wants to know what you’d think, what you’d say. He knows it’s bad. Bad to be this obsessed already but you haunt him, every night he could dream, those he just recently found out he could have, you’d be in there. Sleeping until you’re not, smiling at him with this emotion in your eyes, fingers stroking his cheek and jaw and running your hands through his hair.

When the other vampire drops him onto the couch, he throws something squishy at him. He smells it before he even opens his eyes. It’s blood.

He just had some.

“You’re malnourished, unsocialized. You need to talk to people, yes, but they need to be like us.” The very helpful vampire grounds out. Like us, dead, crystallized in a beautiful tomb of eternal suffering. Monsters till the end of time. While he tears the corner of the blood bag open, he tries not to think about how refreshed he feels. He tries to not think too hard about how he would never enjoy blood like he enjoyed yours. It’s the only semi-clear memory he has of drinking blood from people. They’re few and far in between instances, and he doesn't like it. But it happens. And the only time he ever enjoyed it, had been— horribly— yours. The sweet and nectarine taste, soothing his throat, the high he’d been on, how full he felt- of course, that all attributed to the fact he practically mauled your throat and drained you till you died in his arms.

This is his defining moment as a monster.

×

Of course— he would’ve left immediately, he had some blood, felt normal enough, changed clothes and when he looked in the mirror, he looked more human than he had the last time he checked.

And when he was asked what his name was by the vampire, he didn’t think about it for long, choosing to stick with what he knew. “Wilbur,” he said, turning to the window. They’d gone so high up, he wondered when did the humans ever begin to fly, how did they get here? He was curious but as he pulled away from the window and dragged to a shop, for the purpose of an ID- he doesn’t know why, he’s left to fend for himself.

He begins walking again, and against the wishes of the very same vampire who’s clothed, fed and identifies him, he knows where he starts to walk.

“Your name is Wilbur Soot,” he recalls the vampire telling him, “you’re just passing through, making his way home. And if someone knows about, you know- your condition, show them this.” He looks down to the business card the vampire had given him. “They’ll help you. This is all I can do for you.” He walks and keeps putting one foot in front of the other until it takes him to a diner. Your diner.

×

“You scared me last night,” you murmur to him, reaching over to give him a one-arm hug with a tray stabilized on your other hand. “How did you even leave?” He knows, he just doesn’t know what to tell you. After following you to an empty table, you make your rounds to the other customers before you return to him. “Did you at least see a doctor?”

He licks his mouth before looking up to you, finding it easy to lose himself in your eyes, your expression. Eyebrows pinched together from concern and a frown as you continued to wait for an answer.

“I… I didn’t eat enough and the coffee just didn’t sit right, I suppose.” He wonders if you believed him.

“You supposed? There was literal blood when you were puking.” Your name is called and you call back over your shoulder. You press your lips into a firm line, staring him down. He wonders, if it helps that after aching for you for so long, he would be satiated for the rest of his life, enough to leave you behind and truly keep you safe this time. “You’re fine now?” He nods, he’d never be fine. He’ll be a monster longer than you’d ever be alive, but for your sake, he nods. You tap your fingers on the tray as you quickly think, “we’re not done talking about this,” you warn him, pointing a finger at him in warning as you walk away from him.

And well, his heart almost leapt out of his chest, bloody tendons connecting it to him, but safely tucked away in your hands, he could see the metaphorical lines thin themselves out as you disappeared behind a door.

He comes to grips with himself and realizes he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satiated. Not when you care so freely, not when you are breathing and living and existing again. Not when you pass him by and squeeze his shoulders as you go.

He knows for a certainty he’ll be alive for many more centuries, he’ll stay this way, needing the living’s blood to make sure he doesn’t wither away. He knows that for an absolute certainty… but he doesn’t know if he could survive the separation from you again.

He knows he wouldn’t want to.

[gaiaxygang]

ep 1 of domestic incident being named "like mother, like son" is making me lose it. which genius at change2561 was responsible for th (

[spaceexp]

Starliner undocking from the ISS.

[karolinarodrigueswrites]

Updated wip intro made on canva with images from stock photos and windswept picrew by Elena-illustration.

A poly fake dating romance with a "golden retriever", a "heartless heiress", a "beauty to beware of", and an "all bark and all bite bastard" -- and, yes, the fake dating does happen as a polycule, not just between the possible individual pairings.

[lonestarflight]

"The Starliner Calypso spacecraft on NASA's Boeing Crew Flight Test approaches the International Space Station while orbiting 263 miles above Quebec, Canada. NASA astronauts Butch Wilmore and Suni Williams aboard Starliner would dock to the orbital outpost's forward port on the Harmony module at 1:34 p.m. EDT on Thursday, June 6."

Date: June 6, 2024

NASA ID: iss071e171112

[city-flag-tournament]

✯ Round 8 ✯ Final Match ✯

The current flag of Palekh, Ivanovo Oblast, Russian Federation

vs.

The current flag of Tikiraqjuaq (Whale Cove), Nunavut, Canada

Tournament Policies: ✯ Choose the flag that's more meaningful to you! ✯ Be respectful of place names and cultural symbols in your commentary!