#how am i supposed to just sleep after this

[duskbornraven]

Veteran, Doctor, Wedding Date

Never in my life have I finished a sex scene in writing. This fandom has broken me. There is a second part in the works for the actual wedding, because I am weak willed when it comes to him.

Paring: Jack Abbot x f!Reader

Warnings: mdni, sex with plot, female reader, Oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, general teasing, implied age gap.

Summary: Weddings take up a lot of time, especially when you're dating the best man.

Word Count: 4k

It had been too many years since Jack had been to a wedding. Let alone asked to be in a wedding party, but when one of your best friends asks you to be his best man you can’t really say no. Even harder when said friend oh so politely reminded him that he could bring his cute new girlfriend. 

So here he was, sitting on the couch waiting for you to get home. The TV was on but he wasn’t really watching it. Anticipation weighed on him. He knew first hand that people got weird about weddings. There was an unspoken weight around them, and he hadn’t asked anyone to be his date to anything in what felt like an eternity. 

He still managed to fall asleep on the couch, and was startled awake when he heard the familiar click of the lock. Snapping his head up to a dimly lit living room, bathed in the flickering light of the TV. Pushing himself more upright, the fog of sleep still fighting to pull him back under. 

With a groan he scrubbed his face, forcing himself to wake up, so you could have this conversation. Watching you kick your shoes off, braced against the door to avoid overbalancing. “Did you make it upstairs at all?” You were still facing away from him but he could hear the smile in your voice. 

“I did, thank you.” His mock indignation getting a laugh from you, making your way over to throw yourself down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out with a continent sigh. 

“What’s on your mind?” You tapped his leg with a toe, leaning up to get a better look at him. “You’re burning a hole in the wall.” 

“I was asked to be in a wedding later this year.” Jack turned himself on the couch to face you “And, I was wondering if you would be my date.” 

He knew the answer before you even opened your mouth to speak. Your eyes lit up as you pushed yourself the rest of the way into a sitting position. The way you beamed at him, practically glowing in the low light of the room. “Of course I will.” Your excitement was hardly concealed. 

You leaned forward kneeling on the couch, braced on his shoulder, to peck him on the cheek before leaning in for a lingering kiss. His head tilted back slightly to meet your lips. A hand wrapped reassuringly around your arm to keep you balanced, the other coming to rest on your hip. 

You pulled away, looking down into his eyes, unable to keep the smile from your face. Watching his face soften as he took you in again. A grin slowly spreading over his own tired features. Letting you settle back on the couch beside him. An arm draped over the back of the couch, fingertips just brushing against your shoulder. 

“Didn’t really have a plan if you said no. Considering my backup date would have been the groom.” You pushed him away lightly, moving yourself more than him with a scoff. 

“Do you know when it is yet?” You chose to ignore his comment. ‘I’ll make sure to get some time off from work.” 

“Not yet, he’s supposed to be getting a hold of me about that since it’s going to be a scheduling nightmare. I don’t know how they’re going to get by without us for a night.” His hand left the couch to run through his hair absently. 

“Do you maybe want to finish this conversation after you get a nap in old man?” You pressed a kiss to his temple ignoring the look he shot you. 

“You know I do a pretty decent job keeping up with you last time I checked.” It was hard to read his expression in the low lighting but you could catch the way his head tilted almost like a challenge. The faintest hint of a smirk still plastered to his face. 

“You do. But have you considered I’m using you as an excuse to take a nap and get some quiet time with my boyfriend for once?” You challenged him back, trying your best to keep a straight face. 

Wordlessly he hauled himself up. Then turned to offer you a hand, helping you to your feet. Once you were upstairs it didn’t take long for you to drift off, an alarm set for an hour in the future. More importantly, Jack’s arm wrapped securely around you and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. 

Months passed quietly, comfortably between the night he asked you to come with him. He had steadily been pulled more and more into the planning and preparation. Which meant less sleep and less time with you. 

Jack still made the effort, still made sure he caught you to kiss you goodbye and was home to kiss you before work if he had to be out. But between your work schedules and the approaching wedding date you hadn’t had time for much outside a quick kiss here or there. 

And it was starting to get the better of both of you. 

When the time came to actually go get fitted for a suit he found you waiting for him in the bedroom, laying on the bed still only in a stolen shirt that had once been his, watching him emerge from the bathroom. He stalled in the doorway taking you in, laying on your back, your bare legs bent to let your feet plant on the bed. 

 “Don't you tempt me, I can’t be late to this one.” With effort he managed to pull his focus to getting dressed, aware you were watching as he zipped up his jeans. 

“I wasn’t trying to.” But he saw the way your eyes also lingered, dragging themselves over his half naked body. 

“And hypothetically if you were, I’d make it up to you tonight.” He leaned over you pressing a kiss to your lips. Melting into your touch as your hands skated over the planes of his chest before looping around the back of his neck, letting you pull him in closer, his weight pressing you further into the bed. Your hand tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened. Weeks of want and frustration just below the surface as the heat between you. 

Shattered by the ringing of his phone from the bathroom. 

Pulling away his head hit the mattress, breathing heavily against your neck, pressing a trail kisses along your jaw before slowly pushing himself upright. Reluctantly you let him push away from you, almost aching as the warmth of his body left yours. Not missing the way he adjusted the growing bulge in his jeans before hearing his frustrated voice from the other room. “Yeah, be down in a minute.” 

You sat up on the bed watching him as he pulled a shirt over his head, glancing over at you still watching him. “Not trying to be tempting?” 

“Maybe a little.” You didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Then I’ll have to see if I can’t return the favor when I get home.” He leaned down again, capturing you in another searing kiss that was unfairly short lived. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

You listened to the front door slam behind him. Still perched on the edge of the bed listening to the sound of wheels on pavement. It had been too long since the pair of you had been home for more than a few minutes, even on his days off it felt like he was helping with something these days. 

Which was fine most of the time, but you missed him, missed finding him asleep on the couch when you got home from work. Or getting to sleep in with him on your days off, the weight of him on top of you. The way you would find yourself casually reaching out to touch him when you spread out on the couch together. 

You forced yourself to get up and move, heading for the shower to at least make an effort to start the day. By the time you had made yourself a meal there was an unopened message from Jack. A mirror photo of him, half changed into formal wear. Pants unzipped and shirt unbuttoned, his face was mostly covered by the phone itself but you could see the hint of a smirk playing across his features. 

You stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity starting at it. You finally backed out to and were about to type out something when another photo started to load in. Now fully dressed, with his arm around a groomsman, like wasn’t sending you thirst traps from the dressing room. You debated not giving him the satisfaction but you were pretty sure he knew it had worked.

You reacted to the messages and asked how it was going. Saving some of your decency hopefully by not openly showing he had gotten under your skin. It took a few minutes for him to reply. 

Good. Getting dinner and drinks after this but I’ll be home right after. 

You started to type back a reply, scrolling back to the first photo, the too pleased expression on his hardly visible face. The fact that you almost had him before he left replaying in your head. It was hard enough making the time with your schedules and now he was so busy. And this man had the audacity to tease you like that. 

If he wanted to play that game you could play that game. Phone in hand you scrambled back up the steps, an excited fluttering in your gut. There was one thing that would give you the unfair advantage, the shirt you had to stop stealing. After you had moved in you had been granted access to his old shirts. Jack insisted that he didn’t care what you stole, as long as he got it back. 

But he did, he just hadn’t known it. You had dug out one of his old shirts from the army. Had picked it because of its age, it felt like a piece of him when you missed him. That morning you woke up with your alarms as usual, rolling out of bed before the sun. Half awake you had stumbled your way downstairs to make coffee as the front door swung open, the familiar sound of shoes on the hardwood letting you know Jack had made it home. 

A moment later the footsteps stopped, freezing in the doorway to the kitchen behind you. The feeling of being watched buzzed in the back of your head, prompting you to turn. There he had stood, frozen, eyes focused solely on you. Suddenly feeling very naked you had turned to face him. 

You had been late for work that morning, and every other morning you had mistakenly decided to wear that particular shirt to bed. As exhausted as he was when he came home he always seemed to find the energy those mornings. It had become a pattern, so much so that you had given up wearing it, almost forgotten it existed. Until now. 

It took some digging to find. Buried under newer clothes, newer memories but where you had expected to find it. Embarrassingly enough the sight of the shirt alone was enough to make you feel warm. Memories associated with the way the fabric felt bunched in your hands resurfacing. 

You looked around like someone would catch you undressing in your own home before changing into it. Like the man who once wore it it had softened slightly with age, still sturdy but not as stiff as it had once been. It felt like an extension of Jack, a piece of his past made tangible. Maybe that’s why you had always loved it. 

You kicked your shorts off for good measure before positioning yourself in the mirror. The fabric covered just enough to make a point, the tiniest hint of bare skin showing in the reflection. 

Filtering through the photos until you landed on one that was perfect. Mimicking his own smug expression, phone held to the side, making sure to capture your back in the mirror. Completely innocent on a first glance, if anyone other than Jack saw you it would seem like a sweet picture from his girl. 

You hit send and retrieved the shorts, slipping them back on. Your phone dinged twice in short succession before you even had them all the way back on. 

That’s evil. 

I’m coming home. 

You had him, but you knew that before you even sent the picture. The second the idea popped into your head you won this little battle of wills. You wanted him home, but not at the cost of something important. Something he might regret missing. 

Stay, be with your friends. I’ll see you tonight. 

Fine. But you’re not changing. Be home as soon as we’re done. 

Battle won you settled yourself on the couch, determined to distract yourself, to make the time move faster while you waited. 

Say one thing for Jack Abbot, he’s a man of his word. He got dropped off around eight, a few drinks in and had practically pushed his ride into the truck when they got to the parking lot. The flush of liquor warming him in the cool night air as he made his way inside. 

You had been on his mind since he left, the weeks of pent up frustration slowly building to this moment. It took no time to spot you in your usual spot on the couch, half focusing on a movie, half looking at something on your phone. He settled heavily onto his spot on the couch, watching but not watching the TV. Far too aware that you were slowly sliding yourself closer to him.

“How was your night?” You spoke first, glancing up from your phone, finally making contact with his leg at the other end of the couch. 

“Good, I'm ready to have my weekends back.” He glanced over at you, a hand resting on your shin, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the exposed skin. 

You hummed in agreement, going back to your phone. Pretending that you weren’t aware of the way his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the slow press of his body against yours until he was pressed into your side one arm pinned beneath his weight. A hand skating over the fabric of the stolen shirt. 

Holding himself over you, meeting you in a slow, desperate kiss. Groaning into your mouth when you pulled him in closer, beer still lingering on his tongue. 

He pulled away to press kisses along your jaw, just catching the whispered “missed you” that escaped you with a heavy sigh. 

He stilled above you for a moment, pausing before he spoke, whispering against your jaw “How much?” 

You squirmed under him watching a hand slowly slide up your leg, brushing at the hem of your shorts. When you didn’t answer right away he spoke again. “Because I know how much I’ve missed you.” The faintest scratch of teeth along the shell of your ear. “Missed this.” 

Heat radiating from your skin against his touch, fingers dipping breath the fabric of your shorts and inching along the soft skin of your thighs. Mouth claiming the sensitive skin just over your pulse. You could feel a twitch of a smile against your neck when a moan escaped your lips. 

His free hand abandoning your thigh to instead slide beneath your shirt, thumb teasing the elastic of your bra, leaning away to watch your expression. To take in the way your breathing caught as his hand pressed into your soft skin, savoring the way you felt against him.

“I’m going to need you to work with me.” And his arm was around your shoulders, pulling you against him, rolling himself under you. With you helping he was able to mostly pull you solidly on top of him, if not a little awkwardly. 

“Better.” He sighed, adjusting himself slightly beneath you. Hands wrapping around you to capture you in another kiss, more desperate than the last. His hand tangling in your hair bucking up against you chasing the fleeting friction against you. 

The groan you got in response to your own desperate grind against him sent a jolt of arousal through your body, adding to the pooling heat between your legs. Your desperate movements doing nothing to relieve the ache, if anything it made your movements more desperate against him. 

Jack clearly felt the same way, hands pushing down your shorts, thumbs hooking deftly in the elastic of your panties, sliding them both down your thighs, supporting you as you kicked them off entirely. Your hands travel down, fumbling with his belt for a second before managing to undo his jeans and helping him tugg them off. 

He didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on the damp patch of cloth staining his boxers. Watched as his cock twitched under your gaze. Hands pull you forwards again, pressing his clothed erection against your own soaked cunt. Still not enough but his deliberate grind pulled a broken moan from you, head falling forwards into the crook of his neck. Mindlessly chasing the sensation, grinding down against him. 

“Someone’s eager.” His voice thick with need as he bucked against you again. Dragging that fucking shirt over your head, nipping at the exposed skin he could reach. 

It was nowhere near enough, the drag of cloth doing little to ease the ache. Pulling away to be able to practically tear away the last of the fabric separating you. Swallowing thickly at the sight of him, settling back between his thighs. 

Keeping eye contact as you leaned in, licking a hot stripe from base to tip. That earned you an exhale that was dangerously close to a growl. Jack’s eyes didn’t leave yours, pupils totally blown as he watched you take his tip slowly in your mouth. Watched you even as your eyes fluttered shut, slowly inching your way down his length. With all the restraint in the world he kept his hips still when he felt the brush of the back of your throat. 

A hand brushing hair out of your face, settling at the back of your head, letting you feel the faint scrape of nails against your scalp with the swirl of your tongue and you began move, setting a pace just restrained enough to not be a tease, but not nearly enough to get him to break. Swallowing thickly around him, losing yourself in the weight of him, the increasingly desperate noises coming from above you. 

Pulling away enough to meet his eyes “Who’s eager now?” Pressing a kiss to his tip before taking him to the base again. Settling into the same steady rhythm, watching him come undone under you. 

“So fucking pretty. Can’t help it” It came out raw, almost unrecognizable as his voice. Still watching, eyes locked on the way your lips parted around his cock. Watching as you squirmed into the fabric beneath you, trying desperately to find your own relief. 

A tug from the hand still half tangled in your hair got you to pull away with an obscene pop, slightly breathless and lips swollen. Becking you forward again, sliding backwards to sit more upright against the arm of the couch. 

Those familiar hands guided you down, firm hands pressing your hips against him. Not letting you take him yet, a slow teasing thrill running through you again as he dragged between your folds. Letting up to let you set the pace, hips pressed to yours, matching your pace as you finally were able to chase away your own desperate need. 

The frim press of a thumb against your clit made you almost come undone. Hips stuttering against his as preassue built at your core, back arching arching. His other hand skating up your back, skilled hands unclasping your bra in one fluid motion, another piece of clothing discarded somewhere in the dark room. 

It was like you were being consumed by flame, burning hands teasing hardened nippels, rolling them lightly between practiced fingers. Another circling your clit, helping you come undone grinding against his leaking cock. Your breathy moans echoed in desperate shaky breaths beneath you. You were barely holding on, hips jerking erratically against his. 

“Let go.” That was all that it took. His voice was raw and quiet, strained with need. 

The building crescendo of tension snapped, stilling against him,hands braced against his chest as pleasure wracked your body, fluttering against him as you came, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Slumping forward, breathing hard. Your breath is almost too warm against the sweat collecting on your bodies. 

Jack kissed you again, slow, tender, letting the tremors run their course against him. Completely still beneath you. Cupping your face and grounding you again as you came down from the high or your orgasam. 

Pulling away, a thin line of saliva still connecting you briefly he adjusted beneath you again. He rolled against you again, a moan falling from your lips. Pushing against his chest you were disappointed to still find the cloth of his shirt, damp with sweat and very much in the way of wandering hands. 

Your hand slid under the hem, sliding it up. Reaching back with the other to stroke him before taking a breath and sinking down onto him. Jack’s head falling back exhaling through his teeth as fluttering walls gripped him, pulling him in. “fuck”

You clenched around him when your hips met. Hangs tightening their grip on your hips grinding into you. Hungry eyes glued to where you met, watching as you started to move, lifting yourself to ride him. 

You knew he wasn’t far from his own release. What little composure he had held onto was already cracking, his hips jerking erratically against yours. Already sensitive and moving at your own reckless pace once you adjusted, nails biting into skin. His thumb returning to circle your already over sensitive clit. Fatigue battling pleasure as heat sparked through you once again.  

A pathetic whine escaped your mouth, bracing against his shoulder, almost frenzied in your movements as pleasure wound tight once more. The room falling silent other than the sound of your labored breathing. Focusing solely on chasing senestion, watching the man beneath you coming undone, jaw clenched and breathing hard as you rode him.

Your second orgasm ripped through you. Your walls spasming around him slumping forwards bonelessly onto his chest. Arms circled you, hips snapping against yours, breathing ragged in your ear. 

A your name tumbling from his lips his hips stuttered against yours, finishing inside you, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You stayed like that for a minute, both breathing heavily. Still riding the high of your climax. 

“Shower?” You offered, pressing a slightly breathless kiss to his forehead. He nodded wordlessly, reaching past you to offer you your discarded clothes and helping you get off him without making a mess of the fabric below you. 

Waking the next morning you felt heavier than you had the past few nights. Blinking slowly you realized that you were pinned, your legs tangled with Jack’s, his arm thrown over your shoulders. The weight of him was almost alien the past week. Extra heat tangled around you along with the sheets. 

Moving slowly you tried to extricate yourself, tossing and tuning would likely wake him and you were awake enough. You managed to free your legs from the sheet and were slowly pulling out from under him when the arm around you flexed, pulling you closer. 

“Stay.” He murmured, arms tightening around you, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. “Just a little longer.” 

You let him pull you into him, the warmth of his chest at your back, the steady pulse of his heart against your skin. The comforting scent of him filling your lungs with each breath. It was hard to resist letting your world become Jack Abbot for just a little longer. 

[arc-misadventures]

Are You Writing This Down?

Blake: Hey, Jaune, I have a question for you.

Jaune: Shoot.

Blake: Would you... if given the opportunity... in a hypothetical scenario! Would you... sleep with my mom...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Whaaa?

Blake: It's just... since I brought everyone to my home, and they've met my mother... Well, they've been acting... horny...

Jaune: Huh?

Blake: Well, when, Weiss met my mom, she sorta latched on to her as a positive mother figure.

Jaune: Makes sense, despite her reasoning, Willow wasn't able to be that good of a mother.

Blake: Nora latched on to, Mom in an attempt to fill in the gap in her from missing a motherly figure in her life.

Jaune: Oh, that may be good for her. Might calm her down. By a thousandth...

Blake: Ruby is also doing something similar. She misses her mom too...

Jaune: That's... understandable... What about, Yang?

Blake: Ughh! She keeps making jokes at me about becoming my stepmom!

Jaune: That's a shocker... Bar, Nora, the rest of my teammates aren't giving you trouble?

Blake: No. Ren has been absolutely respectful, and kind to my mother. And, Pyrrha is such a sweet when talking with her.

Jaune: Good on them.

Jaune: But, why are you asking if I would sleep with, Kali?

Blake: I know, Yang is only joking around. And, I know what, Ren's semblance does to his... libido. But you!

Jaune: Me?

Blake: You're a fit, muscular, a strong, viral young man... a human! I mean... if anyone is going to seduce my mom... It's going to be you!

Jaune: Thank you?

Blake: So, please, Jaune... Tell me the truth... in a hypothetical scenario! Would you sleep with my mom?

Jaune: Yes.

Blake: You would.

Jaune: Because, I already did.

Blake: You WHAT?!

~~~

Jaune: Haa... Man I need a bath... I really worked up a sweat helping out everyone in town... Now then... They use, Mistalian baths here in, Menagerie. That means I have to wash myself, then I can go into the bath... okay.

Jaune: Hmm hmm hmm~!

(Splash!)

Jaune: Okay... I hit the bath now, right?

: Ara ara~!

: You missed a spot. Please allow to wash your back, Jaune~!

Jaune: OH? Why thank you, Miss Bell... Ghack?!

Kali: Is something wrong~?

Jaune: Kali?! Y-Y-Your wearing nothing, but a towel?!

Kali: Well how else am I supposed to take a bath?

Jaune: Well... how about with me not in the same room?!

Kali: Oh, Jaune~!

(Thump~!)

Jaune: Eep?!

Kali: We both know that's not where this story is going~!

Jaune: I-It isn't?

Kali: Well? Are you going to touch them, and make this kitty purr, or what~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: N-No one hears of this!

Kali: That's not going to happen, Jaune~!

Jaune: W-Why not?!

Kali: Because, Jaune... I'm a screamer~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Oh...

~~~

Jaune: So honestly, I'm surprised you didn't already know we did it, based on, Nora, and Yang's shit eating grins they knew...

Blake: No, not at all... But, what happened after my, Mom told you she was a screamer.

Jaune: Why do you want...? Wait...? Are you writing this down?!

Blake: Yeah. A young stud human seducing a milf cat faunas? Why wouldn't I write this doen?

Jaune: What the fuck?!

[dddvader]

Nights like these

“Are you mad at me?”

Bob looks at him with those sad dark-blue eyes – blue like forget-me-nots. Ironic, given the episodes of amnesia.

He shifts awkwardly by the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest, and John, even half-watching through barely open lashes, sees the uncertainty written all over him. With a resigned sigh, he throws back the blanket on the free side of his bed. This is, what – the third night this week? It’s not like John’s counting though. Just a careless observation.

“Just get in. And don’t even think about elbowing me.”

“Will you hold me?”

The audacity wakes John up completely. He even lifts his head from the pillow, all the indignation in the world etched into the sleep-creased lines on his face. A question. Offense. The last one – twice.

“When there’s someone behind you, it feels like the nightmares can’t really get through,” Bob explains with that ridiculous half-laugh, easing himself into bed – a bit closer than necessary if you ask John. No one’s asking, unfortunately.

“I like being the little spoon. Makes me feel… safe.”

John stares.

He could use a gaze like the Sentry’s, he thinks to himself – something that crushes people like insects and ends arguments in an instant. But no, of course not – all John can offer is a mix of surprise, irritation, and exhaustion in the glare that he gives him. Bob doesn’t seem to care at all.

He moves again, shifts, presses closer. John feels his own body tense at that closeness, and nearly flinches away when Bob suddenly places his long-fingered hand on top of his, gently guiding it to wrap around his middle. John seems to forget how to breathe.

“Just like that,” Bob murmurs, as if he’s taming a wild animal, pressing his cool but surprisingly soft hand over John’s – right against his firm chest under the cotton shirt.

It stupidly brings back memories of holding Olivia like this, those rare nights spent at home instead of in the barracks or a trench, and John fights the urge to flinch away for the second time in a couple of minutes. But Bob, sensing his traitorous hesitation, presses in even closer.

Warm. Touchable. Smelling of popcorn, fresh laundry, and a little sweat where John’s pressed to his skin.

John ends up face-to-face with the softness of his brown-ish, more like…chestnut hair, he’s not really an expert, nudging his nose into it without thinking, exhaling slowly.

“Are you sniffing me?” Bob asks immediately, trying to turn around, only to bump the back of his head into John’s face.

“For fuck’s sake, Bob!” John winces at the dull thud, tightens his arms around him in a warning grip, and nudges him back with his forehead. “I’m not sniffing you, you moron, where the hell else am I supposed to go? Now lie down, will you? Lie still!”

Bob freezes at the snap, even curls in on himself a little, and mutters a barely audible, “Sorry.”

John instantly feels like an A-grade asshole which he is but…

For some reason, hurting Bob always hits hard – a sharper kind of guilt that spreads through his chest, nauseating and raw. Makes him want to back off, to take it back. To, well, not be an asshole.

“Little spoon, huh?” he exhales after a couple of minutes of dead silence, unable to force out an apology, and presses his cheek to the soft hair, finally letting his sore, tired eyes close.

He’ll never admit it, but his nightmares don’t let him go easily either but there’s no way in hell he’s going to cry to Bob. Or anyone else. No offense to Bob but John? He’d rather take a one-way ticket into the Void.

“Little spoon,” Bob echoes flatly. Then, not resisting the urge, adds dryly, “And you’re the knife.”

John lets out a short laugh at that pettiness and, being typical John, argues:

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m the big spoon, Bobby.”

“You were supposed to be,” Bob mutters, nudging him with a shoulder at the nickname he despises so much. “But the big spoon’s supposed to be about kindness and safety. And you’re an asshole, so knife it is.”

“Knife it is,” John sighs, surrendering under the weight of his exhaustion. “Good night, little spoon.”

Bob doesn’t answer. At least not right away. Probably presses his thin lips together in silent pout, sulking like a kid, but somewhere between being asleep and awake, John hears a soft “Night,” and a hint of a smile ghosts across his face.

English is not my first language, I’m not so good at it, but I needed to try myself. Feel free to rub my face in the mistakes, I’ll actually appreciate it tbh 🙂‍↕️

[thatonereallyconfusedbitch]

Usually not political on my blog, but I couldn’t just scroll past this.

In Germany, in the tenth grade you visit Berlin to see the affects of the Second World War and learn about the development and what happened to people (you already do this in school in more detail, but in Berlin you actually see it).

More importantly, in the ninth grade it’s part of the curriculum to visit a concentration camp. No specific one, usually whatever one is closest to the school. The one i visited is the one in Dachau (Munich). You can google it for more information, but it was the first concentration camp built in 1933. It was built a few weeks after H***er came into power as a kind of special prison (sound familiar yet?). It was called the Munich model, as a blueprint for many other concentration camps. In 1937 it was remodelled and expanded. In 1940 they built their own crematorium with one oven because they had too many bodies to bury or send to the crematorium of the church nearby (just think about that for a second). Once crematorium was not enough, since so many people were being killed, so in 1942 they built barrack X had from 1943 they used it. Barrack X had 4 ovens. 4. They could burn 4 bodies at once, and no one would be any wiser.

Anyway, my original point was a different one, this what the general layout of the land looked like:

I know it’s a little blurry, but the “KZ Dachau” is “concentration camp Dachau” (where they slept and eat) and “Crematoria” is “Crematorium”. Basically the houses they slept in were just rowed up. All together there were 34, 30 of which were “living barracks” and 4 “working barracks”. Each barracks had 4 like compartments, which each compartment having 2 rooms, a living room with table, chairs and a tiny locker, and a bedroom. The bedroom had triple bunk beds made out of wood, similar to the photo I reposted, except they made it even more inhumane and made it four bunks, as well as, from the looks of it, not even giving them and sheets.

The only difference at this stage is the material the bunks are made out of, and somehow wood seems more comfortable than metal.

Honestly, just looking at this, the na**s seemed more humane and compassionate than the American government. And that is not a sentence I ever thought would even exist, nor should it.

Each barrack was supposed to house 200 people. At the end of world war 2, it housed over 2000 people. Again, just take a step back and think about this for a moment. They built it so that everyone had their own bed. In the end, around 10 people would have had to share one bed. Obviously that didn’t happen and most people ended up just sleeping on the floor, or maybe even in the ceiling (see photo below)

Also, look at the photo I reposted, then look at the one below. Tell me you can see a difference and I will delete this post.

And before you comment anything stupid like “wElL THe uNIfoRmS aRE dIFfeReNT” You know exactly, that that is not what I am saying.

Also, to anyone saying that the concentration camps were built in Germany while this prison (and the many that are following, Trump has said he wants to build more. I don’t have the video right here, but it was when he was meeting the dictator of El Salvador that he kind of quietly said it) that is shown atop is in El Salvador. You are simply wrong. Yes, concentration camps did exist in Germany, but most of them were in Poland, Russia, etc., so NOT in Germany.

I could go on, but this post is already far too long and I’m tired. But there are so many more comparisons, and I will definitely add more, that sits honestly scary that it’s even gotten to this point. How. HOW? HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT HISTORY, AT HUNDREDS OF MILLION PEOPLE DYING, AND THINK, YES, LET US DO THAT AGAIN, BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE MEXICANS BECAUSE ONE ONCE STOLE MY BIKE.

The reason H***er and so got away with it, is because people had light prejudice against Jews (because of propaganda) and everyone had the it-doesn’t-affect-me-mentality.

When the Nazis came for the communists, I remained silent; I wasn't a communist.

When they came for the trade unionists, I remained silent; I wasn't a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews, I remained silent; I wasn't a Jew.

When they came for me, there was no one left to protest.

— Martin Neumüller

This looks like a warehouse in which each person is a box on a shelf.

I don't care what these people did. No one deserves this. The only criminals are the people who put them here.

[katnipp]

too late to fix it — kim chaewon

genre: ANGST😡

synopsis: y/n gives chaewon a handmade gift from the heart—only to watch her tear it apart and laugh. now, all chaewon wants is a second chance, but some damage runs too deep

warning: bullying, humiliation, chaewon is VERY mean

—

y/n couldn’t sleep for three nights. she stayed up, working on something she hoped would show chaewon how much she cared. it wasn’t about getting anything back. it wasn’t about confessions or declarations of love. it was just her heart, quietly and secretly wrapped in a hand-bound journal—something simple, something personal.

the journal was full of chaewon’s favorite things: her go-to songs, her little habits, her dreams. y/n had spent so much time listening to chaewon when no one else was around, capturing every little detail, every smile, every joke. and she wanted to give that all back to chaewon, even if she would never say it aloud.

y/n had thought chaewon would see it, maybe smile, maybe feel something. she had hoped.

but that was before the laughter, before the words. that was before everything changed.

y/n slipped the journal into chaewon’s locker, her hands shaking. it was the most vulnerable thing she’d ever done, and now all she could do was wait.

chaewon found it the next morning, and y/n couldn’t get her to stop laughing.

“what’s this?” chaewon’s voice rang out, sharp and cutting through the crowd of students. “oh my god, y/n, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

y/n’s stomach dropped to her feet. she hadn’t meant for it to be a joke. she hadn’t meant for chaewon to laugh at it.

chaewon pulled the journal out of her bag, flipping through the pages with exaggerated amusement. y/n could feel her heart hammer in her chest as she stood frozen in place, too far away to stop the inevitable.

“listen to this,” chaewon called to her friends, loud enough for everyone around to hear. she opened a page with a sketch y/n had done of chaewon, her favorite lyrics written underneath. “*‘your eyes are the stars.’ wow, y/n, really? this is so deep,” she mocked, and the sound of her voice felt like ice in y/n’s veins.

y/n wanted to disappear. she wanted to vanish. why did i think this would matter to her?

“look at this one,” chaewon continued, flipping through more pages. “a drawing of me?” she laughed again, holding up the page. “what’s next, y/n? am i supposed to be your perfect little fairy tale?”

each word felt like a knife. chaewon tore out a page, then another, her laughter still echoing through the hallway. y/n could only watch, unable to move, unable to breathe. the sketches of chaewon, the carefully pressed flowers, the notes y/n had written with so much care… all of it—ruined.

chaewon ripped through the pages like it meant nothing, like none of it mattered.

“this is so stupid,” chaewon scoffed, looking at yunjin as if she were sharing a funny secret. she threw the journal aside, the pages scattering across the floor, torn and forgotten.

y/n stood there, barely able to hold back the tears. the pain in her chest was unbearable. she wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. chaewon didn’t care. she’d never cared.

sunghoon stepped in, pulling y/n away, his voice gentle but firm. “let’s go, y/n. it’s not worth it.”

y/n didn’t argue. she couldn’t. she just let him pull her away, her eyes never leaving chaewon, who stood there, looking back with no trace of remorse.

⸻

the days after that, y/n didn’t show up to school. she couldn’t face anyone. not even chaeryoung or sunghoon, who kept texting her, asking if she was okay. she was far from okay.

how could she be okay after what happened? how could she ever face chaewon again?

chaewon didn’t even seem to notice at first. she went on with her usual group of friends, laughing, talking, living like nothing had happened. but y/n’s absence felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. she couldn’t escape the thought that something was missing.

after a few days, chaewon began texting. and texting. and texting. but y/n didn’t answer. she didn’t want to hear her voice, didn’t want to read her apologies or excuses. it’s too late, y/n thought. i already know who she is.

but then chaewon showed up in person, standing in front of y/n’s locker, holding up her phone like it was an offering. “please, y/n… please just let me talk to you. i’m sorry.”

y/n felt the pain twist deeper inside her, but she couldn’t find the strength to respond. her friends, knowing what was happening, stepped in between them.

chaeryoung was the first to speak, her voice cold. “she doesn’t want to hear from you, chaewon.”

y/n couldn’t even look at her, couldn’t stand to see the way chaewon was staring at her with those pleading eyes. the hurt was too fresh. the scar was still raw.

“i messed up,” chaewon said quietly, almost like a whisper. “i know i hurt you. and i know it’s too late to fix it, but please, please just let me apologize.”

but y/n didn’t say anything. she couldn’t. she didn’t know if she could ever look at chaewon the same way again.

chaewon was persistent, though. every day after that, she showed up. she waited by the lockers. she texted. she left notes. she called. but y/n couldn’t bring herself to talk to her.

chaewon knew she had destroyed something important. she knew it wasn’t something she could easily fix. but her apologies felt empty—words without weight. and every time she reached out, it only reminded y/n of how much she’d been hurt.

⸻

one afternoon, chaewon waited by y/n’s locker again. when y/n finally came by, chaewon stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“please,” chaewon whispered, her voice cracking. “i just need you to know how sorry i am. please let me fix this. i don’t care if it takes forever.”

y/n looked at her, tears welling in her eyes. “you can’t just fix it,” y/n whispered. “you broke something. something i can’t get back.”

and then y/n walked away, not looking back.

���

later that day, chaewon found the journal. it was in the trash, the pages wrinkled and torn, but still intact. she pulled it out, cradling it gently, her hands shaking. the words she had laughed at now felt like a weight she couldn’t carry.

she flipped through the pages, looking at the sketches, the notes, the words y/n had poured her heart into. and she realized, too late, what she had lost.

but by then, it didn’t matter.

y/n was already gone

—

a/n: GUYS I PINKY PROMISE ILL WRITE MORE FLUFF AFTER THIS.

[gracie-eilish]

Could you do cut fluff with Billie and mom!reader for Mother’s Day please.

Maybe wakes up before the reader and her and the kids make something for the reader for Mother’s Day

mother’s day

pairings: mom!reader x mom!billie

warnings: none! just a lot of fluff and baby fluff and pregnant fluff and talk of more babies fluff and domestic fluff and did i mention there’s fluff?? only warning is i’m writing this while ovulating so lol

an: welcome to a classic day-after-holiday-self-indulgent-gracie-fic 😀

the sun poured in through the window, casting an ethereal glow on you. a glow that before you started dating, your best friend billie was always jealous of.

you’d have sleepovers and seem to be fresh as a daisy no matter how or where you slept and billie adored it.

even today, sleeping peacefully, on the morning of your fourth mother’s day, cradling your baby bump in sleep.

billie was leaning on the doorframe casually just watching you sleep, keeping an eye down the hall on your two little gremlins who were currently drawing and making cards for the two of you. because god forbid they slept past seven am on mother’s day.

with a soft smile, she pushed off the doorframe closing the door a bit before padding back into the kitchen.

“MOMMY NOT YET!” your oldest, ella, shouted, shielding her mother’s day card for billie from her eyes.

“i’m not looking, i promise i promise!” she giggled at her horrified face, meanwhile her little brother, ollie, sat coloring away in little toddler bliss.

“i’m gonna go see if mama is awake okay? you guys just stay right here, alright?” she pressed a kiss to each of their chubby little cheeks before walking back down the hall. she left the bedroom door open because lord knows coloring could turn into an ER trip with toddlers.

yes, it was technically mother’s day for both of you. but, billie took the reigns on most of it this year, as this was your first mother’s day being pregnant as well. your first baby came in march, and your second was in early may. this year, you were cradling your seven month baby bump, carrying your little summer baby to be.

still sound asleep, billie softly sat down next to you on your side of the bed. with her finger she pushed some hair out of your face and off your neck, exposing your sleeping beauty face. she leaned over and peppered some kisses to your cheek.

“mama bear,” she whispered smiling. “are you awake yet honey?”

you scrunched your nose a bit as your stirred, hand rubbing down your bump before settling at the bottom.

“no. mama bear is sleeping all day,” you whined playfully, your voice scratchy from sleep. but your grogginess floated away as you blinked an eye open to see billie’s soft smile watching you.

“happy mother’s day babygirl,” you giggled, brushing a stray bang from billie’s face.

“happy mother’s day to you too lovey,” billie replied before leaning in for a kiss.

“how did you sleep? okay?” sleep was one sacrifice pregnancy ripped out of your hands, leaving you achey and unable to sleep for long periods of time. and all three babies decided to make your bladder a punching bag for their little feet every night without fail.

“actually pretty good. little bean was quiet last night.” this made billie’s grin explode. she leant over to pepper kisses to the top of your bump.

“hello my little firecracker.” billie had given each of your babies a season appropriate nickname while they were in your belly. ella was born in march, so she was a little shamrock, and ollie was supposed to be born in april so he was a little raindrop, a little raindrop who was so snug and warm, he came a few days late into may.

baby 3 was due in july… and never stopped kicking and moving so a little firecracker felt fitting.

“you sleeping nice and quiet for mama? is that your mother’s day present for her?” billie hand moved from your bump to your back, rubbing softly as she talked to your baby.

“are you hungry yet? my mom ordered us food and it got delivered a bit ago if your ready.”

“oh my fucking god i’m literally starving!” you both cackled, as you basically bolted up, sitting up as fast as you could. billie was about to help you out of bed before the sound of tiny giggles and tiny feet padded down the hallway.

“MOMMYS! we have someting for you,” ella yelled. you could hear ollie giggling behind his pacifier too.

soon enough your babies made their way into the doorway, holding colorful construction paper cards.

“happy birtday!” ollie mumbled out of his paci, making you and billie nearly tear up laughing.

“no it’s happy mommy’s day.” ella, poorly, whispered into his ear. he just turned to look back at us with big little eyes, and put his arms up holding his two cards for his two moms. ella scrambled up onto the bed to come show us hers.

the four of you settled into the bed more comfortably, ella in billie’s lap, and ollie snuggled up to your bump, and you let the little ones show off their cards explaining every scribble and doodle in great detail. many peppered kisses in between ‘thank yous’ and toddler giggles.

“ok should we go get breakfast and bring it to mama?” billie shot you a wink as she rallied the troops. ella sprang right up out of her lap, and stumbled to the kitchen, naturally ollie was excited by the movement and (with billie’s help) clambered off the bed and followed.

“you stay right here okay? i’ll go get it ready and we can eat in bed.”

“i love you way too fucking much,” you sighed dreamily.

“yeah, i know.” billie smirked sending you another wink and a kiss before heading back down the hall.

once everything had been plated and organized on a tray, billie and the kids came back in for a classic breakfast in bed moment. billie’s parents had also send a beautiful bouquet of flowers, now in a vase on the kitchen table.

you all got settled, billie next to you and the kids in your laps and snuggled in your sides all munching away happily on waffles and fruit and vegan bacon and other goodies. the kids fell asleep quickly after finishing their food, having been up since god knows really when in their rooms, tucked in next to you two. carefully as to not wake them, billie moved the tray down onto the floor so you all could get more comfy.

“you really didn’t have to do all this you know, it’s your day too.” you said, poking her arm.

“i know. but i wanted to. take it as that was my mother’s day present, i wanted to spend time with them and i wanted to take care of you. you’re pregnant baby. and you know how i get about that,” she said sternly but softly.

you sighed with a smile and nodded, letting your head rest on her shoulder.

“can i tell you something crazy?” she whispered. you just nodded with a smile.

“i never thought i would be this kind of mom. like the soft mom with a zillion kids who brings oranges to soccer and extra hairspray to ballet,” she started with a giggle. “i always wanted to be a mom, i just kind of thought i’d get married and have kids and ok great that’s it! but, i don’t know, maybe it’s cause im like a real adult now… i love this so much more.” she pouted her lower lip out looking at you, only stopping when she saw your glassy eyes and watery smile.

“WAIT NO! shit sorry i forgot your pregnant! no crying no!! damnit!” the two of you giggled together as she wiped away the few stray tears on your cheeks.

“it’s okay billie, im fine!! that just makes me so happy to hear. i never thought i would get a family like this, and a growing family at that. i mean this is what i dreamed of when i was younger. and now its real! i’m just so happy you’re happy.”

“aw baby,” she replied, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

the two of you sat in silence for a bit, only sound was the soft breathing of your little ones and each other.

“billie?” you said sheepishly, not making eye contact with her.”

“yeah mama?” she said, eyes closed not noticing your expression.

“can we have more?” her eyes flew open.

“excuse me? are you forgetting something?” she poked at your belly, letting out a laugh.

“no you goose, i mean after this one. i know we originally talked about three before ella was born but. i don’t know, i think we’d be good at that.”

billie didn’t reply instantly. she just smiled and thought about it. coming home from the studio to you with a small baby bump, a toddler on your hip, and a few more running around. or if billie was home for the day, having them all outside swimming in the pool or running in the grass, but they all bolt up to give you hugs when you return home from work.

“you really want a few more?” she kissed your neck. you knew you won. you nodded, finally looking up at her.

“not like anything crazy, but maybe one… or two more.”

“sounds perfect to me mama bear.” your grin grew tenfold at her words.

and it was perfect. and it would be perfect. and everything was just fucking perfect.

[creatortools]

MY ENTRY FOR THE KARMOR MINI CONTEST!

I made my Karmor’s (Creatormor’s) full body ref, put in his colour palette and drew out how his powers work. Idk what makes him stand out so I’ll just give you guys a more in depth explanation of his powers, design choices/symbolism and some facts about my Karmor (sorry I’m probably gonna be yapping a whole lot) down below! (Also WARNING ⚠️ mentioning some spoilers of the bvz series, except for the episode thats coming out in like five days on YouTube ofc bc I haven’t seen it, if you guys haven’t seen the full series)

(Also I got too lazy with the Karmor drawings at the bottom mb)

CREATORMOR (Basic) INFO:

-He/They (Male)

-Half Chinese, half European

-5’6

-He crashes out a lot, hater, but is also still a nervous wreck

-He barely gets sleep because he’s scared that the Mad Crow might take over his body or his powers going out of control. Even though he’s not sure if the Mad Crow is able to do that, he’s still worries about the possibility.

-He tolerates the rest of the BvZ cast (COUGH, sorry) (Go HERE and HERE for more basic info, there is info about his powers too but I'm basically just rewriting it down below)

Describing Powers:

-HE’S USING HACKS ‼️ ⚠️

-A screen/pop up hologram kind of thing pops up right in front of him. The screen could also move with him. Like for example, if Karmor turned 180 degrees, the pop up will follow to still be in front of Karmor.

-Karmor is the only one who can see this pop up

-The pop up looks like a bootleg version of Google LMAO, he can type what he wants to change, like for example, “Save Mahatma” or “Save the Doctor” when you know…(AUGH I CRIED FULL ON SOBBED)

-After, he would touch the object or person he wants to change, the thing he touched will start to glitch.

-The sounds of lightning (sound effects when Karmor uses his powers) is the sounds of the object or person changing

-If he uses his powers too much, or what he changes is so extreme the blood vessels in his eyes burst, making him temporarily blind or make his vision temporarily blurry. The veins near his mouth also turns purple. His finger tips also become numb and the screen would become too glitchy to even see or use.

-So when he saved Mahatma, what he changed was considered extreme so yeah that happened.

Design choices:

His mouth scars

-Okay, so his mouth scars that are on the mouth were intentional.

-I was thinking like, why would the Mad Crow choose to introduce the zombies if they aren’t really a threat anymore? So I was like, maybe Karmor could look kinda like a zombie. Zombies usually have this rot around their mouths which sometimes shows their teeth beyond just an open mouth. So, anyone could mistaken Karmor for another zombie and try to kill him (especially at a distance)! GUYS IM NOT INSANE I say as they drag me to a white room/j (IM JOKING)

-When he opens his mouth, especially, he looks like a zombie

His pony tail:

-The shape of his pony tail was also intentional

-It supposed to look like a lightning bolt, lightning is associated with electricity, and also his powers make lightning sounds so yeah.

-I was like how else am I gonna put the lightning symbolism...hmmm...his hair! IM A GENIUS/j

POWERS:

-His powers were vaguely inspired by the "Life is a simulation" theory, I just think it kinda fits the BvZ storyline as a whole. Because of what he can do. Like him changing something and the events as a whole change as well? It has like a similar vibe? I guess? Idk I just thought it fits pretty well.

-The design of the pop up does have some symbolism. The crow logo represents the Mad Crow's influence and how the Mad Crow is always watching him and with him.

That's all I can think of so far, I might add more but maybe not. Hope you guys like my Karmor and what I did for my take on Karmor. I did put some thought into him grr maybe too much. (I sound so insane LMAO)

[neptunescore]

This was supposed to be an actual fic but I had no idea where to go with it and then I just had no motivation to edit it at all so:

Carlos wakes him up with filthy noises and a sloppy sloppy blow job, tries to say 'Buenos días' to him while he's actively taking Oscar down to the hilt; plump lips contorting around Oscar's base as he tries to form the words—straining to get them out properly through spit and flesh, all while his throat spasms beautifully around the length he refuses to take out. He looks up at Oscar after, big brown eyes widening as soft tears leak out.

The orgasm hits Oscar so hard he blacks out.

When he wakes again Carlos is fully dressed, there's a suitcase in his left hand and his right hand is carding softly through Oscar's hair.

“Cariño,” Carlos whispers—Oscar has never felt this cared for, he thinks. He lets his eyes fall shut again, wants to stay in this warm cacoon longer, spend his life in it.

A gentle tug at his hair, “cariño,” Carlos says again tenderly, “I must go now.”

Oh.

Why.

Oscar turns to his side, pushes his face down into the pillow beneath him as he reaches an arm out to grab at Carlos’ hoodie, “Nuh,” he mutters, voice low from sleep and muffled through the thick cushion, “Don't. Not aft’r- after wakin’ m’ up like—that.”

How could Carlos leave him after that. Carlos knows just how useless Oscar gets after he comes, especially right after waking up. Why would Carlos torture him like this.

“Cariño, cariño, I'm sorry, por favor,” thick hands pull off his grasp gently, “I just. Your taste. Wanted to have your taste while we are not with each other. lo siento.”

Oh my god.

He's deranged. Carlos is a disgusting deranged man—and yet. Oscar’s dick is hardening.

“Carlos,” he pulls his hand out of where his partnerenemyboyfrinedrival has kept hold of it, reaches up with it and sinks it into the other man's thick locks, yanks.

“Carlos,” Oscar whimpers.

And then he smashes their lips together as he forces his tongue into the warm wet mouth above him. Maybe he's just as crazy, Oscar wonders, because he wants to taste it too.

He wants to taste himself on Carlos, wants to taste Carlos on him too—all the time. Forever.

Oscar pulls his tongue out, holding Carlos’ face steady as the other man tries to chase after it with a sharp groan. He rubs at the joint of Carlos’ jaw, tenses and relaxes his now free tongue against the top of his own mouth in repetitive motions until, slowly, a pool of drool collects above it.

“Open,” he commands, digging his fingers against the skin he was just soothing.

Carlos obeys like a dog to it's master—no bone in sight, yet stuttered pants of anticipation leaving him all the same. So good. For Oscar.

“Good boy,” Oscar murmurs.

Carlos groans, hands shifting and twitching and neck no doubt uncomfortable from the weird angle Oscar has manouvered him to, but remaining steady and stiff for Oscar still.

“Good boy,” he repeats, drags Carlos’ face down even more, opens his own mouth and places it just a hair's width above the other man's, lolls his wet tongue out and watches. Waits.

His spit trails down it's length sluggishly, collecting right at the tip before it falls.

Oscar doesn't even need to force Carlos to swallow it.

—

Carlos Sainz

[Image attached]

[Image attached]

I am thinking about you.

Im

I'm thinking about you too

Miss you

do they just pay you to slack off?

—

The night after Carlos leaves, nothing changes.

Jon still messages him at exactly nine thirty to remind him of his morning run, Oscar still spends twenty minutes on the toilet staring into the vast abyss (a wall), the pre-prepped breakfast meal still tastes just as bland, his walking shoes still poke at his big toe uncomfortably.

Except.

Except now there is no one needling at him to get out bed quicker—no one banging at his bathroom door and woefully begging to be let in or complaining to him about how his taste buds are ‘in pain’ and ‘probably having so much hate’ for him or trying to sneakily hold his hands during running breaks. The presence next to him is gone. Oscar's alone again.

It's a stupid, stupid thought—one he can't believe he's having; he's literally gone twenty three years without Carlos, and he knows for a fact that if he were to call his mom, or his sisters, or even fucking—Lando right now, one of them were sure to pick up and talk to him happily. He's not alone. He doesn't need Carlos, he can live without him for a few days just fine.

Oscar puts his phone down in resolution, clicking out of his partnerboyfrinedrival's chat and shutting the thing down lest the loser-ness overcome him again, he can fucking do this. He can be a normal man.

He can't show Carlos just how desperate Oscar is for him.

—

Carlos Sainz

Look what they are making me do!

[Image attached]

It is so much make up.

They are saying we will be done soon.

I am missing you already, cariño.

—

It takes Oscar about eleven hours post no-phone decision to realise he actually does need his phone for various other things.

It takes less than an hour more for his no-Carlos resolve to come down crumbling.

Oscar clicks at the notification badge, Carlos’ chat popping up, displaying four new texts and—a photo. Fuck.

It's an innocent selfie; Carlos with his head leaned back against one of those pre-shoot touch up chairs, his eyes closed as a small grin curls at the corners of his lips. Normally, Oscar would smile for a bit over it, maybe smooth his pointer finger above the screen a little before saving it to the locked album specifically created to store his recently increasing Carlos pictures, go back into the chat and tell Carlos he doesn't want to see the man's ugly face more than he has to.

This time, however, Oscar moans.

Carlos looks like sin incarnated. They must have switched out the regular crew, because Carlos has a full face of actual, physical visible make-up.

His lips are coated with a light pink-tinted gloss, his eyelids brushed on with speckles of dark blue glitter, the rare blemishes of his face smoothed out with a thin layer of foundation. He's even got blush on his cheeks. Blush.

Carlos looks like. Like a girl.

Oh God.

[tojihavoc]

Arranged Marriage (series) Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 [ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ꜱᴏʀᴄᴇʀᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ | ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇʟᴜᴄᴛᴀɴᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀꜱ] Not proofread I was lazy lmk if typos

synopsis -> Toji Fushiguro is sharp, silent, and used to being bought and discarded, and when your once-mighty sorcerer clan begins to crumble under political pressure, a desperate alliance is struck. One that binds you to the man most feared by the jujutsu world: Toji Fushiguro. He agrees to the marriage not for love, nor loyalty — but for everlasting money, cursed tools, and freedom from the Zeni'n clan that coerced him into marrying you.

You are the clan’s last hope. Together, your sole purpose is producing a strong heir with his physical abilities and power and your powerful cursed technique. But nothing about your marriage is safe — not your body, your heart, or the child your clan is already whispering about behind closed doors. You are everything he doesn’t believe in: elegant, loyal, and cursed energy ridden. But you see him. Not the assassin, not the monster — but him.

It's a quiet evening in the manor, not different from usual. The rain pours outiside as you sit near the crackling fire with a warm mug in your hands, humming gently. Your mind wanders to the pact you and Toji made a few nights prior, protect each other when it matters. No emotional debts, just survival. Your stuck inside with Toji as he comes down the stairs and glances at you in silence. It's a cold house, but an even colder silence. Your reviewing your clan documents as Toji comes into the living room to grab something and you ask him a question about the previous attack. He as always decides to ignore you. Finally, you snap. "I'm not your enemy, stop treating me like one. you just sulk around like this marriage is a curse."

"Oh yeah? Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do, huh? This is arranged get that through your head. My only purpose is to create a powerful heir that will benefit your and the Zenin clan. Don't try to make me all lovey dovey."

You hold back tears. You will NOT cry. Absolutely not. "You eat here, sleep here, you walk into this estate like you belong in it. We've been married for a month and we've exchanged barely a few sentences."

"I belong nowhere. Least of all here. So don’t confuse survival with sentiment." He looks into your eyes while he says that.

"I don’t confuse anything. But I see how you look at me when you think I’m not watching" your tone is whispered, cutting.

A beat goes by.

Toji’s jaw tightens and a muscle ticks in his cheek. "You act like I’m a burden you’ve been chained to. But you defend me when people speak out of turn. You protect me in the field. You don’t get to play executioner and bodyguard. Pick one" you utter those words, weeks of rage and frustration spilling out of you.

Toji just watches you. "You talk too much" he responds in a low, dangerous tone.

"And you feel too much, no matter how hard you try to bury it" you say with a smirk, walking closer to him.

"You don’t know anything about me" he snarls.

"Then tell me something. Anything. What do you hate more — being married, or being seen?" you ask gently for once. After a long silence he turns to leave, turning at the door. "The second one. And you’re getting too good at it."

The manor was too big for two people who barely spoke. You spent your days in silence, pacing between ritual duties and clan correspondence, pretending not to feel the weight of his presence on the other side of the residence. Toji moved like a shadow. In and out with blood on his hands, never explaining where he went. You never bothered to ask.

But you noticed.

Like the night he came home long after midnight, shirt torn, jaw bruised, and fingers crusted with dried blood. He didn’t look at you as you sat curled in a chair reading by lamplight. He just grunted and moved past.

The next night, you left a clean towel and folded blanket on the table. You didn’t say anything when they disappeared. He never brought it up.

In the kitchen, you found him tearing open a pack of dry instant noodles with his teeth, crunching it straight from the bag like some street rat. You stared, jaw dropped and horrified. “You’re disgusting,” you muttered. He just shrugged. “Food’s food. I’m not wasting time boiling water.”

“You’re a grown man.”

“You married me,” he said without looking at you. “That’s on you.”

You nearly slammed the door on the way out.

The next morning, a bowl of hot, salted noodles sat on the counter. He ate it without a word. But the following day, when you went to prep vegetables, the knife and cutting board were already out. Placed exactly how you liked it. You said nothing. Neither did he.

You started noticing his nightmares before you ever heard them. At first, it was just the way he looked in the morning — hollow-eyed, jaw tense, shoulders tight like a man ready for war. Then one night, you heard it: a quiet, breathless sound. Choked. Painful. You stood in the hallway, hand hovering near his door. But you didn’t knock. The next morning, you asked over breakfast, “Did you sleep?”

He paused, completely startled. Then lied: “Fine.” You didn’t push. Just poured his tea. He drank all of it.

You both fight again. Loudly. You ask about his scars: too blunt, too curious. Uncontrolled. He snaps. “You think you want the truth, but you don’t. You want a version that makes me easier to stomach.”

You fire back, low and bitter: “I already swallowed it. The day my clan married me off to a man that doesn't even speak to me.”

A long silence stretch between you both. Unforgiving. But he didn’t apologize. But that night, the bloodstained weapons he used to scatter across the dining room were gone — neatly moved to a room you never entered. You noticed.

You were walking together days later on a stony path, silence thick between you, when you stumbled slightly on uneven ground. You didn’t fall, but his hand darted out, fast and firm, catching you by the elbow. His grip was strong, grounding. Too much. Then, just as quickly, he let go. Like you’d burned him. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t meet you eyes. But from that day on, he walked on the outside edge of the path. Between you and the world. Always.

A week passes and it was late afternoon when, a mid-tier official from your clan, arrived under the guise of a courtesy visit. He was older — graying at the temples, but with the lecherous energy of a man who’d survived the system by being slimier than everyone else. He didn’t bother hiding the way he looked at you. Up, down, lingering. You kept her face composed since you had practice. But Toji saw it.

“Marriage suits you well,” the official said, voice oily, eyes never meeting yours but always tracking them. “There’s a… glow about you. I do hope the heir proves to be fruitful.” You smiled through clenched teeth. “I assure you, I’m doing my duty.”

“I’m sure you are.” He chuckled. “Though some duties are more pleasant than others. If your husband doesn’t...how should I put it? Fulfill his side of the agreement, I’m always willing to… offer assistance. For the good of the heir, of course.” Your hand froze mid-pour of tea. Toji was standing at the threshold of the room, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. He had been quiet up until now, watching. Then he pushed off the door slowly, with that lazy, heavy swagger of someone who wants to look like he’s not about to gut someone.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t even blink. "She’s already stuck with me." A pause. A grin that was sharp, and humorless. "Don’t make it worse for her."

Daigo’s smile flickered. "Oh, no offense meant, Zen’in san—"

"Fushiguro." Toji corrected, cool and dry. "She’s mine, right? That was the deal, wasn’t it?" The air went still.

He cleared his throat while trying to laugh. “Of course, of course. Just teasing.” Toji took a single step forward. He took two back. The official left not long after, mumbling excuses.You didn’t speak for a few moments after the door shut. Then you laughed. Not a polite laugh. Not courtly. A real one that was surprised and sudden, riding through the tension like a blade through silk. Toji didn’t look at you but the corner of his mouth twitched. You looked at him like you was seeing something new.

He didn’t defend you because he liked you. He did it because someone else had crossed a line. And that line — wherever it was — apparently mattered to him.

It was the first time you wondered if, under all that apathy and muscle, Toji might actually think of you as more than a burden. Not a wife. Not a tool. Maybe… a person.

That night when you went to sleep in your separate bedroom, you found a cup of tea sitting on your nightstand. It was still warm and you took a sip of the chamomile herbal tea. You drank in silence, sitting by the window, holding onto the fragile cup like I would break any second. You both still hated each other. You both snapped and screamed and hated your only purpose was to produce a baby. Nut something had shifted. You weren't enemies. At least not entirely, anymore.

It starts with a storm. Rain slams against the manor’s roof in waves, thunder curling around the valley. The lights flicker twice before staying on. You pace the hall with a book in hand, unable to focus on a single word. The air feels tight, heavy with things left unsaid. Toji's in the study — sharpening one of his knives on a whetstone, shoulders hunched, shirt draped over the back of his chair. His scars are visible in the lamplight. Long, pale, cruel. You watch him from the doorway. "You sharpen those like you’re expecting a war," you let out.

"There usually is one."

Silence. Then a dry chuckle from him. "You’d be surprised how often peace gets you killed." You step inside, drawn like gravity. Your fingertips brush a sealed scroll on the desk. You still don't know what’s written in most of them. He’s started letting you see the edges of his life — but only in glimpses.

"I don’t think you believe in peace."

Toji meets your eyes for a second too long. "Maybe I don’t. But you do."

That lands deeper than it should. You look down.

You both sit across from each other after that. Companionable and quiet. The storm batters the manor like it’s trying to rip it apart. A branch cracks outside, hard enough to make you flinch. When the lightning hits, the room glows for a flash, enough to show the tension between you both. The slow unraveling of hate, of distance. Something warmer curled beneath it now. Something neither of you are ready to name.

You reach for a blanket and toss it towards him wordlessly. He catches it midair.

“You worried I’ll get cold?”

“I’m not worried. I’m polite.”

A beat of silence passes. His expression softens just barely.

“Don’t be polite to me” he whispers in a gruff tone.

You stand and walk over to him, your steps slow but sure. “I’m tired of being polite to everyone.”

Your'e closer now — close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, to see the tight line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He looks like a man holding something back with both hands.

You don’t overthink it. Don’t let yourself. You lean in. The kiss is soft. Careful. Hesitant. A brush of lips, nothing more — like a question you doesn’t know how to ask out loud. Toji doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss back. But he doesn’t pull away either. When you finally step back, your heart is a frantic beat in your ears.

“Don’t do that” he says hoarsely. The words are quiet. Not angry. Not cold. Just broken. He stands and leaves the room without another glance. You stand there alone, tasting the regret and confusion like ash.

Upstairs, Toji doesn’t sleep. Neither do you. The storm outside finally passes but something else has cracked open between you both and it won’t close again.

The clan gathering is ceremonial with polished floors, false smiles, and poisoned wine. You're dressed in pastel traditional silks sipping wine, seated beside Toji at a banquet meant to honor your “successful union.” You watch the room as everyone seems to be doing some light chatting. Toji is sitting next to you wearing a suit and tie with a menacing growl on his face. You suddenly witness something unusual and hear some screaming as you sense something wrong moments too late. Your vision swims, and your body goes cold. A dizzy smile is the last thing you offer before collapsing hard into Toji's shoulder unaware of everything going on. Toji catches you mid-fall but you don't notice that. For a split second, there’s stillness.

Then violence.

Without hesitation, he draws the short blade he keeps hidden at his hip and throws it into the throat of the wine server. The room erupts into chaos — screams, shouts, curses. A hurricane of a mess. He doesn’t stay to watch the man die. He lifts you into his arms, expression unreadable, and walks out like death incarnate. No one dares to stop him.

You wake up a few hours later on your soft, comfy bed. Not a futon, not a guestroom, but where you usually sleep. You feel extra woozy and hazy and sense something wrong. The first thing you sees is him, not moving, not speaking, eyes red at the edges from exhaustion or rage or both. You croak his name with as much energy you can muster and not even a second later he's calling over a poison specialist from the Zen’in side threatening him with no tongue if he fails to cure you. You whisper his name and that's when he finally speaks. "Don’t do that. Don’t scare me like that again."

your brows knit, confused. Weakly, you whisper, “You don’t scare.”

He meets your gaze. “Not for me. But for you? Yeah. Turns out I do.”

"Was I poisoned?"

"Yes but you're fine now" he reaches out a palm like he's about touch you but stops himself.

"I didn't think you'd care. You never let me in" you whisper weakly.

"I thought you were gonna die" he whispers back in a way you've never seen before.

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Fuck no. How could...how could you even think that?" he breathes in deeply and tugs his hair.

"Isn't that why you didn't kiss me back? Why you left that night? Left me alone to wonder what a horrible mistake I had made?" You sit down straight in bed, still weak but wanting answers.

"No it-it's not that. Ugh why don't you understand? Why don't you ever understand? I don't deserve you. Fucking look at me, I kill people. My family ruined me i-i'm not the man for you. I'm not good enough for you. I didn’t want to. I told myself I wouldn’t. But you were there. Bleeding. And everything in me screamed to burn the world down."

"You were never supposed to be good to me. ust because you think you're ruined doesn't mean your unworthy to love or be loved. You saved me and that makes you the best person in my eyes," you whisper.

Why do you do this?” he explodes suddenly, turning on you. “Look at me like I’m something worth— I’m not your savior. I’m not your lover. I’m a goddamn killer. You think I’m the man you want to share a bed with? You think I’ll hold you and make you feel safe?"

"I just want you. Every part of you. The good and the bad. The rage and purity. I want you in every way and I'm tired of you thinking you don't deserve me" you croak out, shaking but not from fear.

“You think loving me is some noble mission? You think you can fix this? You don't want me.” he lets out.

"Please Toji why don't you understand. Of course I do. I don't care if your a murderer you saved me. You care about me more than my own family and you need to realize you're not unworthy of anything" you're unable to say anymore since you were still exhausted from the poison. Toji decides to let you rest up before arguing with you about this further.

Days pass in a haze of bitterness and weakness. Toji never leaves, but he says almost nothing. The manor is too quiet, too still. You recover and eat the soup and tea he brings you, conserving your energy and recovering from the poison. The poison’s gone, but the weight of what happened lingers. Toji hasn’t spoken much since he saved you. He hovers, watches, brings you food but he won’t meet your eyes.

Later that night you deem yourself strong enough to walk and see Toji in the hallway leaning against the wall with his head in his hands, with the moonlight streaming down on him. You walk towards him as you stand a couple inches away from him. You realize he's shirtless and half wrapped in shadows. Scars catch the moonlight, some old, some recent from the banquet fight. He’s unarmed and vulnerable in a way youv'e never seen him. None of you say anything and you step close, reaching out. Your fingers graze his ribs and he flinches. Not from pain, but instinct. Then stills.

You murmur, “Does it hurt?”

He replies, “Not anymore.”

You take a deep breath and start, "about that night, you were right. You’re cold. Angry. Broken." Your voice trembles. "But you’re the only one who looked at me like I wasn’t a pawn. Like I wasn’t just a womb for their heir. You defended me before you even liked me. You stayed."

He’s silent. Breathing hard, like he’s about to shatter.

"So no," you whisper. "You’re not what I was told to want. But I still want you."

He grabs your wrists, harsh and desperate. Not to hurt, but to make you understand. "I don’t know how to be gentle," he whispers, wrecked. "Then don’t," you breathe. "Just be real."

There’s overpowering silence between you both. Heavy. Real. He doesn’t sit. Just stands looking down at you, looming like a storm too close to touch. “I didn’t care if I lived until you,” he whispers. Quiet. Like a fact he’s only now recognizing aloud. You try to respond, but he shakes his head. Then, he leans down and kisses you. Not tentative or soft. Not gentle, but real. Raw. Mouth to mouth, breath to breath. Desperate and angry and alive. You kiss him back, dizzy and half-drugged, but with every bit of clarity you can summon. You don’t kiss like lovers, you fall into each other like dying stars — drawn by gravity, not grace. You touch his face, and he flinches but doesn’t pull away, breathing hard, like this hurts more than bleeding out.

This time, he doesn’t walk away. He lifts you with startling ease, presses your back against the wall like he needs to feel your heartbeat through bone. "You sure?" he rasps.

You nod. “Yes. But not because of the contract. Or the clan. Just… you.” That undoes him. He pulls you into your room and don't stop locking lips. When he undresses you, it’s not lust, it’s reverence, desperation, apology. When you touch him, it’s not seduction, it’s comfort, the only kind you know how to give. You fall into each other like fire and gasoline. Not tender, not sweet, but raw and real. His touch is rough, reverent, trembling. Your fingers dig into his shoulders like your anchoring yourself to him. No words. Just the breaking of every wall you both built. You don’t make love like newlyweds. You crash into each other like enemies with no one left to fight. It's messy and human. Bites along shoulders, fingers clutching skin like it’s slipping away. But there’s softness, too. His hand on your jaw and you whispering his name. The way he buries his face in your neck like he’s ashamed of wanting something. No fade-to-black. Just tangled sheets, bruised mouths, quiet gasps in the dark.Your fingers trace the ridges of his chest and his arm stays locked around your waist like you’ll vanish if he loosens it.

He finally whispers "If you regret this tomorrow, don’t tell me. Just let me have tonight."

"You get more than one night, Toji. You just don’t know it yet" you respond. And for the first time, he lets himself believe you.

At first, he’s rough, not out of cruelty, but out of panic. Like if he doesn’t touch you hard enough, you’ll vanish. He pulls in and out, making sure your doing okay underneath. He kisses like he’s starving, his grip bruising, his breathing uneven. Every motion says: this wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn't know how to hold someone without trying to conquer them. But when you don’t pull away, when you clutch him back, matching him, something in him cracks. His forehead presses to yours. Your breaths mix. "I don’t know how to do this," he murmurs, voice hoarse. "You should’ve run." You kiss him again slowly this time and he stills.

And then he softens.

His hands tremble when he touches you like he’s seeing you for the first time. His calloused fingers trace your ribs, your hips, the hollow of your throat, almost reverent now. Like your the one thing he’s never been allowed to have. "Tell me to stop," he whispers. "I’ll stop."

You don’t. So he keeps going, slower, gentler, but still desperate.

He makes you feel everything: his guilt, his fear, his longing. He kisses every scar you've earned in silence. And when he finally takes you, it’s not power he’s chasing — it’s permission. Permission to want. Permission to stay.

Afterward, he doesn’t pull away. He wraps himself around you like your the last safe thing in the world.

And maybe, for him, you are. It’s the first time you believe he might be yours not by oath or contract, but choice.

TO BE CONTINUED Part 3

Please consider liking or following if you liked reading this!

yeah u can tell idk how to write smut scenes also pls lmk in comments if I should conjoin all the parts together and make it one big post so u wont have to go to each part seperately

@wo-ming-bai

@edgyficuselastica

@layuhsblog

[overjoyedisland]

I Need a Hug

Coming Soon to AO3: A few chapters about touch starved Riorgail

Violet POV snippet previously posted.

Xaden POV after failing to pay attention in class:

“What the fuck is up with you today?” Garrick asks as we walk out of class.  “Didn’t sleep well,” I mutter.  “You never sleep well. You’ve never used that as an excuse before.” I sigh. He’s right. How am I supposed to respond to that? “You could admit that a certain cadet’s tiny, soft body was occupying your mind,” Sgaeyl unhelpfully suggests.  “No thank you.” Just then the tiny, soft cadet in question steps into the hallway. My eyes are immediately drawn to her.  Garrick chuckles with glee. “So a certain someone has caught your eye?” “She’s tiny,” I say and barely catch myself before I admit to knowing how soft she feels in my arms. 

[crownmemes]

Assorted Media Sentences, Vol. 24

(Sentences from various pieces of media. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"What monstrous egotism!"

"Not very smart, are you?"

"Stop shouting! You know how much I hate it!"

"Let's just get this straight: he's not worthy of your respect or admiration. He's a cold-blooded killer."

"I always knew you had to be willing to die to do this job."

"It's not like I lied. I just never told you the whole truth."

"You have to know how to read a person. How they move, talk, dress. People are desperate to tell you who they are. Desperate to be seen."

"It's pretty damn weird to eat people."

"You're the one fixed point in a changing age."

"Turn the right corner in this city, and you can find anything."

"UFOs and bigfoot and ghosts, that's bullshit. But devils and demons? Once you open those doors, you just can't close them."

"It's not the clothes but the shoes that can tell you everything you need to know about a man."

"Respect is the last thing I have for an animal like you."

"It's my job to protect you, and I didn't."

"Listen to me very carefully. There are three ways of doing things around here: the right way, the wrong way, and the way I that I do it."

"I can only express puzzlement that borders on alarm."

"I can't lose you. Not again."

"Always giving orders, aren't you? Always telling people how to run their lives? Maybe that's why you're so lonely. Did you ever think of that?"

"I'm struck with the sensation that you might be the only person in the world I can talk to - who might understand me."

"I know you'll always look after me. Right?"

"Haven't you ever done something stupid for love?"

"Your anger rules you. You must learn to master your emotions."

"Have you ever been kissed by a man?"

"Sometimes, you can beat the odds with a careful choice of where to fight."

"Those things I said - it wasn't me talking."

"I forgive you because I know that if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't be talking this way."

"Deeds are eternal, not the flesh."

"There is no magic cure for guilt, except for forgiveness."

"I guess you haven't got much experience sleeping on the ground?"

"If any other bastard spoke to me like that, he would be dead."

"How am I supposed to respect you if you don't respect me?"

"The first victim always tells the detective more than any other."

"When was the last time you danced?"

"You just can't go around killing people!"

"How are you still alive?"

"Fact is, I don't even know who or what I am anymore."

"Do you feel like everything's changed all at once?"

"You've already met my family?"

"Were you flirting with me on the show. If you were, I just want you to know that I liked it."

"There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything turns against you!"

[clippedwingsmuses]

twilight brushes back her mane with a hoof, the top flattened against her coat, a seemingly permanent mark of where the crown often sat atop her head. not born with a crown... the empress found it was hard to believe she wasn't. her magic engulfs several of the items strewn across the long table, those which sat at her side. she thinks about that phrase as she does so, even if it would be easier to avoid returning to a depressing topic.

the engraving of her cutie mark within the tree of harmony before its destruction, was that not proof that this was a role she was meant to carry? that she was 'born' into?

" i don't really have the option to be casual. to do normal things friends do and let go of the formalities, " twilight vacillated. " play games, take care of pets as a group, watch movies and plays, or maybe even participate in them, or... sit around having a picnic, talking about who knows what. i suppose i yearn for the simple things. " the mare blinks. she clears her throat and pats her chest a few times. " i-i mean, even when i've been given the space to do those things, they haven't lasted very long. the few times cadance has visited ponyville have always ended in us solving some crisis, heh... my time organizing the library alone or in company has been interrupted more times than the books within it. you can only organize a shelf so many times before y— "

twilight winces harshly when her fork drags along the porcelain. she lifts the silverware what seems like a milisecond after it screechs. the scratching of metal on ceramic makes her coat stand on its ends. she quickly flushes. she lifts a pitcher atop the table, drinking from the glass she pours its contents into. after the cold washes away the discomfort and the food from her fork, her tongue travels the inside of her cheek as she ponders how to continue the conversation. her thoughts fight to come back together while the embarassment settles and dissipates.

" well, um, the title of the princess of friendship made it all seem so... professional, " twilight says, lifting up a wing in a sort of salute and putting on her best imitation of a certain family member for the last word. she then shrugs, eyes and wing drooping. " how are you supposed to be a 'friend' as well as a... well, a 'celebrity'? "

she shifts, pulling her tail out from beneath while her hooves make air quotes. her tail brushes across the floor, and then stills. it was much more comfortable this way. her fork wanders across the syrup trails in her plate with a triangle of pastry, and so too do her eyes and thoughts wander. they wander between acknowledging what she's doing, what the queen is doing across from her, how the room looks bathed in shadows of the inside and outside, how the food and the tablecloth is dyed in pink and purple and yellow and blue gleams from the stained glass... and what she said moments prior to her silence.

the empress sighs tiredly, for more reasons than just her lack of sleep. she finishes her drink before she speaks again. " i used to wonder what friendship could be. now, here i am the icon of it. " her magic pushes her more than half-empty plate ahead of her. her hooves cross over eachother on the table edge. her head rests atop them, and her hindlegs kick back and forth in opposite rhythms. " it seems like it would be easier to play my role if i really did follow in pinkie's hoofsteps... maybe i should work on creating some nicknames for the ponies i know..? " twilight felt like bringing out her notepad again, but she wasn't sure where to start if she followed that thought process.

luna makes a mental note to slip lavender into twilight's tea before bed. she clearly needs sleep, the poor thing could very well be verging on deprivation hallucinations. even alicorns needed rest, much as they might try to ignore it. after a certain point of staying up celestia would get all giggly and treat everyone around her as if they were foals. somewhere there must be several pictures of her near crushing staff laying on them like a giant bird would chicks.

she quickly rejects any fleeting notion of twilight being afraid of her. a foolish notion when they had never done anything more than verbally disagree as anyone would. maybe she'd raised her voice a few times, coat bleeding to black, but no threat had ever been made. nightmare remains tightly locked in the recesses of her mind - far quieter now with sister gone.

her own regalia sits left in her room. the look on younger mare's face, that faintest gleam of something warm, is worth the past hours mourning all over again. luna snorts and tosses her head in a primal equine display of disdain. "you look lovely in a crown, but if it is not something you were born wearing then you can take it off." no one could look at twilight's wings and forget who she was, even years ago. rarity had no right to push that on her.

"if you speak with someone of no familiarity or one who came to you for something only a ruler can give, be formal. though...i was always fond of messing with politicians so what do i know?" luna shrugs her wings. there was a reason she didn't do much public facing work. "yet you are friendship, so i dare say you can be less formal as you please."

there might have been more she wanted to say but fruit, honey, warm butter and all such familiar scents take any hint of it from her thoughts. luna's irregularly timed meals were taken alone more often than not with no company to be had. the table is laid out for two with more pancakes, biscuits and food she can't immediately identify than even two alicorns could eat.

a challenge then, she decides, longer legs easily closing the distance to overtake twilight to a chair. several of the pancakes have honey drizzled wings on plates or banana slice horns. when was the last time she ate? luna can't remember, flopping into her seat with no grace. everything could wait until after breakfast. she promptly catches several plates and cups in white magic and shoves the contents in her mouth.

[graceful-not]

No actually all of you need to sit your asses down bc I just watched the legacy shorts and. HOW HAVE I NEVER HEARD ANYONE SAY ANYTHING ABT THEM OTHER THAN GOLDEN HOUR AND SWEATING TO THE GOLDIES???? HOW HAS NO INE SAID A SINGLE THING ABOUT THE GOLDEN LEGEND SHORT?? OR THE ANIMATION STYLE OF GOLD RUSH???? I could have gone my whole life without watching those do you understand that. Why are we, as a fandom, not taking about these more, or like, AT ALL. we should be insane about this. We should be insane about this, right??? RIGHT??????

[parasocialqueen]

THE PARALLELS WHEN NEIL IS IN THE NEST WITH TSC ARE SICKENING. Wdymmmmm “jean was forbidden to use French but he’s whispered it to Neil when Riko wasn’t close enough to hear.”

I AM GOING TO LOSE MY FUCING MIND ISTG

[gottagobackintime]

Me during episode 12 of The Pitt

[somegrumpynerd]

Quick doodle just for fun