ugh! i am tired


did you receive mysterious messages? 

mc5 is wearing a unicorn mask lol. the bg color depends on who i ship them with hehe.  

click on them for better quality~

                                             ✨️  do not repost/reuse/re-edit  ✨️

Candy Cane Stockings

I need to go take a shower. In holy water. It’s Christmas Eve; how could I write something like this?

I am so going to hell, lmao.

Summary: I’m too tired to even come up with a proper summary, so you know what? Sin. That’s all this is. Pure (snort) Christmas sin. Enjoy your filth. Merry Christmas.

Warning(s): Smut. Duh. Curse words. Duh. A one-way ticket to hell. Duh.

Keep reading

Just a reminder:

Michael Jackson’s career, activism and charity work > the shape of his nose. 

Janet Jackson’s career, activism and charity work > the Super Bowl accident. 

Elizabeth Taylor’s career, activism and charity work > her marriages.

Audrey Hepburn’s career, activism and charity work > her clothes.

Marilyn Monroe’s career, activism and charity work > her sex life. 


Sawamura Eijun  Seidou’s Mood Maker

In the extremely unusual occasion that a run in with the FAHC results in an arrest rather than an all out firefight an argument could be made that the members of LSPD are even more displeased than the criminals themselves. It’s not just that many feel the crew members don’t even deserve the luxury of an arrest, think the world would be a better place if they were shot on sight, but also the fact that the interrogations themselves never go to plan. The possibility of being the one who brings about the downfall of the FAHC sours in the face of the intangible feeling that the arrest was intentional, that getting one of the Fakes into an interrogation room is still somehow playing into their plans.

Neither Pattillo nor the elusive Brownman have ever made it to the station, the few occasions which have come close getting cut short before they get any further than the squad car. Pattillo is unerringly polite even while effortlessly knocking out arresting officers, while Brownman is utterly relaxed, putting up no resistance and complaining loudly about losing the chance to sleep away the afternoon in custody when his crewmates drag him free. Dooley, on the other hand, seems to turn up at the station with alarming regularity; the FAHC’s newest member wandering in for anything from paying off minor traffic tickets to reporting petty crime. Its infuriating, the man exuding nothing but appropriate respect and utter sincerity, and without any evidence, without anything but street knowledge of his involvement, they can do nothing but treat him like a regular citizen.

When Ramsey is brought in he is calm, judgemental and obnoxiously sure of himself. He proclaims his innocence, his ignorance, his life as a simple businessman with just enough of a smirk to make it clear he is laughing at them, never once even hinting at anything incriminating. Interrogating the man is always a race against the clock; through bail or legal intervention he’s out of their hands almost as soon as they get him. Once, and only once, a detective tried to go the unethical threatening route, claimed other members of the crew were in unrecorded rooms having one-on-one sessions of their own, that if Ramsey cared about them at all he would just confess and save them all the trouble. It was months before they got all the blood off the walls, and the mysterious failure of every camera in the interview room had the station caught up in internal investigations while Ramsey walked away scott free.

Where interviewing Ramsey is always too short to be satisfying, no detective can be done with Jones fast enough. At first the fact that he doesn’t shut up seems like gift, his rages an easy way to trip him up, trick him into revealing information, but its not. Jones will curse you out, run his mouth about the precinct, the cheif, your mother, his own mother, and the competence levels of his crew but he never says anything of use. Even when they wise up to his methods, realise he is waiting out his time as efficiently as Ramsey in his own way, there is still no directing him; his rants and rages as genuine as they are frustrating.

The observant would note that the vagabond was never once arrested before the force gets a photo of his face, fuzzy and still obscured by face-paint but finally mask-free. When he is brought in, silent and looming but disturbingly amiable, the first thing they take is his mask. Then promptly wish they could put it back on, piercing blue eyes amused and unconcerned as the Vagabond’s smirk only twists his face-paint into more grotesque obscurity. Despite staying utterly silent, being securely chained the the table and making no aggressive moves three separate detectives leave his interrogation room in a near panic, two more refusing to even enter in the first place. Mask or no mask there is no lawyer alive who could argue for the Vagabond’s freedom, but a convenient explosion grants enough distraction for the empty cuffs to be left neatly on the table, a box full of contraband disappearing alongside the familiar black skull.

Interviewing Free feels a lot like signing up to the crew’s personal watch list. He doesn’t have the presence or deniability of Ramsey, doesn’t rage like Jones or ooze threat like the Vagabond. Instead Free is all smiles and winks and cheeky flirtation, derailing the interrogation to ask questions of his own, from opinions on sea monkeys to the statistical likelihood of extra-terrestrial life. For those detectives who play along he will answer questions in turn, talking fondly about the most dangerous criminals in the city, never actually helpful but close enough that it almost feels like a victory. For those who don’t, the detective’s who’s interrogations are aggressive and underpinned by something nastier, Free’s demeanour doesn’t change, but his careless questions do. He asks about their money problems, their monthly AA meetings, the not-always-figurative skeletons in their closets. He’ll ask, still smiling despite the rising tension, about each of their family members by name.

Noctis liked for a starter

It was rather an overwhelming evening. Traveling the long distance to Lucis was exhausting enough, however Luna found herself engulfed anxiously of her feelings. Peering out of the tinted window, the world appeared to proceed with its constant flow - while her mind seemed to freeze. The memories of last week struck the Oracle tremendously. She would be the new princess, the Oracle, and to wed the future ruler of Lucis in order to bring peace to Eos. Luna always was aware of her destiny, in fact she embraced it wholeheartedly.  Nonetheless, the mere idea of it becoming a reality made her apprehensive. Would she be a good Queen alongside the King?

On top of that, Luna’s thoughts continued to trace to Noctis. The two have not seen each other since their innocent childhood. Of course, they spoke through Umbra..a lot. On most nights she would grip a pen in dire need to speak with Noctis - wishing it was much easier then this. The idea of it all caused her face to become warm, tightening within her chest. Once arrived and settled, the welcome ceremony initiated - and the royal families gathered, Luna eventually inched her way to Noctis and King Regis. Familiar faces and warm smiles only made her that more comfortable. 

At the end of the night, Luna was exhausted and escorted to the guest chambers. Once doors were shut, her back against the entrance - she sighed greatly. It was a heavy duty for the soon to be Queen and King. Initially, she felt disappointed. Wanting more moments with her childhood friend, it was difficult for the two to converse during the ceremony due to high requests from other inquiries. Once changed to her white gown, she dared to do something she was brave about. Slowly opening the door, her body moved in the direction to Noctis’s chambers. She desired so many years to see the boy she wrote to for so many years. 

Standing at the front of his door - she gently pressed her right palm on the chilled wood. It was as if she could sense him just beyond the blockage. And in that moment - she felt selfish. Once they are to wed, Luna would spend a lifetime with the raven haired boy. What had overcome her? Spinning around, Luna’s back pressed against his door - slowly lowering herself to the ground, feeling defeated. She sat like this for a couple of minutes, and the emotions she had endured earlier, returned striking hard. That was until she was interrupted by the feeling of the door opening.