#And see the most bomb art piece ever

[pastelaspirations]

Dear people in my dreams who are about to interrupt me when I am watching an Errorink video/comic dub... Don't. Stop. Turn right back around and do n o t do it-

You don't understand, okay. I can't just. Hit play and continue right where I left off. If you interrupt me, that video is gone. V a n i s h e d. DISINTEGRATED INTO MERE FIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION, DISAPPEARING INTO THE FAR RECESSES OF MY MIND, NEVER TO BE SEEN A G A I N

So. Dream people. Please do not interrupt me when I am engaging with my favorite gay skelliebones, alright. It is quite literally impossible for me to ever find and engage with that video, comic dub, piece of art, or whatever the hell it was, because it's a figment of my imagination and I am physically unable to conjure it back up if interrupted-

[tohruies]

hi hi mrs yao !!!! christmas is coming up, are you going to celebrate anythinf with xiangli ? :33 btw, since miss coco doesnt have a tree, here's a little something to say thank you for being one of my lovely moots 🥺

oh! 😁 hi hello mr puppetgear! 😁 christmas celebrations with xiangli you ask! 😁 well actually! 😁 you see, i was th— *dies upon seeing the image you’ve attached to this ask* 😳😲🤯😱😱😱😵💀🪦

[sunni-stuff]

You, the butchers daughter, end up stalking your father's new hire.

The first time you see him, he’s hauling a side of beef off the truck like it weighs nothing, muscles taut beneath his apron. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric, veins running thick down his forearms as he grips the meat hook. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing strong arms marred with faded scars—some thin and clean, others jagged, stories you’ll never hear. His hands, wrapped in black gloves, are steady as he works, but you wonder what they’d feel like bare.

Then there’s the mask. Black, snug, covering everything from the bridge of his nose down, leaving only his sharp, calculating eyes visible. Dark and unreadable, they barely glance your way. You’ve tried to catch him slipping, maybe when he wipes sweat from his forehead or adjusts the apron strings that crisscross his powerful back, but he’s careful—never lets you see too much.

The tattoos peek out beneath his sleeves and creep along his collarbones where his shirt dips. Flames coil around his wrists, swallowing skulls with hollow eyes. A soldier, masked like him, grips a rifle among the chaos. A bomb mid-fall, grinning shark teeth, dog tags suspended in ink—each piece a fragment of something unspoken. You’ve glimpsed ink curling over the tendons of his neck, bold lines, and intricate designs that hint at a past you aren’t meant to know. It’s all war, death, and destruction, an unspoken story carved into his flesh. When he moves, the shadows shift over the ink, making it seem alive. You want to ask, to pry, but he’s as unreadable as the art on his skin

He doesn’t talk much, just nods when your father gives orders. The others joke around, laugh, make noise—but he’s silent, methodical, unsettling in the way he moves like he’s done this before. Like butchering meat is nothing new to him.

But what frustrates you the most? He never looks at you for more than a second. Never lingers, never smirks, never acknowledges the way you watch him. As if you’re invisible. And that, more than anything, makes you want to figure him out.

At first, it was just curiosity. No man had ever outright ignored you before—not when you batted your lashes, not when you "accidentally" brushed too close, not when you lingered just a little too long in his space.

But him? He barely acknowledged you. A nod if you were lucky. A grunt if you spoke directly to him. Most of the time, he just kept working, muscles flexing under his apron, strong hands wielding a cleaver with practiced ease.

The others—your father’s old hands, the regulars who came in for their weekly cuts—would’ve tripped over their feet to get your attention. They always had. You were used to the lingering stares, the awkward compliments, the way men fumbled through conversations just to keep you talking. So why didn't he?

It was maddening.

So, you did what any sane young woman would do.

You prodded. You poked. You tested.

You stood too close, pretending to inspect the marbled meat he was slicing, only for him to shift away without a word. You asked him pointless questions, just to hear his voice—low, rough, with an accent you couldn’t quite place—only for him to answer in as few words as possible before returning to work.

It became a game. You knocked things over in his path just to see if he’d catch them (he always did). You “forgot” something near his station just to have a reason to come back. You even tried teasing, playfully calling him mystery man under your breath.

Nothing.

Not a flinch, not a smirk, not even a flicker of amusement.

That should have been the end of it.

But then you started watching. Not just at work—no, you started watching him.

The way he left every night at the same time. The way he took the same route, never straying, never rushing. The way his head tilted slightly whenever he passed certain corners, as if he was listening.

It fascinated you. And when fascination turns to obsession, well…

That’s when you started following him.

You followed him—never too far, never too close—always careful, watching him move through the streets with an air of confidence that seemed to thrive in the quiet of the night. For weeks, this had become a routine, one that started innocently enough. Just a few blocks at first, just enough to ensure that he was who you thought he was. But over time, the habit deepened. Each night, you followed him further, until it became something you couldn’t help but do.

Yet, despite your best efforts, he never made any stops, never took any detours. He just kept walking, heading toward some destination that only he knew. And every time you reached the point where you would turn around, you still didn’t have any answers—no clue what he was up to or where he was going. Just that he moved through the night like someone who belonged there. Unfazed, untouchable.

Then one night, the weather turned.

The rain hit hard, cold droplets splattering against your skin, soaking through your jacket in seconds. You’d stopped for a split second—just long enough to get the damn zipper up, to pull the hood over your head—but in that moment, he'd vanished.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you cursed under your breath, glancing quickly down the wet street, searching for the familiar outline of his tall frame. But there was nothing. No sign of him.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, your voice drowned out by the downpour. You couldn’t let him slip away. Not now, not after all this time.

You started to jog, your boots splashing in the puddles as your eyes darted left and right, scanning the alleyways and storefronts. Your breath came faster as you pushed yourself harder, frustration building. You weren’t going to lose him now.

Then, suddenly, your body was jerked backward, your breath caught in your throat as a strong hand pressed over your mouth. The air around you was thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and something darker, something more familiar.

Before you could even react, you were shoved hard against the cold brick of an alleyway wall, your back colliding with the rough surface, your head snapping back slightly from the impact. Your pulse spiked in your ears as panic started to claw at your chest, but the firm grip on your mouth held you silent, still.

For a second, everything went still. The rain beat against your jacket, heavy and relentless, but there was no sound, no movement—just the suffocating pressure of his hand over your mouth and the close proximity of his body.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the sheer strength of his presence as if the space between you was no longer your own. The tension in his arm, holding you against the wall, was undeniable. He was in control.

Your heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the frustration, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the urge to finally break the silence between you. You had followed him, hunted him, and now here he was—this close. The tension was suffocating, and you couldn’t decide if you were going to scream or say something sharp.

But before you could gather your thoughts, his voice broke through the storm. Low, smooth, with an edge of something dark. “Thought you’d lost me, didn’t you?” His words came muffled through the mask, but the tone was unmistakable.

He didn’t seem in a rush, like he knew you were trapped in the moment. You didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there, or how he’d managed to close the distance between you so quickly. The rain drummed relentlessly on the alley’s pavement, but his eyes, those sharp, dark eyes, never wavered from you.

“Can’t say I’m impressed by your little game,” he murmured, fingers brushing against your cheek in a movement so deliberate it made your breath catch. “You follow me for weeks, but never thought of what might happen when you get too close.”

“Were you hoping to catch me doing something interesting?" he asked, his breath a warm tickle on your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a calmness in his voice, like he was in complete command, and the way his body molded against yours told you he was used to people being in positions like this.

“I…” You swallowed, struggling to free your voice. “I wanted to see if you’d… notice me.” You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Why had you been following him? What had you hoped to find? You were just a silly girl who wanted the attention of a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

Simon’s laugh was low, almost quiet, but it carried a weight to it that you didn’t expect. It was rich with amusement, deep and rough, and it rumbled against the tension hanging between you both. The sudden sound caught you off guard, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to make sense of it.

For a moment, you were frozen, not sure whether to be annoyed or confused. Had you just made a fool of yourself in front of him? Why was he laughing?

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves, but it didn’t work. His laughter still echoed in your head, and your voice came out shaky. "W-what’s so funny?"

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, you could feel him shift slightly, his hand easing off your wrist but still close enough to make you aware of the power he held. Simon took a breath, the rain still pouring around you both, but his presence was like a shield, solid and immovable.

"You," he finally said, his voice quieter now, but the amusement was still there, like a shadow in his tone. "You think I didn’t notice you? You’ve been practically waving a flag." His fingers brushed lightly over your wrist, tracing the spot where he’d gripped you, his touch soft now, almost teasing.

"I wasn’t… I wasn’t obvious," you managed to protest, though it came out weaker than you’d like. You could feel your cheeks heating, your frustration mixing with something else you weren’t ready to admit.

"All this time, and you still think I didn’t know?" He shook his head, though you couldn't see his face behind that damn mask. “Sweetheart, you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy, and I was just waiting to see when you'd finally stop pretending.”

For a moment, you stood there, silence pressing in between you both, broken only by the sound of the rain pelting the alley around you. Simon’s words lingered, his laugh still echoing in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were frustrated or flustered or both, but you knew one thing for sure—he had misunderstood what you asked.

Finally, you spoke, your voice clear despite the uncertainty brewing inside you. “That’s not what I meant,” you muttered, taking a step back, shaking your head. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to ask, needed to get to the bottom of it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” you asked bluntly, your eyes never leaving his face.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, his gaze still sharp but unbothered. “No,” he replied simply.

That answer made something inside you tighten, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint why. But you weren’t done. You shifted your weight, suddenly daring to ask the next question, the one you knew would make him uncomfortable. “Do you find me attractive?”

His eyes flickered for a split second, the usual guarded look breaking, but he nodded, his voice low. “Yes.”

The answer hung in the air like a challenge. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, trying to connect the dots between what he said and what he did. “So why,” you demanded, “don’t you ever look at me? In the shop, I mean. Why don’t you notice me like the other guys do? They stare, flirt, and… well, pay attention.”

For the first time since you’d started this strange back-and-forth, Simon looked genuinely confused. He stepped back slightly, brows furrowing as he regarded you. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “I do pay attention.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. “What do you mean?”

Simon’s gaze softened just a fraction as he tilted his head. “During lunch... I cut your deli the way you like it—slices thin enough you can stack ‘em. And when I’m working, I stay in your section. Always have.” He paused, his expression almost apologetic. “Flirting with my boss’s daughter at work isn’t exactly the best move. But…”

You stared at him, your mind trying to make sense of his words.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you both, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “But work’s over now, lass. And here we are.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the real meaning of his words sinking in, and suddenly, the whole night felt like it had shifted, like the game you were playing had just changed.

You opened your mouth, about to say something—anything—to break the silence, to clarify what had just happened, but before you could speak, Simon moved with startling speed.

One moment, you were standing there, staring up at him, and the next, he had lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Your breath caught in your throat as his strong hands gripped you, pulling you flush against his chest, his heat seeping into your bones despite the chill of the rain.

“Your house or mine?”

[thewritergx]

Lavender Rafe Cameron x F!Reader

Based off this

Just wanted to say a quick thank you for all the love recently <3

Summary: JJ’s younger sister can't help but fall deeper in love with Rafe. When an explosive fight between the boys breaks out, she is forced to make a choice, her brother or the man that has been sneaking into her room every night for months.

Warnings: Fighting, mentions of blood. SMUT Containing: Soft/Dom Rafe x F!Reader, Slightly Sunshine Reader, Kissing, Fingering, L-bombs, P in V, Creampie, Tiniest amount of anal play, Crying from Overstimulation, Spitting, Choking, Spanking, Praising, Breeding Kink, After Care. Pet Names: Baby, Princess, Good girl, Daddy (like a lot).

Word Count: 6K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune.

The day had started out so pure, waking up in Rafe’s arms, the sun glittering through a crack in your window curtains. His arms gripped you tight, stirring you out of a deep sleep as he planted delicate kissing on your neck, sucking a faint pink spot just above your collarbone. Your eyes calmly fluttered open, sinking into his touch for more. 

“Good morning, princess”. Rafe cupped his hand around your chin, his fingers pushing back a strand of messy sleep hair, and attached his lips to yours. 

He didn't even care about your morning breath, skillfully pushing his tongue past your lips and engulfing you under his body. You are the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, he thought. Not even in a sexy, lustful type of way. In a way like you were a piece of art, handcrafted and sculpted, sitting on display in the museum of his mind.

Fuck, he needed every day to start out like this. 

The kiss wasn’t even supposed to lead to this. He just wanted to be close to you, but the way you breathed inaudible little moans into his neck and whispered his name so painfully smooth hexed him. 

A true siren, he thought. 

You wrapped your arms around the base of Rafe’s neck, fingers ghosting through his buzzed-cut hair. Rafe always thought himself a strong man, a protector, but your touch destroyed him, all the strength in him crashing down to a whining puddle of need. 

He looked so good like this, hovered over you and panting into your neck, cold metal rings on his fingers digging into the silky skin of your thighs. 

“Oh baby,” Rafe begged, his hips pressing into yours, the thin material of his boxers allowing him to feel the subtle arousal leaking on your panties.

That was it. He needed you. 

“Rafe,” you breathed so softly, biting the long sleeve of Rafe’s shirt you had slept in. 

“Yeah, princess?” Rafe reached for the line of your panties, spreading your legs as he pulled them to the side, perfect little pussy on display. 

“JJ’ll be home soon. He’s gonna see your car,” you mournfully groaned, staring up at Rafe’s parted lips and pleading eyes.

“We have time. I’ll be fast, promise.” Rafe pulled his boxers down, the chill air hitting his hard cock. “Need you now…please”.

You nodded your head in response, Rafe hands easily assassinating any thoughts of JJ coming home. 

“Ow”, you whined, watching as Rafe dipped a single digit inside you, hands fighting against the hem of your panties. “Rafey, please”. 

Fuck when you called him that…he was nothing but yours. 

“Gotta stretch you out a little, baby. Don't wanna hurt you.” Rafe’s eyebrows were focused, watching as your walls gushed around him, arousal soaking his finger. He hooked his finger, pressing right on that spot that drove you crazy, the rings on his hands hitting against your soft skin. 

“Cold”, you swallowed and Rafe hummed, gently removing his fingers and pulling his rings off, sitting them nonchalantly on your bedside table. He worked quick, sliding two fingers back inside you, relishing in the warmth of his skin. He could stay right here, like this, forever, if you would let him. 

He pumped his fingers in and out, swirling them inside you. 

God, he hated this. You should be coming around his fingers, in his mouth, and then around his fingers again before he even dared to think about putting his dick inside you. But he knew he didn't have time, and he cursed himself for not waking you up earlier. 

Fucking JJ was always ruining everything. 

If he wasn't such a mess right now, he would have taken you without any care, making you scream on his cock until the entire obx knew whose bitch you were. But Rafe fought to be gentle. Most of the time, it was so easy. You were so pure, he never felt the need to get rough, something he never experienced before. For most girls, he had no problem choking, slapping, or bending over and shoving his cock into them. But you were changing him, rewriting his DNA, and turning him into a whimpering mess. The worst part was, he fucking loved it.

Rafe’s hands grabbed at your sides and he worked fast, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a gold package. He opened it with his teeth, grabbing the condom and swiftly pulling it down his dick. Something else he wasn't used to doing before you. He never minded wearing them, as long as you were safe and comfortable. But sometimes he fucking dreamed of sliding in that sweet pussy, no barriers between the two of you, and painting your tight little walls until he was dripping out of you, filling you with his hot seed, and growing a baby. 

You picked your hips up some, wrapping your legs just above Rafe’s waist. He lined himself up against you, sliding the tip in so slowly he felt your walls open around him.

Your mouth hung open, soft coys falling from you like lava.

“That's it, baby”. It was torture, sinking inside you this slow, but Rafe knew you were still getting used to him and you needed more time to really open up for him, his finger not enough to truly warm you up. He sunk down, feeling himself hit the back of your pussy, a squelching sound vibrating around the room. 

“Oh!”, you cried, dragging your nails down Rafe’s back with a slight hiss. You didn’t know how he was able to do this but the heat in your body was already rising and you felt your pussy crying out for him, sucking him in further as he sat still, waiting and stretching you so much more than you had experienced before him. 

“Yes!”, you yelled, legs shaking and body writhing at his touch.

“You cumming already, princess?” Rafe chuckled, “haven’t even moved yet,” He couldn't help but smirk, dragging himself out completely and slamming himself back in.

You nodded your head, unable to speak as your back arched off the bed. You felt your cheeks grow hot, the coil in you ready to pop.

“Yeah?” Rafe smirked. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Pride filled him and your pussy leaked with arousal, like nectar from a wildflower. 

Rafe couldn’t get enough of it and before you had a chance to come down from your high, he slammed into you, ripping high-pitched cries from your throat. 

He knew you couldn’t be too loud, just in case. So he leaned down, taking his time to explore your mouth deep and sensual. Each movement of your lips is longing and tender like he had been away for years. His breaths are hot and come out as shaky gasps. He falls into the kiss, absorbing your moans and sucking your bottom lips.

His thrusts were faster now, hitting you with the perfect force to rip another orgasm through you, the lights in the room fading as you clenched your eyes shut.

“Fuck, that’s my sweet girl”. Rafe’s breath was hot on your neck “That’s my good little girl”. He dragged his warm hands up your shirt, massaging the velvety skin of your tits and lightly pinching a nipple between his fingers. 

And fuck, you knew JJ would be home at any second. It had been so hard keeping Rafe a secret, him sneaking in so quietly, having to wrap his hand around your mouth so you didn’t scream out, and fucking you on the floor so the bed didn’t smack against the wall. 

You clenched your walls around Rafe, bearing down your stomach to tighten around his cock. 

“Fuck, baby girl”. Rafe’s eyes rolled back, his forehead pressed against yours as you flexed your legs around his waist harder, sinking him in impossibly deeper. 

“Goddamn, yes”, Rafe hissed, sucking his teeth against his lips, jaw clenched tight.

“Fucking love you, baby”. His thrust grew faster, hitting you with more force. 

“God, I love you so much”, he growled, pressing his lips into yours as thick white ropes of cum shot out of him.

“Ahh, ow”. Your teeth clattered together, your body shaking as he pulled out of you, your chest rising and falling. “L-love y-you t-too,” 

God, he didn't want to leave. He stayed above you, peppering you with kisses again. He wanted more of you. But, he ripped his body off the bed, throwing the condom in the trash can next to your desk. Everything told him to stay, wrap his arms around you, and caress your skin until you fell asleep on him again. It felt dirty and wrong sneaking out of your window after you were just wrapped around his cock, crying for him. He wanted to take care of you, wanted to clean you up with his mouth, and wash your body in a steamy shower. He felt like a bad boyfriend, like a little bitch that didn't know how to treat his woman.

“I hate your brother,” Rafe frowned, throwing on a black hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. 

“I know,” you laughed, watching as he grabbed all his things. 

Rafe leaned down, your body still weak and crumbling, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in and breathing your scent. Vanilla and coconut. 

“Love you, baby,” he groaned, forcing himself to open the window and snake his body through. 

An immediate sadness filled you, watching as he pulled out of the driveway. You sunk your body back into your bed, the loss of Rafe’s arm making you cold.

Thirty minutes had passed and you had just enough time to get dressed, hearing the sound of JJ knocking on the bedroom door. 

“Hungry?”, he asked, carrying in a bag from Heyward’s Seafood.

You sat up, legs slightly sore from your earlier activities. 

“God yes,” you smiled, scooting so JJ could sit next to you. He laughed, sitting two drinks down on your bedside table.

JJ's eyes fell on the silver round metal absentmindedly thrown on the table. “What the fuck is this?” 

Your heart pounded in your chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was so bad. JJ had always been your protector, hovering over you like a bodyguard protecting celebrities from the paparazzi. 

“Whose fucking rings are these?” he scowled, a venom rising in his voice.

“Nobodies. Give them to me”, you yelped, trying to stop JJ from picking them up. 

You struggled for a moment and JJ snatched one from your hand quickly, silently inspecting the inside to see the name “Cameron” engraved on the inside.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me” JJ stood, running his hands through his blonde hair. 

“Please tell me Rafe Cameron was not in my fucking house.” JJ was fully yelling now, looking at you like you had just stabbed him in a vital organ.

You didn't know what to say and you swore you might have been having a heart attack, chest tightening, and the room spinning. 

“JJ, it's not what you think”. You followed as JJ stomped through the house, his fist in balls. 

“Not what I think?” JJ yelled again, throwing on a pair of shoes. “Did he fucking touch you? Are you okay?” JJ spiral, looking you up and down for any marks or scratches. 

His eyes twitched, his skin turning a ghostly white. “Is that a fucking hickey?” 

“It's not like that.” You yell back. “He loves me”.

“You think that psychopath loves you?” JJ laughed, grabbing his keys and slamming the screen door, a loud screech echoing throughout the home.

“He's not a psychopath”. You chased after him, unable to keep up with his fast pace. 

“Stop. Go back to the fucking house. I’m serious.” JJ practically screamed, his eyes dark and he swore he was seeing red hot blood. 

“Where are you going?” you screamed, watching as JJ climbed into the Twinkie, turning on the engine and speeding away. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

JJ didn’t even know where to go, but he promised himself, that the second he found Rafe, he was going to kill him.

After what seemed like an eternity, he found the Cameron boy, sitting at a table with friends. He locked his sights on Rafe, rage consuming him. He didn't care that the restaurant was crowded, didn't even care if he got arrested for assault. 

Rafe spotted him a mile away, the tires of the Twinkie screeching in the parking lot made JJ pretty obvious. He almost ignored the blonde boy, but he could see by the strides in JJ’s walk and his tense shoulders, something was off. 

“JJ, don’t do this man,” Rafe yelled, putting his hands up as a sign of protest. He had promised you that he wouldn't fight JJ again, and breaking a promise with you was something he didn't plan on doing today. 

Rafe stayed glued to his chair, even as JJ stomped toward him.

“Get up,” JJ shouted, the crow around them growing eerily quiet and still. “You think you can just come into my house and fuck my little sister like some slut?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He breathed calmly, trying to stop his body from the violence it was always quick to turn to. “What did you just fucking call her?” Rafe’s skin boiled. 

“She thinks you fucking love her” JJ laughed, throwing Rafe’s rings at him, hitting him in the arm.

“Dude, you need to back off before you start some shit you can't take back” Rafe looked around, standing from his chair and taking a step closer to JJ.

“Nah, I don't think I will” JJ was quick to throw a punch, landing it hard on Rafe’s eye. He stumbled back, body falling on the side of a table for balance. 

Rafe’s expression hardened, his jaw clenched tight, and fist locked into balls. As much as he wished he could, he wouldn't let that shit go. He regained his balance fast, and wrapped his arms around JJ, tackling him onto the ground with a loud ‘thud’.

The two boys thrashed around the floor, bodies struggling to pull each other off until Rafe finally pinned JJ down. He grabbed the collar of JJ’s shirt, blowing punches as JJ struggled under him, blood pooling at his lip. Rafe was careful, not using any real strength, but still causing some damage. The crowd gasped, and security rushed to pull the boys off of each other. 

“Don’t fucking come near her again or I swear to god I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you”: JJ screamed, two men pulling him in the opposite direction.

Hours had passed and your phone was blowing up. You watched your screen flash over and over again, texts from Rafe, your friends, and even Topper. JJ finally came home, face covered in bruises and his eyes swollen. 

You knew your relationship with Rafe would have consequences but you didn’t expect them to be quite this severe.

“Baby, I’m sorry”, lit up on the screen, the simple short sentence enough to stop your anger in its tracks, like the flame of a candle quickly blown out. You knew you should text him back, but you wouldn’t give up that easily. You sat your phone down, silencing it for the next couple of hours while you lay in bed. 

You tried so hard to go to sleep, your mind racing and body aching. It was weird, ignoring Rafe. More texts had come through, Rafe telling you how much he loved you, that he was sorry, that he would make it up to you if you would just talk to him. 

As much as you wanted to stay mad, your body was starving for him. You knew he was probably feeling like shit.

You ripped your body from your mattress, threw on a sweatshirt, and quietly sneaked out the front door. The walk to Rafe’s house was a quiet one, the breeze softly flowing through your hair in the moonlight.

You found the huge house quick, praying that Rafe was still awake. 

You had been here before, but your heart pounded in your chest as you found Rafe's window, slowly pushing up on the glass. The room was dark and quiet except for the subtle breathing from Rafe.

“What are you doing?” He shot up in the dark, quickly turning on the light and grabbing your hand as you stepped inside the room. 

“I-I couldn't sleep,” you coyed, playing with your finger in your hands.

“Me either.” Rafe sat on his bed, quietly watching as you stood in front of him. “Come here,” he softly demanded, tapping his lap. 

You tried to get a sense of what he was thinking but he was so closed off in the moment, you couldn't figure out any of his emotions. 

Rafe positioned you on top of him, placing you around his left leg. “I’m sorry, baby.” His hands fell to your sides and you locked your arms around him.

“I know. It’s okay. Just needed to see you”. You pulled him closer, placing a kiss on his lips. You relaxed into him, a moan escaping you as he licked at your lips, swapping his salvia with yours in a heated dance. 

Rafe broke the kiss, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Missed me, huh? Didn't get enough earlier?” 

“Yeah,” you whined, watching Rafe’s hands travel to your thigh, rubbing smooth circles with his thumb on your sweatpants.

“I know baby, I know”. Rafe reached for your shoes, roughly pulling them off and throwing them in the corner of the room. He stood you up, pulling off your sweatpants and snaking his fingers down the hem of your panties, before repositioning you on his leg.

He planted kisses back on your neck, sucking hard and biting at your skin. Suddenly he realized he could make the marks as dark as he wanted, show everyone whose girl you were, who you belonged to. You wiggled under him, his bare skin pressing against your pussy.

You grined your hips softly, Rafe’s hands reaching to pull off your sweatshirt., “Mmh”, you withered, the smooth skin of Rafe’s thighs slick with your juices as you rubbed your clit against his tensing muscles. Rafe reached for your hips, pushing and pulling you so you rocked harder against him, the added pressure pushing your body down harder. 

“That’s a good girl. Ride my thigh.” You threw your head onto his shoulders, mouth falling open. 

“No, no.” Rafe grabbed your chin. “Let me watch you” He locked his eyes on yours.

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed and jaw tight, the vein in his neck noticeably swollen.

“R-Rafe,” You sighed, body hot. “I d-don’t k-know”.

“I’ve been good to you, right?” Rafe spoke, his voice emotionless and still, something you didn't recognize. He looked like a statue, eyes staring down at you as you wiggled in his lap, his hand coming to cup your chin, forcing you to stare up at him.

“Y-yes, you t-treat me…t-treat m-me so well”, you answered honestly, focusing on the dark bruise under his eye. You felt your pussy practicing dripping, a pool of your arousal on his thigh. 

“Yeah? You know I love you, baby?” he swiped his thumb over your mouth, pulling the plump skin of your bottom lip down slightly.

You nodded your head, breathing becoming stranded as your body tightened. 

“I do. I love you more than anything. But I think I need to teach you a lesson. I think you need to learn who's in charge here, huh?” Rafe dipped his thumb in your mouth, your soft tongue grazing the callous skin of his finger pads. 

“Fuck, Rafe!” You nodded your head again, your hips moving uncontrollably. You swirled your tongue around his thumb, sucking and lightly grazing your teeth over him. 

“That’s it. Cum for me baby” Rafe growled, watching the way your body moved so harshly against him. 

Rafe just stared, the boiling need he had been repressing for so long finally erupting. It was the side of him he had worked so hard to make sure you never saw. But at this moment, he didn't care. You were his, all his, and if you thought you could just ignore him all day, you had another thing coming. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You followed his instructions without a word, watching as Rafe pulled off his boxers.

Your blood ran cold, cheeks flustered and legs weak from the orgasm. He was so gorgeous, the tip of his cock a dark shade of pink and slightly curved up. 

You stared for a moment, trying to hype yourself up. Head was never your strong suit, and honestly, Rafe hardly asked for it. He stood like a rock, pumping his hard cock above you, your pretty eyes locked on him.

“Put your hands behind your back” Rafe stepped closer, grabbing at the ends of your hair and holding it in a make-shirt ponytail. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but you did as you were told, a hint of fear behind your eyes.

You nodded your head, and slowly put your hands behind your back, your knees digging into the carpet as you opened your mouth. Rafe rubbed his cock against your plump lips, precum shining on your lips as you lightly kissed the tip of his penis and licked the slit.

“Fuck,” Rafe groaned, his hands pushing tight in your hair as you wrapped your lips delicately around the head of his cock. His sounds set you on fire, confidence striking you. You bobbed your head deeper, taking him in smoothly.

“Tap my thigh twice if you need to,” His hands in your hair pushed you down until you were gagging around him and you fought to keep your throat relaxed. Your mouth was wide open, jaw painfully stretched as his cock hit the back of your throat with a vengeance, small tears forming in the corner of your eyes and tenderly falling down your cheek, Saliva filled your mouth, running down your chin and onto the base of Rafe’s cock. You had never, never done anything like this before. You tried to stay calm, keep your teeth away from Rafe's sensitive member.

“Fuck, Princess”, Rafe’s thrust were deep, the force causing you to gag and the sound echoing around the room. “Taking me so well. Didn’t even know you could fucking do this,” Rafe hissed between gritted teeth, pushing your shoulders so your mouth popped off his dick. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up. Rafe leaned into you, spitting into your mouth like a pro. His saliva was warm, filling your mouth and falling from your chin before he was wrapping you back around his cock. This time impossibly rougher and the tears continued to stream down, your throat threatening to close at any moment. 

“Get on the bed,” Rafe demanded, pulling you to your feet and pushing you so you landed with a soft thud. He dragged a hand from your neck to your breast. Your heart pounded in your chest, and something told you, you were meeting the Rafe that everyone had warned you about. Every nerve in your body was shot, and goosebumps tainted your skin.

“Don’t fucking move,” Rafe demands, hand gripping down on my stomach. You nod in silence and stay as still as possible as he brings his hands between your legs, forcing you to spread them apart.

“Think I need to give you a safeword. How about lavender”. He stood above you, eyes dark but a hint of sincerity behind them. 

“Okay,” you gasp, watching as Rafe shoves a finger inside you, with no warning. 

“Goddamn, look at that pretty cunt”, Rafe huffs, the air hitting your core as he spreads your lips apart. He presses against your soft walls with a devilish force, sending chills through your entire body “So messy already. Gonna let me leave you dripping?”

You whimper and nod your head in response, a need growing as he begins to apply more pressure to his movements. You feel your walls clench around his fingers, eager for him to open you up more. 

Rafe lets out a soft “Yeah, you are” and begins to pump his finger in and out sending a squelching arousal down your legs. You try your hardest to stay still and relax into his touch, but Rafe is quick to add a second finger, hooking them up to hit your g-spot relentlessly.  A look of complete focus covers Rafe’s face, his eyebrows furrowed and lips locked tight. 

“Fuck yes! Don’t stop.” Your cries grow louder and your hips develop an involuntary bucking motion, Rafe's fingers hitting you hard and rough. He was like an animal and you were the prey. He brought another hand to your clit, rubbing circles with his thumb and adding a sensation that sends you over the edge. “That’s it, cum on my fingers Princess,” he groans, fingers moving fast and rough. 

Your thighs hug his wrist, clenching together subconsciously.

“Fucking keep them open,” Rafe growls, his motions showing no signs of stopping or acknowledgment about the thick white creamy liquid coating the bottom of his fingers. 

“Fuck, Rafe. P-Please. Just need you inside me, please,” you whine, your legs already shaky and weak. 

“I’ll fuck you when I’m ready. Shut up and take my fingers,” he states emotionlessly like he’s completely unaffected by your pleas and cries for more.

“Ahh!” you bite my lip hard, his fingers too rough after the wave of pleasure that just washed over you. Rafe loses his mind at your dripping cunt, placing his mouth around your clit and sucking hard before flicking his tongue. 

“Oh my god, Daddy!” You didn't even process the name, didn’t even mean to say it.

Rafe growls, spitting on your clit and quickly devouring it again. “Good girl. This my fucking pussy?” Rafe mumbles, licking stripes between your folds. His fingers continue at an inhumane pace, sending shocks of pleasure too intense for you to handle. 

“Yes, daddy. It’s yours!" You practically scream. “God, I’m going to cum again. R-Rafe, please, t-too mu-much,” Your fingers dig into his hair, pulling at him aggressively. 

“You can take it. Cum on my mouth like a good girl.” Rafe growls, the demand in his tone rough and strong. His fingers leave a sloppy echo in the air, sounds of your wetness bouncing off the walls. You buck your hips into his mouth, wet thick arousal dripping down your legs and Rafe has to hold you down, his hand moving from your clit to apply rough pressure to your stomach. “God, you taste fucking amazing.” Rafe sits up, sliding his forearm behind your back, giving him easy access to pull you into another kiss, lips soft and plump against his. You taste yourself on him, sweet and salty. 

“Get on all fours,” he states plainly, helping you flip over. 

Rafe placed a hand on your back, spreading your legs a bit wider and pulling you back so your ass hung perfectly in the air. 

You arched your back more, feeling Rafe line up with your swollen pink lips. “Oh, fuck”, you cried as Rafe sunk inside in one quick motion, so deep his balls rested against your clit. 

“You okay?” 

“Y-yeah” You moaned, voice strained, and head deep in the pillow under you

“Doing so well for me. Such a sweet girl,” he whispered, slowly pulling out the tip of his cock, hands reaching to pull your hair back hard. 

“Thank you, daddy.” You cried, the feeling of him hitting your G-spot already causing your legs to shake around him. 

“Mmh, you’re welcome baby,” Rafe was a mess inside his own head, your warm pussy invading every crevice of his mind, but on the outside, he appeared collected and calm. 

He couldn't believe you were taking him like this, letting him do whatever the fuck he wanted to you. He felt himself get brave, pressing his thumb inside your puckered hole, the skin warm and tight around him. 

“Ow!” You screamed, trying to pull away from him. 

“Stop fucking running. Arch that back baby,” Rafe growled, pulling your hair harder so you had to sit back on him. 

“Fuck, you like my thumb in your ass? Dirty fucking slut, letting me ruin you, huh?” Rafe threw his head back, pumping into you on a mission, his hips slapping against you hard. Rafe brought his hand down, landing on your ass with an echoing ‘slap’. A bright red hand print already started to form, your skin stinging. 

“Ahh! Ow,” cried, unable to keep the tears from spilling out any longer. 

Rafe felt a sting of guilt and he couldn't exactly tell if your cries were from pain or pleasure.

“Do you need to say the safe word, baby girl?” He slowed his thrust, his voice softening 

“No, Daddy, God! D-Don’t stop, please. Please don't stop, daddy.” You couldn't help it and you bucked your hips back, bouncing your ass against him and loud claps ringing in your ears.

“Such a good fucking slut, taking me like this. Bet you wouldn’t care if I came inside you, huh? Have you falling asleep with my cum dripping out of you?” Rafe’s thrust grew impossibly harder, hitting the back of your pussy like he hated you, like he wanted to hurt you.

You nodded your head, the sounds of your wetness filling your ears. You have never been this wet before. “Yes! Please”, you cried, feeling another orgasm threatening to spill out of you. Your thoughts were so clouded you didn't even realize Rafe was fucking you raw. 

“Oh fuck, really?” Rafe smirked, grabbing your hands so he could put them behind your back, his hips fucking you completely into the mattress. “Gonna let me cum inside you, sweet girl?” 

You nodded your head, unable to speak with your head pressed into your pillow, orgasm hitting you hard. Arousal soaked so thick inside you Rafe had to pull his cock out, splashes of your juices landing on his stomach and dripping down. 

“Fuck, that’s a good girl. Squirt on daddy's cock”. Rafe slammed back inside you, immediately continuing his torturous pace, dick slapping into you like a rock. 

“I’m sorry, daddy” You were completely fucked out, drunk on the stretch of your ass and pussy. You didn’t even know what you were saying, didn’t even process what was happening. “I’m so sorry I ignored you. Won't ever do it again.” You struggled to speak, your voice horse and rough. 

“I know, baby.” Rafe groaned, his breath heavy and strained, sweat dripping down his chest. “I know you're sorry.” Rafe placed a kiss on your shoulder, leaning down and gently pulling out of you. You moaned at the loss of him, chest panting. 

“Turn over,” Rafe hovered over you, hooking his arms around your legs and pulling them over his shoulders.

He leaned down, grabbing the base of his cock and lining himself up to your entrance. His eyes locked on yours as he pressed himself back inside you, lips crashing against yours in a hungry passion, teeth clashing together. 

His hands caress over your body as if he's memorizing every inch of you, his previous roughness replaced by a tender touch, leaning down to place gentle kisses on your tits. His mouth latches onto you, sucking gently and swirling his tongue around your swollen bud, teasing and playing. 

“So fucking soft and sweet,” Rafe moans, using a hand to massage your other nipple. His fingers move delicately, pinching and pulling at it softly. You try not to squirm too much under him, but your hips move involuntarily, his body weight holding down as he thrusts softly inside you.

“Harder,” you moaned, needing him to completely wreck you. 

“Yeah? Need it deeper?” Rafe chuckled, picking himself up off his hands and slamming into you, matching his earlier speed. “Think you can handle more of this?” 

“Fuck, Rafe!” your walls clenching so tight around him, the muscles in your stomach and chest were sore, as he pumped in and out. Rafe’s hand traveled up to your throat squeezing with a deadly force as wetness dripped out of you. 

Your legs shook, back arching off the bed as your vision went black, air escaping you. You dug your nails into Rafe’s back, scratching bright red lines down him until he was hissing in pain. “T-too m-much,” you breathed out, voice strained by the tight fingers wrapped around you. 

Rafe reluctantly let go, his hands traveling down to your waist. “Fuck, baby. So fucking tight,” “Stay right there. Just like that.” Rafe growled, his thrust becoming obviously uneven, just as hard but messy and uncalculated. His fingers dug into your skin as he bit his lip, dropping his head into your neck.

“Love you, baby,” he whispered, painting the inside of your walls with his cum. Fuck, no one had ever come inside you before. 

“God, Rafe,” You shuddered at the feeling of his cum dripping out of you as he slowly pulled out. Your body shook violently, the feeling of his cock deep in your cunt still attacking your mind. He stayed motionless before you, placing a light kiss on your cheek, and carefully rolling you over. He placed your head on his chest, wrapping his arms tight around you before pulling the blankets over you. 

“You okay?” Rafe mumbled, all out of breath and exhausted. “Did I hurt you?” his tone was lined with fear, his fingers trembling as he lightly caressed your arm.

You were still gasping at his touch, tears slowly falling down your cheek. “N-No, f-felt so g-good,” you cried, trying to breathe through the orgasms that still echoed on your skin. 

“I’m sorry about JJ. I just, I couldn't let him talk about you like that” Rafe fluttered his eyes open, kissing your forehead. 

“It’s, i-it’s o-okay,” you whispered, unable to move or react much to Rafe’s words.

Rafe whispered soft shh's, his mind racing as you cried into him. Fuck, this was why he never did this. He was so scared, scared he hurt you or pressured you, or did anything you wouldn’t like. You were always a mess after you had sex, but something looked broken in you right now. Rafe pulled you tighter against him and you gasped with every movement, the fear building inside him until he was just as much of a mess as you were. 

“Baby, please. Just calm down, just breathe. You’re okay, I got you.” Rafe didn't know if he was really saying it to you or himself, and he felt his own tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He swore an hour had passed before you had finally stopped shaking, your legs only slightly trembling, and your breathing finally at a normal rate. 

“I’m good, Rafe. I promise. It was just…a lot” you mumbled, cheeks all flustered and voice shy. He held you until you were asleep in his arms, too afraid to move you like you were a piece of glass that might break. 

You were so sore the next day, you didn't want to walk. Bright pink hickies lined your skin, and you were sure your throat was bruised. But you fucking loved it, loved that you would feel him for days. Loved that you could finally show him off. 

[slut4megantheestallion]

Could you make arcane women x reader who likes to paint or sew?

Arcane Women with a s/o who likes to paint & sew headcanons

- Pairings: Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, Ambessa.

Summary; being in a relationship w/ a s/o who likes to paint and sew.

Genre: fluff

-Vi

●Vi loves that you have such a creative side. Even if she doesn’t fully understand all the work that goes into it, she thinks it’s insanely cool.

●The first time you sew something for her, she’s blown away.

●You made her a custom red bomber jacket with her initials stitched subtly into the fabric.

●"Babe, you MADE this?! Shit, I’m never taking this off."

●If you rip your gloves? Vi refuses to let anyone else fix them, but you.

●When you paint her, she just stares at the finished piece, looking at herself in a way she’s never seen before.

●"Damn, you really see me like this? I—uh. Wow." (She gets weirdly emotional but plays it off.)

●After a long day, she loves to just sit beside you, watching you work.

●"Dunno how you do this shit, but it’s hot. Carry on."

-Jinx

●She adores your artistic talent. If you let her, she WILL steal your paints and mix colors into chaotic neon explosions.

●"Babe, babe, LOOK—I made art! It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s Jinx!"

●Jinx has ZERO patience for sewing but will still sit in your lap, messing with your materials.

●Uses your fabric scraps to make dolls—little stuffed bombs with stitched-on grins.

●"They’re like my babies! Boom babies!"

●If you paint murals, she WILL graffiti over them—not to ruin them, but to "add her touch."

●"C’mon, baby, it needed a little Jinx in it!" (Cue her spray-painting a giant, neon heart around your work.)

●If you ever paint her? She loses her mind.

●"You PAINTED ME? Oh my GOD, babe, I look AMAZING—wait, wait, make my eyes glow MORE."

●If you make her clothes, she begs you for patchwork designs that are a chaotic mess of colors and textures.

●"Okay, okay—hear me out—pink, blue, and, like, a hundred pockets."

Caitlyn

●She finds your skills incredibly elegant and admires how much effort you put into them.

●Sometimes, she just sits in quiet admiration, sipping her tea while watching you work.

●"You make it look so effortless, my love."

●If you sew something for her? She wears it immediately.

●A custom blue waistcoat? Instant favorite.

●"This is exquisite. You have a gift, darling."

●Buys you the best art supplies—high-quality paints, imported fabrics, anything you could ever need.

● "No, no, it’s not ‘too much,’ you deserve the best."

●If you make her a scarf, she NEVER takes it off.

●She commissions you to paint a landscape of Piltover’s skyline for her study.

●"Something about your work makes this city seem… softer."

Mel

●Mel is beyond impressed by your talent and considers it a high art form.

●She loves watching you work, trailing her fingers over the fabric, or gently touching a finished canvas.

●"Your hands create beauty with such ease. It’s mesmerizing."

▪︎If you make her a dress? She will show it off at every event.

●"Custom-made by the most talented person in Piltover. A true work of art."

●She commissions exclusive pieces from you, both clothing and paintings, because your work is far superior to anything money could buy.

●Will absolutely display your art in her home, making sure every guest acknowledges your talent.

●"Don’t you agree? My love’s work outshines anything in the Council Hall."

●If she catches you doubting your skills, she will shut that down immediately.

●"Don’t be ridiculous. Your talent is unmatched."

Sevika

●She pretends not to care, but she absolutely does.

●If you sew for her, she’ll just nod, acting casual—but she refuses to wear anything else.

●"Yeah, whatever. It’s nice. Thanks." (Literally wears it every day.)

●If you paint? She loves watching the process but will never admit it.

●"Tch. You’re gettin’ paint everywhere." (Secretly fascinated)

●Lets you paint on her metal arm sometimes, turning it into a work of art.

●"Don’t make it too soft. I still gotta look like a badass."

●She will not sit still for long periods, so if you need a model, you have to bribe her.

●"Fine. But you owe me a drink after this."

●Sometimes, she catches herself staring while you work, watching your hands move with quiet precision.

●When you catch her, she’ll just grumble and look away.

Ambessa

●She sees your skills as a mark of power and refinement.

●She’s fascinated by the patience and control you have over your craft.

●"Discipline. Precision. You would have made a fine general."

●If you make something for her? She wears it proudly, but only if it’s impeccable.

●"I accept nothing less than perfection. And you, my dear, deliver just that."

●She commissions war banners, military insignias, and regal garments from you, knowing your work will make a statement.

●Loves watching you paint. There’s something about the graceful intensity of it that captivates her.

●Doesn’t give praise easily, but when she does, it means something.

●"Your talent is rare. Do not waste it on anything unworthy."

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Artistic S/O

Characters: Shikamaru, Deidara, Itachi, and Sai

Shikamaru Nara

Shikamaru is low-key impressed by your skills, even if he doesn’t outwardly say it often.

He likes to lay on the floor, watching you work while cloud-watching out the window. He finds your creativity soothing.

When he’s stuck on strategies, he’ll casually ask for your perspective. “If this were a painting, how would you balance it?” He doesn’t admit it, but your insight helps him think outside the box.

He secretly loves when you draw or paint him, even if he tries to act like he doesn’t care. If you catch him blushing, he’ll just say, “You could’ve picked someone more interesting.”

Shikamaru will fall asleep in your studio sometimes, claiming your space is just too peaceful.

Deidara

He’s obsessed with your work. Being an artist himself, he sees you as a fellow creative soul. He’s constantly hyping you up, calling your pieces “art” in the most passionate way.

If your style is different from his, he loves the contrast and often debates with you about what “true art” is. He claims his explosive art is superior, but deep down, he’s amazed by your skill.

Deidara will absolutely collaborate with you. Imagine him using small clay bombs to add dynamic texture to a sculpture or piece of art you’re working on.

He’d be the type to randomly grab a paintbrush or pencil to “improve” your work, though it’s usually just him trying to bond. “Huh? What do you mean I ruined it? This is genius!”

He keeps your art on display in his personal space, showing it off to anyone who visits.

Itachi Uchiha

Itachi is quietly supportive of your passion. He admires your ability to express yourself through art, as it’s something he struggles with.

He finds watching you create incredibly calming. After long missions or stressful days, he’ll sit nearby in silence, letting the sound of your pencil or brush soothe him.

Itachi is a big fan of meaningful, symbolic art, so if your work has hidden themes or stories, he’ll notice immediately and ask thoughtful questions.

He’ll secretly collect small pieces of your work, like sketches or paintings, and keep them tucked away in his belongings as little reminders of you.

If you ever draw or paint him, he’s deeply touched, though he might not say it outright. You’ll just catch a soft smile and a quiet, “Thank you.”

Sai

Sai is fascinated by your art. As an artist himself, he’s genuinely interested in your techniques, tools, and inspirations. Expect him to bombard you with questions.

He loves comparing styles with you. Sai’s work tends to be precise and controlled, so if your art is more freeform, he’ll admire how expressive it is.

He’ll happily share tips and even teach you some of his ink techniques if you’re interested. In turn, he’s eager to learn from you, no matter how different your style is.

Sai isn’t the best with words, so he often expresses his feelings for you through little drawings or paintings. You’ll randomly find sweet sketches left on your desk or in your bag.

If you draw him, he’ll analyze every detail and take it as an opportunity to understand how you see him. “Is this how I look to you? Interesting…”

.

.

.

Masterlist

[p1eceandharmon1]

little moments of intimacy┊ p1harmony (ot6)

warnings: use of make-up┊fluff!┊fem!reader┊word count: 1652

a/n: i didn't really know how to name this post lol.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

➳ Keeho ┊ 윤기호

Keeho loves a good long bubble bath, and if he’s sharing it with you, it makes him feel like heaven. He doesn’t prepare those baths very often as they’re not that practical but, at least once a month, he would go all out to transform your bathroom into a romantic spot for you two to have a well-deserved relaxing night. Expect candles, rose petals, fancy bath bombs and music from Keeho’s previously-made playlist playing on the background. After tiring and stressful days, a moment like this is exactly what both of you need — resting in each other’s arms, not with anything sexual in mind, just wanting to unwind for a while. The water is at a perfectly warm temperature when you go in, making you both let out a sigh of content. He wouldn’t waste a moment to pull you close and hug you, closing his eyes and thinking he would melt at any moment because of how much pleasure he was feeling. After taking turns to soap and shampoo each other, you’d start playing with the bubbles around you and placing them on each other’s face, creating bubble beards and wigs. The room would be quickly filled with laughter, but you also enjoy moments of quiet talks as you lay in each other’s arms and share sweet nothings. You would stay like that until the water isn’t warm anymore and Keeho steps out first to grab a towel to wrap you in, not willing to let you be cold for not even a second.

➳ Theo ┊ 최태양

You are the first person Theo ever lets go near his well-organized closet, and also, the first person he allows to borrow some of his clothes. If you ever let drop that you think one of his jackets is cool, he’s already handing it to you, encouraging you to wear it next time. Or if he catches you admiring one of his necklaces, he’d immediately go behind you and move your hair to the side to put the piece of jewellery around your neck. Sometimes, he would forget some of his comfiest sweaters at your place, secretly hoping you would wear them next time he sees you — he wouldn’t be able to avoid the grin on his face if you do. He just can’t help thinking you look the cutest when you’re wearing something of his, and he always tells you he thinks his clothes fit you better than they fit himself. Even if it’s just a simple white oversized shirt he has lent you to sleep, he wouldn’t hesitate to say that you look beautiful. Your fashion styles are pretty similar, so he also finds your stuff cool, to the point he would ask you for permission to wear some of your items as well. If he’s honest, he loves when you go out wearing his clothes and vice versa, taking into account that your relationship is not public yet. It is a way to hint that you’re together and also a way to feel connected to one another when you’re apart. On times when he’s away on tour, he would take one of your sweatshirts with him, just so he can bury his nose in it and inhale your perfume to bring him comfort when he misses you the most.

➳ Jiung ┊ 최지웅

Even before dating you, Jiung was very into nail art and then, he would always compliment the designs you got every month. He didn’t know you did your own nails at home, so he was thrilled when he found out. You had a pretty decent set of tools, to be honest — from different types of brushes to a little led lamp, all of which made Jiung’s eyes lit up when you showed him. After a couple of times seeing you do your nails in awe, he would ask you to try and paint them for you. He would be incredibly excited throughout the whole process, which would start with looking through hundreds of inspo pics together until you find one you like. He would sit across from you and take your hand in his, smiling at how soft it is. He knows your skin is quite delicate, so he would be extra careful when filing your nails, always making sure it isn’t painful. It melts your heart seeing how concentrated he is in doing each nail perfectly and how he keeps holding your hand gently, almost as if it would break if he wasn’t paying attention. Once he’s done, your eyes widen at how good the result is — you know he has really good taste when it comes to nail art, but it seems like you got your nails done at a salon. He would blush and play it down after seeing your amazed reaction, and would agree right away when you offer to paint his nails as well so you can match. After that, he wouldn’t stop showing off his nails with a proud grin on his lips.

➳ Intak ┊ 황인탁

Every time you’re getting your make-up done to go out, Intak would be glued to your side from the moment you enter the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. He knows it takes you a while, so he thinks why not keeping you company — this way, he gets to do his favorite thing, which is admiring your face. Leaning onto the bathroom counter, he would be mesmerized by the whole process and he wouldn’t be able to keep his big puppy-like eyes off your features. He wonders how do you not get confused with so many products, brushes and steps to follow, so he keeps on asking you what each thing is for. He is truly impressed when you swiftly do your eyeliner, amazed by how sharp it is and how easy you make it look. He won’t shut up about how good it’s looking and how pretty you look, making you so flustered that you end up getting distracted, which makes him earn a slap on the shoulder. On days when you’re not in a hurry, you even let him try and put some of the make-up on you. You smile at how he unsuccessfully tries to hide his excitement, but he soon changes his expression into a full-focused one as he comes closer to your face, one hand holding the brush and the other softly grabbing your chin, to apply your blush. He’s seen you do it many times so he’s confident in doing it properly, and it actually surprises you how well he’s doing it. He doesn’t step back when he finishes; instead, he pecks your nose to not mess up your make-up and whispers that you look stunning one more time.

➳ Soul ┊ 白翔太

Shota used to get really impatient and pouty whenever you washed your hair, because that meant it would take you so long to dry and brush it properly. He would always grow tired of waiting alone and, not being able to stay apart for that long, he turned blow-drying your hair into a habit. Once you get out of the bathroom, your hair still wet and wrapped in a towel, he would be already sitting on the bed with the hairdryer in his hand, waiting for you to sit in front of him. Usually, he’s very playful when it comes to your hair, and he would spend hours playing with it and styling it in the weirdest ways possible, if you let him. But in times like this, you notice how he’s so much more gentle from the moment he unwraps the towel and turns on the hairdryer. He makes sure the air doesn’t come out too hot and doesn’t waste a second to start combing his fingers through your locks, being careful not to tangle them. He always lets his fingers linger for an extra second, not being able to hide how much he adores the softness and sweet scent of your hair. Little does he know that while he’s running his fingers through your hair, you’re trying your best not to fall asleep because of how relaxed it’s making you feel. Once he’s done, he comes closer behind you to press a kiss on the top of your head, and you turn around to pepper his face with kisses to say thank you, making him giggle.

➳ Jongseob ┊ 김종섭

You and Jongseob share a deep love for books and, at the beginning of your relationship, you found out that your taste is very similar, so reading together naturally became a usual activity for you. Whenever you two happen to have some free time, you would be laying together on the couch with a book in your hands, the only sound coming from your steady breaths. You would never be too far from each other — sometimes your hands would be interlocked, or he would have one arm around you making you partially lay on him, and other times he would rest his head on your lap. This would give you free access to his hair, so you always end up running your fingers absentmindedly through his locks, which gives him goose bumps. There are days when Jongseob comes home and softly asks you to read out loud for him, and you would never say no. Listening to your voice is his favorite way of relaxing after a tiring day, and he loves that he gets to stare at your face for as long as he wants while you read. He would hold you close and play with your hair as he keeps his loving gaze on you. You would pretend not to notice his eyes on you the entire time, not even when they lower to your lips. Not long after, he would steal a kiss, and then a couple more, each one longer and deeper than the other, until the book would be put aside and you would be fully focused on the make out session he had smoothly started.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[thethronezone]

Primarchs holding their child for the first time

At first, Mortarion's hold on them is awkward, his body tense and brows furrowed like he's holding a bomb instead of an infant. But ever so slowly, he relaxes. His expression eases up into one of quiet contemplation and slight wonder. He suddenly feels younger. Not as broken. Like a tiny piece of himself that he thought died long ago have returned.

Fulgrim fusses over the baby in his arms, inspecting them with the eyes of an art critic. And he can't look away. Splendid. Spectacular. Perfect. Fulgrim calls them his greatest creation, his masterpiece. He coos to them, promises of grandeur and greatness. Oh, he's got such plans! So much to teach them, to show them, he can't wait!

Weeks pass before Angron decides to hold his child for the first time. Most people assume that he doesn't want to be a father, that he doesn't care about his child. They are wrong. The truth is, Angron is afraid that the nails will drive him to hurt them. He holds them only briefly, just for a short moment, but he treasures that moment of peace, sears it into his memory like he'll die without it.

Magnus knew his child before they were born. The moment their little soul formed, the moment they developed brain capacity, he formed a mental link with them. For curiosity? Yes. But also because he could not wait to meet them. Now that he has them in his arms, it feels like he's meeting an old friend, someone he's known for a long, long time.

Perturabo stares at the child sleeping in his arms. He had refused to hold them directly after birth, seeing no point in it. But now he's holding them and for once, Perturabo doesn't know what to do. They are small, they are fragile, they are weak and most of all, they are USELESS. Yet he can't bring himself to hate them for it, no matter how much he wants to.

Alpharius is the first to hold one to hold the baby. He smiles down at them, already proud of them despite the fact that all they have done so far is be born. Omegon gets to hold them later, when Alpharius returns with the child back home. Omegon practically snatches the child from his brother's arms, impatient and unwilling to wait any longer.

Lorgar holds the baby high up in the air, above his head, like he's showing them off to the stars themselves. Actually, he's probably doing just that. His child is his blessing, his life work. Lorgar needs the world to see them and feel what he feels. He then holds them close, forehead pressed against them as he mutters soft prayers. There are tears in his eyes, with a few rolling down his face.

There are not enough words to describe the amount of warmth and love in Horus' smile as he gazes down upon the baby in his arms. This is his treasure, his legacy and heir but most importantly, the child he's always wanted. Horus promises them the world and more. He refuses to put them down or for anyone else to hold them for a good while.

It takes a while for Konrad to hold his child for the first time. He's so scared that he will hurt them, that his thirst for violence and terror will get the better of him. But once he gathers the courage, once he holds them in his arms, he doesn't want to ever let go. He cradles his child in his arms and promises to never hurt them, that he would rather die than let that happen. And he means it.

Sanguinius folds his wings around him and his baby, shielding both himself and his baby from view as he holds them close. He can't stop staring at them, eyes wet with unshed tears and a soft smile on his face as he whispers them promises for the future and proclamations of love and assurances. You are enough, you are strong, you are loved, you are perfect the way you are.

Corvus sits in silence, a sleeping infant in his arms. He can't help but stare, as if they will suddenly disappear if he looks away for even a second. It feels unreal, finally holding them after waiting for so long. He gently swipes a thumb across the side of their face. Corvus slowly curls up around them, as if to shield them from the world he knows won't wait to tear them down.

When Ferrus prepared for the arrival of the baby, he thought he had it all under control. But now, holding them in his arms for the first time, he's suddenly so aware of how lost he is. This is a real person. Not just a concept. And he's all they've got. They are his responsibility and his every action, every word, every lessons he teaches, will have consequences. They depend on him. And Ferrus fears that he won't ever be enough.

Rogal has never been the best at expressing his emotions. He's stoic, disciplined. Even now, with his newborn child in his arms, the corners of his mouth does little more than twitch. But his eyes? There's no denying the love and pride in them. Dorn rocks the child in his arms as he tells them that he will protect them, now and forever.

Oh, Vulkan just can't stop smiling. Cradles the baby in his arms with such tenderness, almost as if they are made from glass. Vulkan tells them he loves them, that they are his heart now. He means every word of it and he's never going to let his child forget how much he loves them. For the rest of their life, Vulkan's child will never go a single day doubting the fact that they are loved.

Lion thinks it isn't fair the way the infant doesn't even know how wrapped around their little finger he already is. He would kill for them. He would die for them. He knows this for sure, can feel the truth of that statement in his very bones. Is this what all parents feel as they gaze upon their progeny for the first time? Did the Emperor once feel this way when he gazed upon them? So many questions yet for once, Lion does not mind not knowing all the answers.

Pacing around the room with a newborn in his arms, Leman won't stop talking to them. His pup, his fierce little warrior, his proud and joy. His voice is warm and energetic, but not loud like how it usually is. It rumbles softly, soft for small ears. He bounces them in his arms as he walks, eyes sparkling and teeth bared in a genuine smile, as adoring as it is wild.

It's with eager arms that Jaghatai picks up his child. He's waited for them, waited for this very moment where he gets to meet them and hold them for the first time. Already, he knows that his child is strong, knows that they will grow up and achieve greatness. He heard it in the way they wailed upon being born, can see it in the way they flail their limbs around. Jaghatai is already so proud of them.

Roboute doesn't speak as he holds his child, the wheels in his mind spinning and churning as he gazes down upon them. Suddenly, there's so much to do. He thought himself prepared but he now realizes that those preparations were nowhere near enough. How could it ever be enough? He needs to create a bright future for them, create a safe galaxy for them to grow up in and explore. A safer world in the palm of their hands.

[mrnightingale]

I don't think I've ever explained myself when I talk about Art.

Art in capitals, as one must write a name. Art as a concept deep written in humanity's very own soul. It's the heart of existence.

Art as a manifestation of beauty, of passion, of feelings, has the power to evoke one's own deep buried fantasies. It's unbearable, uncontrollable, and yet, it's perfectly defined in limited lines, a display of the strength of the artist over one's mind.

Is an explosion of the colours in one's heart, a bomb carefully placed in the chest, between the ribs, waiting for a moment of exaltation, a glimpse of Heaven, a glimpse of Hell, to explode and reduce one's existence as nothing but the definition of an after. After Art. After being teared open by nothing but a piece of art.

It's nothing but sounds, words, shapes, nothing but ordinary things we all experiment every. Single. Second. In a world that doesn't stops, in a mind that doesn't stops, and yet— in the hands of those who know how to work with banality, they're molded and transformed into something meaningful, important, extraordinary, and the world stops for a moment, to appreciate Art, holding breath, only to be transformed themselves into something new. In someone new.

Our bodies are catalysts of a manifestation of Art. We can act and dance and shine, under the spotlight, a million of gazes watching our naked bodies, our naked souls, and find the secret of our pure nature. See straight through the mask and find it. The lines of adoration and a tremble of the voice, and hear what's left unsaid by words. Look into the core of who I am, and find something rather horrid, terrible, nauseous, find the evidence of thoughts in our evil, wicked bodies. Or they might see nothing but themselves, a projection of a prohibited fantasy, of a denied life, and experiment the sorrows and tragedies of an impossible hero, older than time, written in Human Nature before the beginning, and through a deliberated, almost scientific method, it's extracted of people minds and showed before ourselves as a Character, an essay of a real story that will never be lived nowhere but on stage.

I've lost myself in thoughts so many times. I've disconnected myself from this world so many hours. Art lives in the realm of Dreams, as a manifestation of our most hidden impulses, impulse of love, of hate, of desire, of violence. Between Eros and Thanatos, we see Morpheus as our guide, a star to follow in deep dark nights, a light to follow in deep black thoughts, a reason to keep living, to reject the void.

Art is a reason to live. Art is a reason to die. But through Art we can see the worth of Life and the beauty of Death, the peace of Heaven and the despair of Hell, the passion of Eros and the ennui of Thanatos. Art is an accident, and yet is written in the fabric of existence itself, we only need to find its own way to travel in time, to change the space, and to write a History under its own rules.

[wildfloweronwheels]

A pit of nausea is boiling in my stomach today. It’s fury and fear and a sadness that sears to the bone. It swept in suddenly as I opened my phone to the news that three of Taylor Swift’s shows in Vienna, Austria have been cancelled by police due to the thwarting of a terrorist attack. Reading that sentence, I’m back in 2017, chest burning with horror and grief at the bomb that went off as young women danced and sang their hearts out with Ariana Grande. We know what attacks like this look like, we’ve felt them before, their echoes held in the minds and hearts of every live music fan across the world even now.

So, there is also relief swimming in the sick, that the police got to this in time. That they made the call that means thousands of people quite literally live to see another day. My head is spinning thinking about what could’ve been. Feeling for the fans, musicians and Taylor herself whose lives have orbited at least a little around the glittery nights they were promised. The friendship bracelets.  The cowboy boots. The glorious high of screaming ‘Fuck the patriarchy’ in a sold out stadium. The expectant hush that falls over things before the opening chords of a surprise song. The putting together of pieces in the mashups that follow. I know it’s just a concert; there’ll be more of them, we hope, but it’s also not…

It's yet more proof that we didn’t need, of an ugly truth, splashed in oozing neon. It rears its head all over the world in millions of foul devastating ways every single day and yet it still hurts every single time. The thing that most frightens men and boys is a woman succeeding. A woman living. A woman thriving. A woman feeling joy. Women gathering together in a communion of emotion that borders on the sacred, because it’s so rare in its safety and warmth.

 That’s how I would describe the nights I was privileged enough to spend at the Eras Tour earlier this year. A singular celebration of all a woman has made through her own blood, sweat and tears. A visual and musical experience underpinned by one of my favourite quotes ever from the glorious Carrie Fisher, “Take your broken heart, make it into art.” If you’re anything like me, it’s soundtracked your own.

We’ve watched that heart break and heal again and again. Blows dealt by men loitering in a girlhood they had no place in. By ill-fated romance, snuffed out because egos couldn’t bear the load or because two people just weren’t the right fit.  By calculated campaigns designed to distort an image, dismantle a reputation and lay ruin to a legacy. And yet she’s here. And so are we. Women, I mean. Again and again we resist. We persist. We insist.

Our joy is not yours to steal. Our lives are not yours to threaten. We will keep finding it. Rising. Screaming. Teaching the boys and men around us to be better. Defying. Demanding. Deciding. I’m not interested in what you think about Taylor Swift’s music or her privilege, a financial sheen that I remind you protects from no bullet or harm being done to you or innoc ent people, in your name.  In fact, it invites it. Over and over again. But I am interested in how you talk about this moment. Right now. The one that almost happened but didn’t. It’s a sliding door so what are we going to make sure waits on the other side of it?

[infanttoes]

💪 Caregiver Shoji HCs! 🍵

You/your used as a placeholder. Can be paired with any character!

Shoji is so sweet but I don’t know his character as much as I should, so I’m sorry if this is inaccurate. Thank you anon for this request!! :D

🌊 ~ Being a caregiver came naturally to him. He’s one of the people that randomly found out about age regression online on some random Tuesday night and instantly knew what he had to do.

🌊 ~ Literally carries you everywhere. Like, everywhere. Ever see those movie scenes where a mom is trying to do a million chores at once whilst simultaneously cradling their baby? Yeah, that’s him. He also likes carrying you on his shoulders.

🌊 ~ Doesn’t have many rules but absolutely stands by the ones he does! Dessert before dinner will always be a no-go, no matter how many adorable art pieces you draw him.

🌊~ Probably a Disney connoisseur. Constantly plays (pirated 🙃) Disney movies in the background of any activity. Gets absolutely decked out on Halloween in matching Disney-themed costumes with you.

🌊 ~ He’s kind of a minimalist but he still insists on hanging up all your artwork on his walls and showcasing every handmade gift on his desk.

🌊 ~ The Homosapien embodiment of a mama bear. His biggest nightmare is seeing you hurt whatsoever. At first he tried not to be overprotective, but seeing you scrape your knee every few days was genuinely making him lose sleep with the guilt.

🌊 ~ Doesn’t use pet names that often, but he has a wide variety when he does. Most commonly uses kid, bud, and tiger. Definitely a papa caregiver.

🌊 ~ Best person to go to when you’re sick. Sticks with you literally 24/7 and makes the most bomb chicken noodle soup you’ve ever had. Does not care about getting himself sick, as long as you’re not alone.

🌊 ~ A sucker for physical touch. Holds your hand, cuddles with you, lets you doodle on his arms…And you know this dude gives THE best massages.

[myimaginationplain]

This beautiful piece of fan art by @/stickymaelk on Twitter made my brain start whirling around an Arcane x Soul Eater AU that I'm sure I won't be able to get out of my head for a little while, so here are my fledgling headcanons:

Jayce & Viktor are obviously partners, with Jayce being the meister & Viktor the weapon. Viktor has a very closed-off soul & finds it near impossible to partner with anyone other than Jayce (ala Soul). Jayce has a very large, kinetic soul-wavelength that he can use to attack sans his weapon ala Black☆Star, though he wouldn't necessarily want to. He has an easier time pairing up with other people compared to Viktor, but most other weapons would find his wavelength overwhelming. Jayce grew up in Death City with his mother. They're probably the first of their class to make a Death Scythe. I absolutely see the two of them getting into a Maka-&-Soul-esque dilemma where Jayce develops a complex around needing to protect Viktor at all costs, despite it being the weapon's job to protect their meister. The handle of Viktor's hammer-form takes on the aesthetic qualities of whatever cane he's using at the time.

Caitlyn is the first meister in Kiramman family history (maybe she gets it from Tobias's side?) & her deciding to pursue this path has created a rift between she & Cassandra. Caitlyn & Jayce hit it off during their first week at the DWMA & she was extremely disappointed to find out he wasn't a weapon. Caitlyn goes through her entire first semester without having chosen a weapon before Death Scythe Grayson reccomends she pair up with Vi; the two of them never would have seriously considered the other before, but they work like a charm. Maybe they eventually have a little breakup arc where their partnership dissolves & Caitlyn picks up Maddie as her new weapon, but they can't resonate the same way she & Vi could.

Vi & Powder are kind of a combination of the Thompson sisters & the Nakatsukasa siblings. Like Liz & Patty, they're both modern firearms. But whereas Vi only has one form (a rifle) like Masamune, Powder is a multi-form weapon like Tsubaki; she can turn into a handgun, a canon, a grenade, a time-bomb, etc. Vi lowkey wishes she were a meister so that she & Powder could've been partners, & has a bit of an inferiority complex about not being a good enough weapon. The two of them were taken in & raised by the DWMA along with Ekko. Maybe their parents were all meisters and/or weapons who were killed by witches or something. Powder absolutely gets injected with Black Blood at some point. At some point before either of them had official partners, Jayce & Vi tried to pair up & it was an absolute disaster (their souls are like the immovable object vs the unstoppable force, lol).

Ekko is a meister & Powder's partner. The two of them decided to be a pair before they were even officially enrolled at the DWMA. Ekko has a grigori soul (ala Maka), which helps to counteract Powder's madness post-Black Blood infusion. If they ever formed a team of weapon-meister pairs like Spartoi, then Ekko would definitely be the leader. Powder worries that she's dragging Ekko's as a meister potential down with her.

Mel has a Stein-esque soul, in that she can meister any weapon with ease &, like Jayce, can fight without a weapon (she's more adept & eager to do so than Jayce is). Her most common weapon partner is Elora, & sometimes Sky (I definitely see Sky having Marie's healing wavelength). Maybe Elora is killed in battle (sorry girl) or decommissioned some other way, & Sky becomes Mel's primary weapon after that? The Medarda's are a long, unbroken line of prodigious meisters & weapons, & Mel definitely feels the weight of that legacy. Mel is revealed to be part witch ala Kim.

[thephonemenarentreal]

Time for the Daddy-o and cool cat Kicks to finally come to front and center!

Kicks is a senior curator and part of the Conglomerate and another of the ex-Alliance group. He's a very laid back Speaker and part of the Beatnik Speaker culture in the Conglomerate and barely makes a whisper, snaps instead of claps, and an art critique.

MORE LORE UNDER THE CUT <3

Kicks is good at slam poetry and often just spits hot slam poetry when talking to his friend sand the mood takes him

No one has ever heard him freak out raise his voice above a calm, neutral tone. Very little seems to shake him.

He is a beatnik speaker thus tends to dress more black and white as well as having few cosmetics. The most notable is he got speaker LED design lighting on his front in red.

He has that little bit of red on his face to hail back to his Alliance days as he doesn't want to let go of where he came from.

Very knowledgeable about art and can name paintings easily by artist, style, medium used, and when it was painted. He always is happy to talk art to people visiting the exhibits and giving informative tours.

He is actually rather bored at his job of just keeping an eye on the art pieces, moving new ones in and out, doing art exhibit lectures, and selling art pieces. Not that he hates his job, it just doesn't keep him as busy as he would like.

He is part of Ms. Violette's entourage and often seen with her when she goes to official events and big art exhibits. He is one of her favorite curators as she sees him as a "performing art piece showcasing tragedy"

He uses scalpels as a weapon in his jacket and avoids larger knives for his work. Very much a precision striker, but also has adopted the use of an actual gun to avoid getting blood on his suit.

Tends to be the level headed one in the group that points out he obvious about a situation and gets the others back on track.

He is ex-Alliance and used to be the chief medical officer and a celebrated medical doctor. He misses being able to work in his given field and keeping busy on research to help others.

Kicks and Jericho often work together to make mind worms that can work more as medication for those suffering from mental illnesses and help ease symptoms. It is going behind Vector's back a bit, but both are a bit stubborn about doing something good people despite their situation.

Often is the one that has to patch up Jericho after he has a rough night, although it distresses him a bit.

He is the one of the group who would 100% go back to the Alliance, but given he signed his life away and now has a bomb implanted in his chest that goes off if anyone but Ms. Violet touches and if he leaves the ship, he's the most stuck on the Pleasure Cruise.

The reason he ended up in the Conglomerate was after the Titan Speakerman was taken over by the parasite and there was huge causalities among the speakers, there were not enough resources to treat so many wounded and dying.... so he cut a deal with Ms. Violette to get access her technology and resources to save as many as he could. He was the one that saved Biggs and Tremolo and so many others.

He traded his freedom to save many but the trade-off was he had to give up his freedom and no longer work in medicine, becoming one of Ms. Violette's personal attendants. He left the Alliance to pay his debts and has been on the Pleasure Cruise ever since.

He cut off all contact with his old Alliance friends as it was too painful to hear about the war and all the things he could be doing there to help. Tends to avoid all news about the war, just acting casually how some people are to his friends who go off ship.

The design of his face, a blood red tear is "the tears I am crying, but never come out," to represent his longing to go back, but how he is trapped in this new life.

He hates his boss and many of the other executives, but hides all that anger inside. No point in acting on it when it will do no one any good. Just finds small ways to help the Alliance from within.

Will take breaks to smoke quietly up on the top decks in the middle of the night and listen to old songs of his faction to pass the time, just a bit of nostalgia.

No one recognizes him these days when they visit the ship. Made worse that he was made to change his name....and forget his old one which has frustrated him. He can remember a past life, but no name to it. It makes him feel like he's not himself anymore. Kicks is all that is left after the damn Conglomerates took everything.

Sometimes he regrets his choice, but at the same time knows there are a lot of speakers out there alive and able to have a second chance of life in exchange for his own.

Sometimes he wish people would recognize him, that they might tell him his name and then he could reclaim who he was in some small part. No one does and his name remains lost to him. Kicks is the only name he has now, given to him by Ms. Violette.

[weirdmarioenemies]

You know, all this time I never realized that Bomberman had Enemies! I thought it was just all those Bombers Men blowing each other up for sport. And I love those Bombers Men, they are very cute, but wow! Enemies! I love those! Enemies are my friends. There have been sooo many enemies over the course of the franchise, but here I will be talking about the originals from the very beginning! For the sake of consistency, I will be using the artwork from Bomberman Party Edition, since that was sadly the most recent time they all got official art for the same game. Here they come! Some creatures!

BALLOM

Ballom is The Enemy. The first one! It is very simple. It is really just a balloon, sometimes with a string, sometimes not. Watch out for this one! Ever try to kill a balloon before? Don’t let the media fool you, you need a bomb to do it. Ballom actually appeared before all the others in the very first game, called Bomber Man, where it was the only enemy! This game was localized in Europe as... Eric and the Floaters. It sounds like a band name! A real Yoshi’s Island style localization choice. This is not a Bomberman game anymore. It’s an Eric game.

I do not think this is what balloons look like

ONIL

Already we have reached my favorite one! Onil is a blue onion sort of thing, and I am really just a sucker for creatures that are vegetables. It is so cute! It’s almost not recognizable as an onion most of the time, with its tip looking like a dollop of frosting rater than actual onion skin, but the original sprite does a pretty good job of communicating Onion. As you can see at the beginning of the post, its name was originally localized as O’Neal, which I think is very funny. That’s a Last Name right there! This onion was named like a Fortnite character!

DAHL

Dahl is a sort of barrel of a thing! Finally we reach a thing that would more reasonably require a bomb to destroy. Look at its little face though! I feel bad talking about destroying these things with bombs. I don’t have much to say about Dahl, it’s a barrel, though it is a very cute barrel. I can’t think of THAT many other cute barrels.

MINVO

Minvo is a little boring. I’m sorry. But it’s just a Face! Sometimes it is a very inoffensive-looking face, while sometimes it is showing a few teeth, but still just a Face. They don’t do anything all that interesting either. However!

In some 3D appearances, they are not a sphere, but instead shaped like a sandwich cookie! Maybe they have been cookies all along! They even have Filling!

OVAPE

Ovape is a funny one! Originally, it was basically a smiley Pac-Man ghost, which is cute and funny, but not very unique. When allowed more detail, though, it often looks more like an octopus, and not just any octopus, but a hot dog cut into an octopus shape!

You know? Yeah! I don’t know how intentional the resemblance is, but it is very cute and fun.

DORIA

I love Doria! It is some kind of Substance, or perhaps an amoeba, and I love a simple cute blob. It is often seen in this weirdly flat-looking shape, like it was spread on an invisible piece of bread! I would not eat it! Doria moves slowly, but it is slippery and smart, chasing Bomberman while avoiding bombs. Very impressive for a brainless (I assume) blob!

PASS

Here we have our Token Mammal! Pass is a tiger who forgot the rest of itself at home and hops around as a head lump. It almost feels like Minvo, but with an actual design! You’re lucky you became a cookie, Minvo. Pass is fast, like a real tiger, and is able to Pass right through certain solid blocks, which real tigers cannot do. Only snow leopards can.

PONTAN

Another face? Kind of! But not completely! Pontan is a COIN, so more interesting than just a face, and spins around flatly in its animations. They are the most dangerous of the original enemies, and their design does nothing to reflect this! That is funny. Like Pass, it passes through some blocks, but it also hunts you down! If Pontan finds you, you will learn that it can indeed be used as currency. One Pontan is enough to buy you one Death!

Some, but not all, of these enemies would have the privilege of appearing in a Mobile Match 3 Game with the release of Bomberman Chains, and boy! They look weird! All of them! Ballom looks like Chris Griffin. Onil looks like it just woke up at 3:26 AM to go to the bathroom. I cannot say I Like any of these designs here, which is a shame because I think they could have all looked especially cute in Doodle Aesthetic, like Bomberman himself does! But I am glad this happened, it’s funny.

These have been just a few of the many funny little creatures specifically designed to be obliterated by explosions. Thank you.

[honeybeefae]

3.5K OF YOU OMG

I JUST CHECKED MY FOLLOWERS AND OH MY GOD?!?! THERE ARE FUCKING 3.5K OF YOU?!?! I HAVE SO MANY WORDS AND SO MANY FEELINGS SO JUST ENJOY THIS WORD VOMIT

First of all, keeping this professional, THANK YOU. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Whether you just followed or have been following since my first post, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I say this a lot but only because it is true but you guys mean the world to me.

I write for you. I laugh with you. I cry with you. I love talking to you all and seeing your ideas and your thoughts; it is so nice to have so many people who not only enjoy my writing but like it enough to follow me! You, and yes I mean you, are amazing. You are kind and beautiful and smart and lovely and just you make my day. My week. Everything. None of this could be possible with out.

Second of all, I have to thank this community. There are so many creators out there that I am lucky to call my friends. They are amazing people and keep my afloat. And even the ones I've yet to talk to (feel free to reach out if you ever feel like it! I'd love to meet more of you!) create the most beautiful pieces of art that inspire me and everyone else. This community is amazing and while sometimes we can get caught up in disagreements, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Also, please check these artists out and support them! @clairebear08 @readychilledwine @danikamariewrites @cupidojenphrodite @redbleedingrose @sarawritestories @crazysocklovingfangirl @whisperingmidnights @thelov3lybookworm @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

AND SO MANY MORE I AM SORRY IF I DIDNT TAG YOU PLS YELL AT ME AND I WILL ADD YOU I LOVE YOU <3

FINALLY

I WANT TO CELEBRATE YOU. YOU ARE THE REASON I AM HERE, THE REASON I HAVE REACHED THIS MILESTONE. STANDBY FOR CELEBRATIONS.

THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU AND I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING BUT YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING AND I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS SO JUST ACCEPT THIS LOVE BOMB OKAY I LOVE YOU

[bitchfitch]

Abandoned bunkers were a common sight. The bombs dropped so long ago that even the most paranoid communities had left them to rejoin the larger population on the surface one or two generations ago.

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

Lino's vision whites out, he heard screaming. The man was still holding him trapped by the leg when the multi ton hunk of metal shut atop it.