#i surprised even myself while writing this

[honey-tongued-devil]

i Beg you i mean BEG YOU to do more chubby person x jinx or vi or something BECAUSE IM LITERALLY FATTT and i love the hcs

DROP ANOTHER ONE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 🙇🏽‍♀️

[Arcane preference] with a chubby s/o pt.2- cuddle time

The second request of the week. Honestly, as someone who isn't exactly slim, I write these headcanons for those who ask me but primarily for myself. Requests are open, as usual, I ask for your patience because English is not my first language. I'll leave you the link if you'd like to follow me on Bluesky (I'll be posting Arcane content there soon as well, i want to build a 'public' meanwhile).

| Tip jar |

Jayce:

- Starting with the fact that this man is built like a wardrobe, and his clothes are already pretty roomy, he’s started buying even bigger shirts just to make sure you can borrow them, they’ll be oversized on you, and you’ll be happy.

- So when you’re at home watching a movie or cuddling in bed, he strokes your belly with a smile, pretending to be surprised.

- “Is that my shirt?”

- This himbo, who handles a hammer that weighs as much as a horse, means no arguments when it comes to cuddles: you’re sitting in his lap.

- And when things get a bit heated, he’ll hoist you up with your knees on his shoulders, pressing you against the wall just to flex his strength and remind you that it’s absolutely no problem for him.

- After the dirty deeds, expect him to bring you something to eat (and especially drink) in bed, and don’t expect to be able to say no. 

Viktor:

- When you’re relaxing on the couch, it takes a moment to find a position that’s comfortable for both of you: usually, he sits upright with one leg stretched out, the other (his weaker one) draped over yours, and you either facing him or lying on your side with your head on his shoulder.

- The focus here isn’t on clothes, but blankets. They’re all queen-size, so the two of you can wrap yourselves up as comfortably as possible during cuddles without anyone getting cold.

- And when you stand up with one draped around you like a cape, he can’t help but chuckle and call you “Your Majesty.”

- As for clothes, you’d never think he’s clued in to your needs, but then you see the socks he buys for you both: to avoid any circulation issues, he only buys soft cotton and wool socks without elastic, so even at home, you always have cozy socks that match the season, like festive holiday ones.

- His secret move? Sliding his hands between your thighs when they’re cold, and playing with the little rolls there, pinching them when you’re cuddling.

- In your most intimate moments, he stops to kiss and nip at your thighs, leaving little constellations of marks that he traces over with his fingertips in the days that follow.

Ekko:

- Cuddle time is sacred.

- If he walks into the room and sees you sprawled comfortably on the bed waiting for him, a bomb alert goes off in his head: he shuts the door and runs to gather everything he might need.

- Water, snacks, extra blankets, anything he can think of.

- When he gets back and shuts the door behind him, he has a ridiculous grin on his face, warning you that he’s about to pounce with a playful growl, as if to show you just how much he wants to nibble you.

- Ekko is a huge fan of having your knees on his shoulders while you lie down, rubbing his cheek against your calf, and kissing it while you’re busy squirming.

- His favorite hobby? Getting his head caught between your thighs and becoming “deaf.”

- He’s always the big spoon because he has to protect you, hug you, and nestle his arms and hands into every soft spot.

- After any wild night, expect breakfast in bed and a hot bath waiting for you.

Vander:

- Zaun has a dreadful climate because the smog creates a thick layer of heat, but being underground and surrounded by cold materials, temperatures can drop sharply. So sometimes he shows up with a blanket, hands you a corner, and asks you to hold it for a moment.

- As soon as you take it, he calmly wraps it around you, picks you up, and carries you over to the fireplace, keeping you wrapped like a burrito on his lap while he enjoys his pipe for half an hour.

- Because of the cold, intimacy often happens right there in the living room, in front of the fire. Sometimes, he’ll give you the armchair and kneel in front of you, or you’ll both find yourselves on the rug.

- He’s a good lover, but don’t expect him to do much after expending all that energy at his age. On a good day, he’ll be a gentleman and carry you to bed; then it will your turn to cuddle and soothe him with gentle strokes as he enjoys them with his eyes closed.

- If it’s not a good day, he’ll pull the blanket over both of you and set the guard in front of the fire, resigning himself to the fact that you’ll be sleeping cuddled up either on the chair, the sofa, or even on the rug.

- In exchange, the next day, he’ll make it up to you with a long, hot bath and a massage.

Silco:

- This man has money, and he knows how to use it well.

- When the cold sets in Zaun, your bedroom becomes a place you’d never want to leave. Fur rugs are laid out on either side of the bed, soft, warm robes in matching colors appear in the closet, and if you want to stay in your den waiting for him while he works without freezing, you can even light the in-room fireplace.

- After he finishes his work, he washes up, dons his robe, and heads straight to bed, sometimes he doesn't even waiting, and begins going over his paperwork under the blankets while he absently strokes your shoulder or hair.

- If you complain enough, he’ll carefully gather up the papers, set them aside, and hover over you to kiss your neck and collarbones, sliding your robe aside so his lean, wiry body can press against yours.

- He’s incredibly gentle in everything he does, from how he touches to how he kisses or nibbles. Every movement makes you shiver, but he remains composed. Occasionally, between kisses, the cold tip of his nose brushes your skin, making you giggle; he then returns to your lips, asking for forgiveness before continuing his slow exploration.

- He’s the type for wine and a cozy dinner under the covers, a break for cuddles, and then back to work.

- If you protest that you’re eating too much, he’ll feed you himself—no time for nonsense (but always with a touch of tenderness).

Jinx:

- The most chaotic thing Jinx does is cross out or draw over posters that show people who are too skinny. They can’t make you insecure if you don’t see them, and any excuse for vandalism is a good one.

- With the cold setting in, her hideout transforms into a true nest: a heap of clothes and fabrics covered in blankets and throws to make everything softer and warmer.

- Jinx has cold feet, but it’s not her problem—it’s yours. She’ll press them against your stomach, your back, and if you react, it’ll only get worse.

- She’ll start laughing, and it’ll become personal. The only way to fight back is with tickling, but that would be a declaration of war.

- When you both finally calm down, she’ll wrap herself around you, clinging with her whole body, inhaling your scent deeply, and digging her fingers into your side.

- Don’t expect too much delicacy in intimate moments; if she needs you to move, she’ll grab and pull you into whatever position is most comfortable for her. She holds your legs up, and handles you like you’re her personal doll.

- For her, this is princess treatment; and the effort she’s putting in is what counts.

Vi:

- She buries her face in your chest, first and foremost. Feeling sad? Face in your chest. Happy? Face in your chest. Deep in thought? You guessed it—face in your chest.

- Her go-to stress reliever is squeezing your thighs and hips.

- During cuddles, she rests your head on her shoulder, strokes your back, kisses your forehead, and speaks softly.

- She always plays with your hair, and if it’s long enough, you’ll find small braids everywhere.

- When you’re cuddling in bed, she’ll either hold you close or be the little spoon herself, with one hand in yours and fingers intertwined.

- When things get more intimate, she becomes completely dependent on you, pressing her fingers so deeply into your skin that they leave marks, as if even that isn’t enough and she wants to be inside you, to reach into your very core.

- She never imposes anything; if you don’t feel like washing up, she’ll clean you up with a warm cloth, and if you don’t feel like getting up, she’ll carry you. Whatever you want, she’ll go along with it unconditionally.

- Occasionally, she’ll climb over you, propping herself on her arms, just to steal a flurry of kisses.

Caitlyn:

- Caitlyn can cook, and she will.

- Her way of cuddling starts at the table, with an evening set up like a royal banquet. Anything you like will be there, along with sweet and savory snacks, which, if there are leftovers, she’ll take to the coffee table or the bedroom so you can enjoy them later.

- There’s no rush; if you want to go for a walk or relax after eating, it’s fine by her—she just wants to be with you. She might ask a housekeeper for a bit of help, or she’ll clean up on her own while you get ready.

- If you lie down in bed, she’ll absolutely take the chance to gently knead your stomach like a cat, making you laugh but also helping you fall asleep rather quickly.

- She’s the ultimate big spoon, nestling her face into the crook of your neck and holding you tightly.

- When things get more intimate, she loves to look you in the eyes while she touches you, so she can savor every reaction, every shiver, watching your body melt with every move she makes.

- She becomes mesmerized by the way your body ripples under her touch, like there’s an ocean beneath your skin.

Mel:

- The real issue with Mel is that the rich never have anything better to do, so morning, noon, and night, they’re constantly organizing events. Breakfast at a noble’s home, brunch with the councilors, and of course, everyone must dine together. Tea at five with the Kirammans is absolutely sacred, and dinner is a moment for sharing ideas.

- Intimacy is this strange, almost absurd thing, as though everything is designed to give you no second of solitude.

- But when she does find a moment, she sits down and signals you to come into her lap or rest against her, cuddling you, playing with your earlobes, and winding her fingers through your hair until your eyes cross.

- She prefers giving affection to receiving it, simply because it feels like the only way she truly knows how to show love.

- Only in the deepest intimacy does she allow herself to do less, to enjoy your presence lying with her, to let go of control.

- She adores the way your body moves artistically, like it follows lines painted in oil, and these are the few moments where she can fully admire you.

- She’s quite strict afterward. You must drink those two glasses of water, and as you get up, she’ll call for someone to change the sheets and make the bed, so by the time you’re done showering, everything is ready and perfect.

Sevika:

- Bluntly put? She works with the chem barons, who are mostly old, misogynistic men with monocles embedded in their skulls, grotesquely altered rats with spider-like mechanical limbs, a very interesting gang of women in latex with disturbing port attachments, people with mechanical noses that pump in toxic stuff directly, and other highly modified, not-so-pleasant characters.

- I mean, sure, you have every right to feel insecure, but when she tells you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her, she’s being quite literal.

- Her delight in the fact that not only are you entirely flesh and blood but actually soft flesh is beyond words—she feels like she’s hit the jackpot with a premium relationship.

- There’s hardly a moment when she’s not touching you, holding your arms or cheeks in her hands, or kissing your skin.

- During cuddles, she prefers you on top of her, and if she’s calm and has enough time, she’ll even remove her arm.

- It’s a controversial choice, but she doesn’t want to be around you while wearing a weapon, and she doesn’t want you to see her the way she sees the chem barons. It’s almost a moral decision on her part.

- In bed, she can hold you easily with just one arm; she’s strong, it’s not an issue for her. But first and foremost, she wants to lie down with you, feel your soft arms, your chest, your waist where she can let herself sink in, and when you laugh because she’s tickling you, she kisses you.

- For her, the hardest part isn’t functioning with one less limb but letting herself appear calm, not on the defensive, even vulnerable.

- But she doesn’t regret it for a single second.

[hearts4hughes]

wondering if you could do a headcanon? thinking about rafe and his bsf!reader and whenever bsf!reader tells rafe about some guy, he's trying to act excited for you but is really thinking about ways he could kill the guy (bonus points if you write abt him comforting reader after he scares her new man away without her knowing)

a/n: i need myself some bsf!rafe

bsf!rafe cameron who will do anything for you. there is not one line he won't cross for you; you're his everything. so, when you want to talk to him, he gladly sits down, giving you his full attention. though, when you start telling him about your new conquest (some douchebag guy you met at the country club), he can't help but clench his jaw and swallow harshly, hiding his anguish under a fake smile.

bsf!rafe cameron who physically cannot listen to you gush over some guy. he blocks out most of your words as a defense mechanism and thinks about every single way he could rip the boy to shreds.

bsf!rafe cameron who will be the most supportive friend you could ask for. he'll validate your feelings and he'll even encourage you to go out and spend time with this new guy. yet, behind the scenes he's with topper and kelce scheming to jump him.

bsf!rafe cameron who will act surprised and upset when said guy ghosts you. he’ll hold you as you cry into his chest, praying you don’t notice the bruises littering his knuckles as he strokes your hair. he’ll kiss your forehead, mumbling sweet nothings, all while feeling a surge of pride inside.

bsf!rafe cameron who knows that deep down, you’re all his and you always will be.

[starmocha]

I've placed a self-ban on myself from posting any new Sylus fics until I finish Bride of the Dragon King. 😔👉👈

But just know, I will absolutely write this scenario into a proper story eventually 😤

[ Masterlist ★ Series Index ]

Sylus + Little Birdie ☆ Daddy is a Kitty?

During one family weekend in Linkon City while visiting Meow's Café, Sylus has, once again, offended the kitties. They immediately punish him and turn him into a caracal. Again.

Sylus is irate.

He is sitting in a booth, legs and arms crossed, silently fuming, already plotting to buy Meow's Café just so he can bulldoze it.

You're frantically appealing to OTTO Manager who feels just as helpless (omg someone pls save OTTO Manager, they're not paid to deal with any of this BS)

The kitties are meowing loudly, rebelling, and yelling about how Sylus deserves this, and they refuse to change him back 😾

Little Birdie stares in wonder amidst all of the commotion and chaos.

Slowly, she walks over and climbs onto the booth, and then into Sylus' lap.

Sylus is lost in his head, too angry to even notice her. He is just acting on his paternal instinct when he steadied her to keep her from falling.

She reaches up and lightly touches one ear. It twitches. She giggles. She gently scratches Sylus' new ear.

The café suddenly goes quiet as everyone hears a soft voice singing:

🎶 Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty. Purr, purr, purr. 🎶

Sylus closes his eyes and unwittingly starts to purr.

He suddenly breaks out of his trance, and he looks down, surprised to see his daughter smiling up at him.

She had sensed Sylus' anger earlier, so she asks with a soft, sweet smile, "Does Daddy feel better now? 🥹"

Sylus' face softens. He smiles and leans down to kiss her cheek. He is still mad that he was turned into a caracal again, but seeing his daughter's sweet smiling face calms him down immediately.

"Yes, baby, I feel better now," he answers, giving her a hug and another kiss on her cheek.

The kitties are touched by this scene and unanimously agree to reverse his punishment. 😺😸

BONUS SCENES

Sylus sings 'Soft Kitty' with his daughter and the kitties are mad again 😾 (at him, of course 😔)

One month punishment as a caracal and he is also banned from Meow's Café for the duration of his sentence.

You're dismayed.

Baby Birdie is delighted. "YAY KITTY DADDY."

Sylus shrugs, resigned.

[Later at home in the N109 Zone]

Normally, your daughter is very easy to put to bed, but tonight she is insisting on only wanting kitty daddy to put her to bed and sing her a lullaby. (Poor child is also tone deaf and is the only one who enjoys Sylus' singing 😔 /J)

"Daddy is taking a shower right now, baby. Come on, Mommy can sing you a lullaby. Better than Daddy as well..."

Baby Birdie is disappointed, but she doesn't fight you on this. "Can Daddy sing me to sleep tomorrow, Mommy? 🥺"

"Of course, baby. 🙂" (You @ you: WHY DOES SHE LIKE HIS SINGING SO MUCH??? 😐😮‍💨😭)

You manage to get her to sleep eventually and when you return to the master bedroom, you find Sylus is already in bed.

"She's finally asleep," you tell him, exhausted. "She only wants kitty daddy right now."

He smirks, amused. His ears twitch, and his tail sways from side to side.

When you get into bed, you notice Sylus is...very frisky.

"Sy-SYLUS???"

He laughs and grins lecherously. "Isn't it time for us kitties to play?"

"We made such a cute daughter already," he continues, unabashed, "Maybe it's time we start on our next...'litter,' and give her siblings. 😈"

[THE END BECAUSE THIS IS A ✨️WHOLESOME SERIES✨️ OK. I WRITE ENOUGH SYLUS BREEDING FICS ALREADY. 😔

But something something implications and something something Sylus needing to rut because of his feline instincts rn 😔😔😔]

[theereina]

Bad News Pt. 3

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC "Bella"

Wordcount: +1.7K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, mental health mentioned (anxiety), *emotional distress*, angst, heartbreak, health conditions mentioned (c*ncer, PCOS, endometriosis), infertility, verbal and physical ab*se mentioned

A/N: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Bad News Pt. 1=> ����

Bad News Pt. 2=> 😢

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

Over A Month After Mike's Funeral

“He said he'd leave the door unlocked, so I can just go in and get the rest of my stuff,” I said getting out of the car. “My legs hurt so damn bad,” Shante said bending over. “Old ass!” I laughed as I walked to the door.

As I lifted my hand to turn the doorknob, all of the memories from the night before I left came flooding back. “You good?” Shante asked as she walked up behind me. “Yeah, flashbacks whoopin’ my ass. I can't believe that… Fuck!” I said sobbing. Shante’s arms wrapped around me. “Oh, Bella. You'll be okay, mama. You know me and Mama gotchu,” she said swaying from side to side.

This was the first time since the day Terry called that I had realized how much life had changed. The surgery was “successful”. Testing showed no more immediate signs of cancer. The possibility of me getting pregnant was slim to none and would take a miracle, but I was trying to be as optimistic as possible about the situation.

“I'm fine. I promise,” I said patting her hands. She slowly released me from her embrace. “You’re strong, ya’ know. You always have been,” she said playfully bumping my shoulder. “Thank you for that. Honestly, I wish I didn't have to be. What's the reward in it?” I said reaching for the doorknob again.

Upon entering the house, I noticed that everything seemed to be untouched. It was as if Terry had barely stayed here since then. “Has he even been here?” Shante asked spinning around and taking in the scenery. She seemed to be just as confused as me. “I don't know. I didn't really ask. We only text about me coming to get my stuff,” I said walking further into the house.

The longer I stood there; the more I felt an overwhelming sense of dread, worry, and something I couldn't explain. It seemed off. It was almost as if this wasn't anyone's home anymore.

“Let's just go upstairs,” I said shuddering. As I turned to go up the stairs, I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. “I thought his bitch ass wasn't coming while you were here,” Shante said barreling towards the door. She grabbed the doorknob and swung it open. “That's what he…,” I started to say.

To my surprise, it wasn't Terry pulling in at all. I saw his mother climbing out of her small sedan. “Shit! It's his mama. What the hell?” I said palming my face. I hadn't prepared myself to face any of them— not Terry or his parents.

I could see her smile before she even reached the door. “Hi, honey. May I come in?” she asked looking at me. Her hands gripped her purse strap so tight that her knuckles turned white. “Yes… yes, ma'am. How are you?” I asked turning to meet her in the living room. “Good, how about you? I haven't spoken to ya’ since ya’ left,” she said walking up to me. She looked at Shante and mouthed a silent hello.

I didn't know what to say to her. Did I tell her the truth? Did I lie about what happened? Was I supposed to protect Terry? Should I even fucking care?

“I've been fine,” I said trying to stifle my emotions. I knew that my face and body language always gave me away. I wore my emotions outwardly like a second skin or a mask. “Don't lie to me, baby?” she said grabbing my hands. I looked down at the floor. “Bella,… maybe you should just… y’know,” Shante mumbled while shrugging her shoulders. “I've asked that boy a million times. He's as stubborn as a mule. He didn't hurt you did he?” she asked stepping closer. “No, but… Yeah, but not physically. Then again, every word he said felt like a punch to the gut. He…,” I said as the tears began to fall.

Before I knew it, I had told his mother everything— what happened that night, the next day, and what happened to me afterward. I even told her about the surgery and diagnoses.

“I'll be the first to admit that we missed the mark with Terry when it comes to emotional intelligence. His father was so set on raising a man that he just couldn't let the boy feel things. Y’know… he couldn't cry, be upset, or… Or, else. Yes, Terry is a grown-ass man, but… I don't know,” Terry's mother grew silent. It was like she had become lost in her thoughts.

“All I wanted was an apology. If he would've just… just heard me out and listened. But, I guess I wasn't worth it. I get it. Mike was in trouble, but I felt like I was fighting for my life… by my… by my damn self. He wasn’t talkin’ to me. He wasn't communicating with me at all. He was just telling me what he was gonna do, and that was it. I… I… I tried my hardest to let it go, but he had already said too much. There was no turning back after what he said. Whether he was angry, overwhelmed, or not; he hurt me!” I said leaning on my hands on the kitchen counter.

“I know. I'm sorry, honey. That's why I'm gone tell you this, and leave ya’ ‘lone. Okay? Listen to me, and listen to me good,” she said holding my face in her hands. “That's my son sure enough, but that's his father's creation. Don't make the same mistake I did. Run. Don't wait on him. He won't change. They'll tell you they will a million times and never will. They just keep feedin’ ya’ lies to tire ya’ out ‘til ya’ settle. And once you do that… It only gets worse. So, go up those stairs and get your stuff. When ya’ do, leave and don't eva look back. Ya’ hear me?” she said pulling me into a bear hug.

“And I know you said he isn't hitting you now, but if he's anything like his daddy, it's only a matter of time. Baby, don't even think ‘bout it… Lord… Just don't go back. Promise me that,” she said rocking me back and forth.

4 hours later

“That's it. We're done! Let's go. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I ain't in the mood. Girl, this was a helluva day,” Shante said walking out the door. I made sure that I had all of my stuff before leaving. I looked down at the set of keys in my hand. His mother was right; this was it. I wasn't turning back. I fumbled with the key ring and removed Terry's house key. I placed it on the kitchen counter. There was no reason to have it because I was NEVER using it again. I turned and began walking out the door locking it from the inside. Closing that door felt like ending an entire chapter of my life.

I walked to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, I got in and slumped into the seat. “Alright. The hotel is only a thirty-minute drive. Let's go!” Shante said starting the car. Even reversing out of the driveway felt odd. It was as if every move from then on was solidifying just how done I was. Shante drove out of the neighborhood and turned onto the main street. The two-lane boulevard went straight through the center of the small town. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I was exhausted as hell.

After a few minutes, I felt the car come to a stop. I opened my eyes to see where we were— the town center. It was the only stoplight in the city limits. “The fact that there is only one stoplight is insane,” Shante laughed. “Aww, don't be mean. That's not nice,” I said giggling into my hand.

As we were chatting, the red light changed to green. Shante eased into the intersection. I looked out the window, watching the scenery. It was heartbreaking, to say the least. This was supposed to be the start of my perfect life— small town, family home, a husband, some kids, all of it. It was like I lost it all in a night. My thoughts were drifting to a poisonous place, and I knew if I stayed there too long I wouldn't be able to climb out of that hole as easily. I let my eyes scan the small crowds outside the window. This was a normal Thursday night for everyone else but me.

We were nearing the edge of town and slowly approaching the city limits. All we had to do was get to the highway. This was the first time this drive felt so daunting. It was as if I was being forced to reconcile with every decision I made before today— the good and the bad.

Out the window, I could see the small bar that Terry frequented. It wasn't busy but small groups were still lingering out front. As we grew closer, I noticed Terry's truck parallel-parked out front. Of course, he was there. Where else would he be? This was where he went to run. I leaned my head against the glass. The side of my face flustered from the temperature of the cool glass. As we started to pass the back of Terry's truck, I could see his figure in front of the truck. He was leaning with his back against the hood. I sank back into the seat. I honestly didn't want to see him. I waited until we were completely past the bar before sitting up again. I didn't look back. I kept my eyes glued on the passenger side floorboards. What was the point? I wiped a single tear that was making its way down my face. I breathed out a deep sigh of relief.

What would life have to offer now? Genuine happiness. Healthy and reciprocated love. Self-discovery. Less bad news. Yeah, that's what I pray for— for God to finally give me enough space to breathe and grow.

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[skitskatdacat63]

One makes him up, so the other can break him down.

This is a little terrifying but hello!! Posted my first fic on ao3!! I would've saved the illustrations for the fic's eyes only, but I'm too happy with them haha. Hope you'll still go on to read regardless!!

As always, my thoughts and progress, since I can't help myself:

I'm soooooo proud of these. I never ever really do dramatic lighting, so I'm really surprised that I pulled it off.

It's surreal actually posting this because for a while, I've thought about how if I ever post a fic, I'll have to make illustrations too because I can't do anything not full force. Look at me now! I'm shocked. Also didn't think I'd finish it tonight, but here it sits before you nevertheless(though as always, I'm writing this past my bedtime before class, time efficient as always.) So with that being said, here are some notes, though if I had known I'd be writing this so soon, I would've prepared more lol.

First of all, I hope it's clear both of these are Mark's perception. Gah, the fact that his face is the only one you can see clearly. The first is obviously him unwillingly fantasizing about what exactly went down last night.

Aghhhhh the difference in colors and settings of the two drawings is so important to me. The warmth and intimacy of the bed behind curtains in the first one, and the coldness and openess of the second. It's so clear Mark feels like he's been distanced, like he's been ousted. It's like he's been thrown outside on a cold winter's day, no longer able to feel the heat from the comfortable warm stove inside.

Mark was probably assigned to Seb bcs he has a much greater appreciation for the Spanish etiquette, which Seb has very little interest in. He'll abide by it when he absolutely has to. But he's just a very non-typical Emperor. People find it charming so it's not a public death sentence for him, but it is an issue. Thus, Mark is there to keep him in line. Though important to note that when Fernando, who has an equal if not greater respect for the showmanship of etiquette, realizes Mark is interested in that as well, they start warming up to each other.

The inherent disrespect of Fernando just. Throwing Seb's clothing onto the floor. Meanwhile he probably took like, 20 minutes folding his up(that's what Seb was gonna tell Mark at the end of the fic.) Borderline ripping off Seb's clothes only to edge him. Its not even like the ripping off the clothes is because of passion or anything, he's deliberately being an asshole. Don't worry Nandl, Seb's turned on by it!

So sorry to marknando fans if their dynamic feels like a complete 180 haha. Its not like I'm like, they actually hate each other!! It's just their relationship under completely different circumstances. They're like two dogs in a dog fight, they don't have any real reason to hate each other, but they're put against each other regardless. They don't understand their hatred, just know that they have it and that they're supposed to have it. The inherent hatred the mistress has for the spouse, and vice versa. If they actually were able to talk without barriers, they'd realize they actually get along pretty well. They kinda just hate each other because of their respective relationships to Seb. And then there's Seb who's mostly completely oblivious to his effect, though of course plays with it a bit.

Seb's marriage completely recontextualizes their relationship in Mark's eyes. Though there's something incredibly sado-masochistic about the way he can't blame Seb for it at all. He's a loyal dog after all. But when it was just them, he was obviously Seb's main companion and lover. Seb definitely slept with people on the side, but Mark brushed that off: 1. Bcs its very period typical. 2. He was the main, they were the side, what more needs to be said! But now *he's* the side piece, and is left wondering if their relationship was down to proximity alone. Not to pull a Mark and completely excuse Seb, but it's not. Just very different perceptions of love and relationships. And again, as I've mentioned before, he was raised to always be the most important person in the room, so he obviously has very different understandings, especially since he's always the center.

NANDL!!!!!! In my Habsburg book I've been reading lately, they randomly referred to one of them affectionately as "Nandl" and it's stuck in my head ever since. Can we start a movement to canonize that as an official Fernando nickname? I'm sooooo fond of it, I litrally ended the fic that way just so I could shoehorn that nickname in.

Speaking of the ending. It was really tough, I almost wanted to have Fernando burst in, looking for his ring, and then coming across whatever that is. But I didn't want to disrupt their moment anymore, it felt cruel. Though shame I couldn't mention that the reason why Seb's pants are nowhere to be found is because Fernando accidentally put them on and didn't realize till he was out of the room.

*I FORGOT TO POINT OUT ONE OF MY FAVORITE PARTS! Truly the danger of writing a post while falling asleep. There's something so incredibly funny to me the way they're talking so refined and then Seb just throws out: "that guy." It's a way to show his own disrespect of Fernando, not even using his name, implying he's just some guy(nur ein Kerl.) I laughed writing it cause it reminds me of the random dry humor anecdotes I've read lately.

[strawbabycandy]

these pics got me inspired, so i wanna write a little fantasy you can think about while looking at them

it’s been a long day at work, you’re on edge, because of stress of course but also because you haven’t cummed in a week. as you head home you start feeling increasingly tense, when you step into the almost empty subway car you fail to notice me at first, too lost in your thoughts, but after a few stations, it’s only us left, and my bright blue sweatpants catch your attention. a thought erupts in your head, how easy would it be to use me for the relief you’ve been craving? you get up, and walk up to me, predatorily. my back is facing you, so i don’t even notice you until it’s too late, until i can feel my pants being lowered and a hand over my mouth. i can’t move, i’m too stunned by what’s happening. your hands slowly make their way down my body, you take your time, you take my breasts into your hand and meanly pinch my nipples. when you pull my panties down, you’re surprised to find them wet, you can’t help yourself and as your fingers trace my entrance i can hear you whispering in my ear “slut.”. was i actually enjoying myself, or was it a natural reaction my body had to stimulation? you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. all that mattered was the feeling of my warmth as you slipped into me. i was so helpless, gripping onto the pole in front of me as you trusted into me, your manhood roughing up my insides. at one point i managed to let out a bleak “it hurts!”, to which all you had to say was “but you’re taking it so well though, it’s like you were made for me.”, you put your head into my neck, i hiccuped as i felt your warm breath against it. “that’s all you lot are good for isn’t it? taking cock. you knew someone would use you today, didn’t you? that’s why you put these fucking sweatpants on, knew they were easy access.”, you got closer to my ear and whispered in it “and who would’ve thought you were hiding such an ass under these.”, you slapped it as if to illustrate your point. you came not to long after, in me of course, and you watched your cum drip out of my pussy as you caught your breath and put your dick back into your pants. as you leave my there, on the floor of the subway cart, as you walk home, your balls finally empty, you feel no guilt whatsoever. none. after all, women only exist to satisfy you, don’t they? you only used one as you were supposed to. you were a man, and she owed it to you.

the end <3

you know what they say, never judge a book by it’s cover…

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[recycledraccoon]

I have evolved into Scuttlespring anon, just say anything about them. I love them so much

THE ANON PANTHEON GROWS

Ok so. Gorgug likes Mary Ann because she absolutely infuriates him but also, and perhaps more importantly, because she has a type of confidence I think a younger Gorgug would have deeply envied. She's so weird, but entirely sure of herself. She likes what she likes and anyone who would have a problem with that is absolutely beneath her notice. She has friends not despite her oddities, but because she refuses to bend about them and that confidence is incredibly attractive in a person. Mary Ann Skuttle see's something she wants and she just...goes and gets it, easy peasy. Tiny little kobald strides, but when she puts her foot down with force, Gorgug thinks she could crush a mountain under with nothing so much as a blink or falter of her stride. She's certainly physically strong enough for it, and while Gorgug is undisputedly the better fighter, Mary Ann has a physical strength hidden under soft pastel pink hoodies and can, has, and will knock Gorgug on his ass. Gorgug got THRASHED at those Bloodrush field tryouts, and I'm certain he probably got his ass handed to him more than once during the year while at practice but before he quit the team. She made him so damn mad, everything that year was, and endlessly kind Gorgug got real mean to her over it. She was better than him, more casually confident, and didn't blink ONCE at his outburst. And later? When she was resurrected and freed from possession? He talks to her, acknowledges that it was just a game but he had been actually mad to be so easily knocked aside. He never really had to work at Bloodrush to be good at it, he just was, until suddenly she proved herself better.

And yet, without flinching, Mary Ann, famous for not giving a shit but listening to Gorgug say how much he had, just....asks if he has a girlfriend. Unparalleled confidence, shooting a shot he was unprepared for. Planets aligned even as his own orbit was knocked off course. And then, when he admits he doesn't even know where to get a quokki pet, something its been explicitly known to be something she really cares about? She writes down her number, letting him see that folded paper. She initiated this, and he got swept up in it, but instead of just handing over the number and allowing him to be swept up- Mary Ann Skuttle puts the number away and tells him shes gonna put it where you get quokki pets, and if he wants her number he's going to have to go get it. He's not allowed to just be swept up in the force of her, she wants him to put in effort, prove to her and himself that this isn't just a moment but a starting point. He cant be swept up by the tide, he's gotta swim. Gorgug liked Zelda, but their relationship started because they thought she was in danger and Gorgug had the best in. He stumbled into that relationship unsure and off balance, he never would have had the confidence to pursue Zelda without his friends hands on his back and their advice in his ears. Later on he gets more serious, he did love her and he put in the work to maintain that relationship, but it didn't work out and that's ok. Ever confident Mary Ann tho? She doesn't want unsure stumbling steps into this relationship. If Gorgug doesn't make the active decision to chase her, to WANT to be with her and putting deliberate effort to get there, then she doesn't want him at all. Gorgug, confused, asking where you even GET a quokki pet? And she smirks, calls him a loser, and walks away leaving him reeling and dumbfounded. Mary Ann Skuttle wants Gorgug to work for this. And who is Gorgug Thistlespring, but someone who puts in the work for things he wants? He did the seemingly impossible by creating his own subclass of Barbaficer, even if he had to take four years of schooling all at once. He puts in the work and makes the impossible possible, the greatest wizard of this age. So yeah. Yeah. Gorgug Thistlespring likes Mary Ann Skuttle because she makes him work for it.

[snipersfucker]

request from @infintyfandoms: Thought! Mirage is always so reckless, well what if one time he went too far and hurt his friend or s/o (either)?? I feel like he’d blame himself so bad - even if he was blind sighted by a distracted driver. Never drive crazy again or not drive around again or what??

angsty mirage x fem!reader times. thought of making it a headcanon thingy but nah. this one might need a warning that there are descriptions of serious injuries. and im also writing this on 0 hours of sleep thank you very much

A silver Porsche parked in front of the vinyl store you just walked out of was catching the attention of every passerby. Both men and women's eyes were stopping on the vehicle for a bit longer than they would on any regular car, their heads turning slightly to allow them to do that.

Mirage loved that. He loved transforming in different models everyday, the next one even more prestigious than the one before. Just to get that attention every single time.

You noticed a couple of teenage girls staring at your boyfriend, and even though you were fully aware they were doing so only because he was a good-looking car, you still rolled your eyes at it.

Your feet led you to the Porsche and you hopped in. Before getting the chance to point out the shameless staring of the group of teens, Mirage spoke up, "Whatcha got there?"

Your gaze had shifted to the vinyl case before you placed it down on the passenger's seat without much thought.

"Music," you responded casually in a light tone, putting your hands on the steering wheel, even though you knew Mirage would be doing the driving. "You got fans," you murmured under your breath but Mirage could obviously hear it. Your eyes landed on the girls again, and although you weren't particularly jealous, you still didn't appreciate it too much.

"Hell yeah, I do, baby," he said proudly, the grin in his voice palpable, even though you couldn't see it at the moment. And then, he added, a little bit more quietly as if he was saying this to the man who literally stopped in front of the car to admire him, "You wish you looked like that, huh?"

You let out an amused snort, and patted the gear stick with your palm to give him a sign to drive out of the parking lot. "C'mon."

"Let me honk at him," he'd asked for your permission seconds before doing it anyway without you allowing him to, causing the man to jump in his spot and then walk away. You just smacked the passenger's seat in disapproval, not even going on a rant about his behaviour because it was a daily occurrence for Mirage to do whatever he wanted.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, offended by your sudden reaction, as if he wasn't used to it, "I'm all for violence unless it's directed towards me," he muttered, sounding like an annoyed child. Then, without any warning, he revved the engine and drove out of the parking lot onto the main road. You only rolled your eyes without a word but then, you noticed how fast he was passing all the other cars in his lane, which he would usually cuss out for being slow, as if their owners weren't driving under the speed limit for safety reasons.

"Mirage…" you warned him, using his full name instead of a nickname, which he did not appreciate but decided not to speak on it and just change the topic.

"Jus' tell me it's not George Michael," he said with a short sigh, as if it was very important to him that it, in fact, was not George Michael.

"Mirage..." you warned him once again, ignoring his words, gripping the steering wheel with much more force now to hopefully get him to slow down.

"Nope," he said simply, understanding what you meant without you even having to say it. If he was in his humanoid form, he'd probably cross his arms on his chest and shake his head with that signature smirk indicating that he knew he was in control of the situation. "That's what you get for hitting your poor boy," he added, sounding very content with himself, revving the engine once more just to show you that he, in fact, was not planning on slowing down.

You scoffed. "You deserved it."

"For what?" he began talking in that specific, overly innocent tone, and you just knew he was going to say something sarcastic that would only annoy you even more, "For being so cute and funny?" He asked rhetorically, as if he wasn't aware that he really needn't have honked at that man, and then drive as recklessly as he normally would when you weren't inside him.

But he was very much aware. It was just that his pride didn't allow him to apologise.

"For being a little shit." You decided not to banter with him as per usual, but just to get straight to the point. Even though you were possibly risking starting an argument between you two, you just needed to reprimend him at the moment, especially now that you noticed how nonchalant he was about it.

"Ouch," he pretended to be hurt by what you just said. And although he wasn't actually offended, he still wasn't really in the mood to let you win.

So he sped up even more.

Noticing the opportunity presented right in front of him, the almost empty road ahead of you two, he floored the gas pedal, making you let out a short, quiet noise at the impact in which you got pushed back into the seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked him with anger in your voice, not raising it just yet, and not actually expecting a response. But you got one anyway:

"Takin' you on a ride date, baby," he answered sarcastically, his overly sweet tone making him sound even more annoying than before.

"Mirage, I—"

If he wasn't as sure in his abilities as he was, he'd never drive over three times faster than the speed limit allowed, never wanting to actually risk you getting hurt in any way.

And it wasn't even his fault, when a sport's car drove right into his left side, before you could even finish your sentence.

It wasn't his fault that the car ran a red light, that it was supposed to stop and wait for him to just drive away without getting thrown to the right by the impact.

It wasn't his fault that he was now rolling over for the fifth time, his roof and sides hitting the hard asphalt every single time.

You weren't even making any noises anymore so that he would know that you were with him, conscious, alive. He ignored the sound of his glass shattering, his metal body getting scratched, bent and painfully ruined, just to be able to hear your breath.

The other car was in a much worse condition, but he didn't care. The only thing occupying his mind was you, your heartbeat he would do anything to hear again. He needed to make sure you were still there.

He felt it all. He felt the pain that came with getting drove into by another car, with flipping over with unimaginable speed and force. But he needed to make sure you were alright.

And he couldn't even do anything to stop his worst nightmare from beginning to play right in front of his very optics.

Then, after a few moments that felt like hours to him, everything finally came to an end. The hiss coming out of him was still hearable, the hot steam, the liquid pouring out of his fual lines threatened to mix with the flames growing with every passing second. But it was finally quiet; no noise of metal hitting the asphalt distracted him from listening to your body.

His spark nearly exploded with relief when he heard the faint sound of your heartbeat. He wanted to transform, to be able to hold you, to get you out of him so that his bent roof wouldn't be pressing against your wounded head.

When people began to gather up around him, he realised he had a decision to make: to transform and risk getting hunted down just like it happened to Bumblebee, or to stay there and pray to Primus, pray to the people now surrounding him that they'd help you and make sure you were okay.

He wanted to scream at them to hurry up, to get you out, to make that heartbeat of yours sound more promising. To let him know that you weren't going to—

The idea of losing you forever crossed his mind for a split second before he could even stop it.

And it was his fault that he was going a lot over the speed limit, too distracted by the need to tease you, to win the argument, and show you that you had nothing to say in the way he was behaving.

It was his fault that there was crimson running down your forehead, the drops rolling past the hairs of your eyebrows, all the way down to your jaw, then staining your shirt with your own blood.

It was his fault that your body felt lifeless against his ruined upholstery, the only motion it was making was an almost undetectable rise of your chest every couple of seconds.

His train of thoughts got interrupted by the distant sound of sirens getting closer and closer to him. The people were talking, someone was yelling, it all making an irritating mixture of human noises he didn't need to hear at the moment.

Mirage felt his left door being opened or rather being torn out of him in a couple painful motions. He didn't care.

He just wanted them to take you away from him.

When he no longer felt your weight on his driver's seat, he almost let a sound of relief through his radio, but just now noticed that it's been ruined, making it impossible for him to do so. He hadn't paid attention to it earlier, too stunned to be able to say anything to you, even though your name and endless questions if you were okay wanted to escape him.

Cold liquid hit his hot metal body, the lower temperature of it somewhat helping him get in a clearer state of mind. Even though he felt deserving of being on fire, he appreciated the slight relief it gave him.

Somebody placed you on a stretcher, put you carefully in another vehicle, and then closed the door. He couldn't see you anymore but was sure the humans would take good care of you. Better care than he was able to offer.

The loud sirens hit his audio receptors before he registered the ambulance leaving the crash site.

And the sound was still bouncing against the interior walls of his helm every single day since the accident. The imagine of your limp body, his steering wheel covered in your blood, your head pressed uncomfortably against the remains of his left window...

Two whole weeks passed and he couldn't think of anything else but you. You in that horrible state he put you in himself.

The guilt was eating him alive, and even though he'd make Noah visit you everyday in the hospital to make sure your condiction was stable, he still couldn't help but beat himself up and be worried sick.

"Concussion, five broken ribs, broken arm and nose, and she was fucking bleeding from her liver, man," your mutual friend told him after leaving the hospital for the first time, after the doctors allowed anybody to visit you, even though you weren't conscious yet.

It affected Noah nearly as much as it did the robot. The only difference was that the human had no reason to blame himself for it, because it wasn't his recklessness that nearly killed you.

Mirage fell silent.

He got quiet, very quiet, unusually for him. Every Autobot he used to hang out with knew what happened, how much you meant to him, and how affected he was by the accident. They noticed the sudden shift in his behaviour, the once bubbly personality disappearing just so he could dwell in guilt in peace.

The thing that bothered him a lot among others was that he couldn't see you. He couldn't walk into the hospital you were being taken care of in. He couldn't sit next to you and tell you how painfully sorry he was for doing it to you, for putting you in danger, for hurting you so much your pain radiated off you body and made him feel it, too.

Noah insisted on repairing him, and he agreed purely because then he'd be able to park in front of the hospital to be as near you as possible.

But he was a wreck, both physically and emotionally.

And it still didn't change when you finally got discharged. He was not the one to pick you up from the hospital, it was Noah and Bee. He couldn't face you.

You asked about him when you woke up from the coma, your friend sitting next to you on the uncomfortable hospital chair only shrugging in response, telling you he didn't know anything about Mirage, where he was or how he was.

It was a lie. The robot was spending his time either in the garage, getting fixed by his only human friend, or out on the road, hoping that maybe, just maybe someone would crash into him again, making him feel that pain again. That pain he thought he deserved for harming you.

And when you insisted on Noah taking you to the garage to see him, after getting the information about his location out of the poor human, Mirage couldn't help but feel even worse than before.

You were alive, of course you were alive, but he also did notice the way you winced with every step, how dull the colour of your skin was compared to the times before the accident, how fragile you looked, standing there in front of him with Noah not leaving your side in case you'd collapse onto the floor.

You were alive, but also in so much pain he couldn't even look at you without feeling a strong sting in his spark.

His optics shifted to Noah in an instant, as if he was trying to bash him for taking you here, which he responded to out loud with his hands raised in a defensive gesture, "She threatened me."

You didn't even know what you were feeling at that moment. A mixture of sadness, annoyance, impatience, and hurt made you unable to say anything, forcing you to just stand there in silence. Suddenly, a short wave of pain washed over your right side, making you grimace and put your only free palm on the area surrounding your liver.

As soon as Mirage noticed your movement, he made an involuntary step towards you, his servos extended in your direction, as if he was trying to both comfort you and catch you if you were to fall.

Noah immediately asked, "You okay?" His eyes shifting between your hand on your side and your pained face. You just nodded.

Uncomfortable silence fell between the three of you, and the other human was close to replacing it with whistling just so that he wouldn't have to stand there awkwardly without a word.

"Imma just leave you two, yeah?" He scratched the back of his neck, his feet already leading him in the direction of the exit. "Jus'... scream if you die or somethin'..." he added, the awkwardness making him joke about things he normally wouldn't joke about.

And then, he left. He left poor Mirage with even poorer you. Alone.

You let out a grunt, making your way to the nearest chair to sit down. He was ready to help you with everything, but he didn't know if you even wanted him to, so he just stayed in his spot.

"You look bad," you commented, lazily motioning to his beaten-up body with your hand. The raspiness, the weakness in your voice almost made him drop to his knees.

He responded unsurely after a pause, a forced, unamused smirk on his face plate, "...You should see the other guy."

It was awkward. Awkward as never before, you two having always found it pretty easy to communicate with each other. But now... Now he couldn't help but feel that unpleasant feeling in his tank when you spoke up and made him say something back to you.

And it was his fault.

Your reaction to his little joke wasn't something you could control. A short, quiet chuckle left your mouth, causing you to grab your right side even more tightly and a wince of pain on your face to deepen.

She can't even laugh.

He felt so excruciatingly bad he had to fight himself not to transform into a car and just drive away.

You wanted to tell him that you've been told the other driver didn't make it. But you knew the war it would start in his mind if you shared that information with him, so you stayed silent.

"You look terrible," he muttered after a few moments of observing your body, as if to himself to comment on the damage he'd done.

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. "That's exactly what every woman likes to hear," you responded, deciding that a little banter would be better than sitting without any words being exchanged.

Mirage's eyes widened slightly as he took a step towards you, his servos up in the air again in a specific gesture that indicated that he didn't actually mean it like that.

He had this tendency to make things worse with his words, and normally it wouldn't bother him at all, but this time it was you. He didn't want to make thing worse with you.

"No, no, you're pretty. Gorgeous, in my humble opinion. Walking perfection even," he wanted to correct himself, spurting word after word just to show you that he didn't want you to be mad at him. "Geez, I'm sorry," he added, bringing his servos to his face plate to cover it in... embarrassment.

Something new for him.

You shook your head, looking up at him with a small smile. "I do look kinda ter—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he said with much more confidence now, "...For everything."

He rarely apologised.

But you deserved to hear it. Even if you weren't ready to forgive him just yet, even if you were to never forgive him, he just needed you to know that he regretted it.

You frowned, opening your mouth to say something, but he interrupted you again, "Maybe I shouldn't have be the fastest car in Brooklyn that day. Maybe I should've listened to you and not be a little shit," he recalled the way you called him these few weeks ago, just minutes before the accident. With determination in his tone, he continued, "You can hate me, I can take it." But then, he changed his mind as soon as he realised he would prefer if you didn't hate him, "Actually. Hate me for the next three days at max. Please. If you don't want me to rip my vents out."

You snorted weakly once more, the movement of your body making you wince in pain again.

He finally found enough courage within himself to get closer to you. With a couple of steps, he kneeled down in front of you and extended one of his servos in your direction, as if non-verbally telling you to stop laughing and not cause yourself even more pain.

"'m sorry," he whispered his apology again, the sincere look in his optics showing you just how much he cared for you.

"It wasn't y—"

"It was," he interrupted you in a much more serious tone, but it was still filled with softness, "I was stupid..."

"Nothing new," you managed to blurt out before closing your eyes shut and grunting, a grimace on your face as you felt another sting of pain, which you were kind of used to now.

You opened your eyes and looked up at his worried optics observing your every move, his servos desperately wanting to touch and help you but he knew it'd only make things worse due to his size.

You let out a short chuckle at your own joke as soon as your body allowed you to.

"Not funny," he reprimanded you with a serious face, not finding your apparent discomfort amusing at all, even though he agreed with your words.

"You were just making jokes ab—"

"So?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Child," you insulted him, fully aware how much he hated being called out on his childishness.

"I'm older than your cute little Earth, please," he scoffed.

"No, you're not," you deadpanned.

"...So?"

"I hate you," you said, although a small smile on your lips betrayed you.

"That's the spirit," he sighed but the corners of his lips curled up as well. A beat of silence passed and his gaze went back to your face, "I meant that."

You frowned slightly.

"I am sorry. For being the..." he was about to say something that would hurt his pride and ego, but decided it was worth it, "...the dumbest machine there is. Even a hairdryer is smarter than me," he insulted himself, hoping the sacrifice would make you like him again.

"You're right." You nodded, fighting back a chuckle.

He raised his arms in a playfully offended, confused gesture. "You could at least disagree, damn."

You shook your head in amusement.

After another beat of silence, he said seriously, "You're never coming inside me again."

"Wow."

"Should've worded it better, yeah..." he trailed off, "Primus, woman, give me a break." He let out a small laugh when he noticed your amused reaction to his sentence. "No, seriously... I... You're my girl, yeah? Don't want you to... You know, be in pain."

Why did he have to be so awkward about his feelings? Now that he finally had the chance to show you how much he loved you and never wanted to see you hurt again.

"I still have your..." he wanted to say that he still had your blood on some of his parts that didn't want to come off, but then decided it wasn't the best time to tell you that, "I almost lost my mind when I couldn't hear you," he confessed, his tone regaining its sincerity, the look in his optics describing his guilt to you without words.

He was referring to the moment he was so desperately trying to silence everything around him just to be able to find your heartbeat.

"I'm okay..." Your tone was soft, quiet, as if you were trying not to scare a lost, disoriented puppy.

"You're not okay," he disagreed with a slightly clenched jaw, angry at himself, not even for a second at you, "You..." He lowered himself so that he'd be able to whisper to you, as if saying these words more loudly would make them come true someday, "You almost died... I almost killed you..."

His face panel was close enough to your body for you to put your hand against his warm, metal cheek. Mirage immediately melted at the touch, his optics closing slowly just to allow him to savour the softness of your palm as much as he could.

"It wasn't your fault..." you started your monologue, this time the robot allowing you to continue, "I didn't die. I might have a broken bone or two..." He opened his eyes at this sentence, giving you a sad look. "...But I'll be alright. I didn't die," you repeated, which gained you an unsure nod from your boyfriend, who was now avoiding making eye contact with you.

You didn't force him to look up at you.

"I promise..." he trailed off, not wanting to show you how weak he felt, "I promise I'll never do that again..." His gaze went back to meet yours as you smiled softly, your eyes filled with love you had for him. "I'll never be dumber than a hairdryer, you have my unreliable word. And I'll never argue with you. I'll just say that I'm sorry, and that my woman is always right, and I'll shut up for as long as you want me to. And I... I'll never drive over twenty-five. Yeah, it hurts. But guess what hurts more. Seeing you with a broken bone or two."

Joking might've been the only way he would be able to overcome the sorrow he felt within himself. But it worked both for you and him. You really wouldn't have it any other way.

"Tell me," you whispered with a slight head tilt, slowly closing the gap between your faces.

He frowned, not understanding what you meant by that, but then the small smirk on your lips explained it to him.

He rolled his optics, the remains of guilt still evident in them, although with every passing second and every joke, they seemed to disappear bit by bit.

"'m sorry. My woman is always right," he repeated himself, pretending to find it very boring, as if he didn't really want to admit that. But he did. He did want you to know that he meant every single thing that rolled off his glossa.

Your smile widened immediately, your eyes closing as you minimized the gap between your and Mirage's lips completely.

And then, after long weeks of not being able to forgive himself for hurting the only woman he loved, he was finally able to feel relief.

[idolomantises]

there's something so comforting about artists you admire talking about their own struggles and insecurities

[a-shadowedvales]

when jane's powers return in season four (and because they were regained by her confronting and accepting her past, rather than being retraumatised with it!) they're stronger than they ever were. when she starts getting a handle back on them, she very quickly comes to realise not only have they affected her, but her mother, too. one of the biggest losses that came about with her losing them was the fact that she could no longer visit terry in the void; while there was no real communication there, it did allow jane to sit with her, and gain a little more connection than she could in the real world. when she first visits the void after their return, it takes her three hours to find terry, something that is both unexpected and incredibly worrying. but when she does, it's something of a miracle. jane's increased strength and control over the void actually wakes terry up from her catatonic state, but only in the void. there's no way to help her mother physically, but she does do so (unbeknownst to her) mentally. terry is reborn in jane's newfound control over the vale of shadows; she becomes the woman she once was, and while her body remains frozen in a "good dream", her mind connected to jane's own allows her some freedom. jane is able to speak to her mother in the void, is able to be held by her, and while it's still unfair and jane cannot stay in there forever, it's something. this only lasts for about eight months, as each visit slowly begins deteriorating terry's physical and mental state, and jane's health begins declining after spending hours upon hours in the void each and every day.

when jane finds out these visits are actually killing her mother on the outside, she deems to stop, but terry expresses the importance of them being able to speak, that she'd prefer to die on the outside, if it meant she could have just a few months with her daughter like this. terry and jane's connection was always so strong, which ultimately led to terry "waking up" in the void, but even jane's newfound strength cannot save her from the harsh realities. each visit nearing the end of those eight months, terry fades more and more, becomes weaker in the void, and her real body eventually gives up. jane's in the void when her mother eventually passes on, and physically feels their connection weaken, like some part of her suddenly becomes lost in the shadows, a part she'll never find again. jane falls into a depressive state for weeks after her mother's death, given she's technically lost her a second time, but soon comes to realise she was lucky to have even shared those eight months together. it was better than nothing at all. there is a proper burial and funeral, (and when jane dies, she's buried next to her mother) which allows jane some sense of closure. she never fully recovers from losing terry, nor from the fact that she never had a proper relationship with her, but she does eventually find some peace with it all.

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

i'm overwhelmed by the amount of positive comments i got on my latest fic! my heart goes out to all the survivors of sexual abuse, and i'm glad my fic has helped many of you process your own trauma. <3

[orcelito]

Wild that anytime I post an update a lot of people read it and are even excited about it and have their own thoughts and reactions to it that I'll never know.

Comments are only the very tip of the iceberg with it. And I am Very grateful to commenters for letting me in on it. But in the same way that I'll be excited with my friends when a fic we love updates, it's likely that Other people enthuse with Their friends when my fic updates. And it's just so strange. An experience I'll never have access to.

Everyone's relationship with my fic is unique. So many different people with so many different circumstances and preferences... and the number of people that have told me that my fic is one of their favorites, some even saying it's their Favorite favorite... every single one of them have their own relationship with my writing.

It's just interesting to me. I think and think and think on my writing. I have my plans for basically the entire fic, the way I want it to end already thought out, all the major plot beats and the relationship progressions, All of that thought out. I love my writing so very much, but I'm on the inside looking out. This is my mechanical horse, and I'm in here laying out the groundwork and pulling levers and constructing limbs, puttering away making the horse move. Forever and always, my relationship with it will be more intimate than anyone's, and yet more clinical. Because I know it better than the back of my own hand, but I'll never have the experience of reading it fresh. Of reading it without knowing everything that's going to happen from now to the end and beyond. I won't have the thrill of the plot twists I have planned, the delight at seeing things progress, the horror at seeing things go wrong...

This is my mechanical horse, and I'm making it move.

I just always wonder what it must be like to see it from the outside. I hope to others that it's a pretty horse.

[yinwaryuri]

I genuinely don't know what it is with Li Ming that makes me personally crumple into wet tissue paper just by looking at him. I don't think I relate to his struggles in quite the way they're presented, so it's not the usual way that I see a blorbo and connect. But whatever Fourth is doing in his acting creates this ache. This ever present need for something better, some place to be comfortable and happy in a way he keeps searching for and thought he'd found but not really yet. It's heavy and it's clouded him over for so long and he's still so young; he doesn't deserve to ache like this. Everything is so much to him and it's not his fault. It just feels so overwhelming and the world he knows is too small to hold it.

It's only with Heart where he can feel the world open enough. Not in a way he expected - to find more world in another person than in geography. And what that means is less heavy - more fizzy and bubbly and he can breathe better in it. There isn't a definite shape yet but it's becoming something and the new ache that comes with it will hurt less than the first.

[plague-of-insomnia]

“Comparison is the thief of joy” I repeat to myself over and over, trying to convince my damn brain not to be upset about the stats on fucking dadbastian schlock…

[creatediana]

"Fed to the Muses" - a poem written 2/22/2024